Investing in relationships: Part I

This is the first in a three-sermon series on stewardship.  The Scripture it refers to is Luke 11:1-13.

Well, it’s everyone’s favourite time of year again.  That point in the cycle of things where the treasurer makes appeals to your generosity, and I’m asked to spend some time reflecting with you on the theology of giving.

I know – because many of you have talked about it with me – that here you’re very familiar with the idea that giving isn’t just about money, but is also about giving of your time and talents, so I’m not going to go over that ground with you again.

Instead, I want to talk a bit about what we’re investing in; what we hope to accomplish by what we give.

And I’m going to suggest to you that fundamentally, we’re investing in relationships.

We give to God of our time, our energy and our money not just because we like having a building or an institution or even a vicar, but because those are things which sustain the Church as a network of relationships; relationships in which we are accepted, loved, cared for, and through which we can accomplish more than any of us could on our own.

And I think about that in three kind of concentric circles.  First – and what I’m mostly going to talk about this week – there’s our relationship with God, which should be at the centre of our life as a Church.  Then – and this will be the focus next week – there are our relationships with each other; what it means to be a functional community.  And finally, there are our relationships beyond our local church community, which, for a convenient shorthand, I’ll call mission.  (Of course mission’s a bit more complicated than that, but it’s a helpful way of thinking about it).

So; relationships with God, with each other, and beyond our own community.  And by the very nature of relationships, all of them require an investment from us if they are to work and continue to be healthy relationships.

But for this week, let me share with you a comment from Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber, a Lutheran theologian.  I saw an interview with her once, where she said her students often ask her what she does to get closer to God.  And she said – with her typical disarming honesty – “Why would I want to get close to God?  Whenever Jesus gets close to me I end up having to love someone I hate, give away more of my money, or forgive someone I don’t want to forgive.”

And it seems to me that that comment so neatly captures our human dilemma, in relationship with God.  We want to be loved, accepted, cared for.  We want to know that our heavenly father’s arms are always open to us.  But at the same time, we’re keenly aware that such an encounter is going to make demands of us, and that we might not like some of them very much.  Maybe it’s safer to stay away.

And so there can be this internal push-and-pull towards and away from God.  This is part of what Jesus is addressing when he says in our gospel reading today: “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

In other words, we may not like the process of learning to love those we hate, or forgive those who have hurt us, or relinquish having our own way about something, but it’s something God invites us to, ultimately, because it is for our own good.

There is also the all-too-common problem that many of us have an image of God that makes closeness difficult.  Many of us, deep down where we might not even fully recognise it, believe in a harsh God, one who judges our faults, who demands more from us than we can give, and who is more interested in our obedience than our happiness.

Of course you’re not going to want to be close to someone like that.  Who would?  It would be toxic to continually expose yourself to that kind of harshness.

Now, that sort of deap-seated image of God isn’t something that shifts just because a preacher tells you something different.  It takes time; it takes actual encounters with the real God to dismantle the false image.

What I’m going to suggest to you, as we begin this consideration of stewardship, of how we manage all the good things God gives us, is to start by taking an inventory of your relationship with God.  How are you getting on with God, anyway?  What would it take for that to improve?

It might well be that you realise that in fact, there’s something that’s become a block in that relationship.  Maybe you’re angry with God about something.  Maybe you’re not actually on very good speaking terms right now.  And that isn’t, in and of itself, the end of the world; but be honest with yourself about it, and open to how that might change.  And of course, if you’d like to come and talk to me about any of that, my door is always open.

Of course, each of us has our own individual relationship with God, with all its complexities.  But there is a dimension of that which we share, as we come together to worship.  Our liturgy gives us a solid framework for that, but the liturgy isn’t the relationship; it’s an opportunity to work on the relationship.

And while our own personal relationships with God mostly require time from us, our shared prayer life is often where our talents and treasures find their place.  So many people enrich our worship with their talents; whether with words or fabric or music or the hidden but crucial arts of maintenance.  And having vibrant worship which is able to meet our needs, desires and moods does require material investment also.

By focussing on relationships over these three weeks what I’m trying to do is put the question of our giving in human perspective.  It’s not about numbers in a spreadsheet or tasks on a list or keeping the doors open, but about the quality of the connections between us.   And as we keep exploring that theme over the coming weeks, I encourage you to take that seriously in your own reflections.

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