Good Influencers!

Proper 22C

“We have done only what we ought to have done!” That’s reassuring… sort of. At least the slaves seem to have known what they were supposed to do. Those hapless disciples, on the other hand, made what sounds like a perfectly reasonable request for greater faith, and instead, they got a rather confusing parable. All I can say with confidence is that no mulberry trees were harmed in the process… At least not as far as the Biblical account goes.

It’s a good thing to know what Jesus wants us to do, whether it’s the reasonable daily tasks of a household servant or a miraculous transplant of trees. For myself, learning to pledge was an important measure of knowing what I ought to do in church. Since I didn’t grow up in a house of worship, I had no idea how churches fund their ministries. But I became a Christian in my 20’s, so I was hungry both to know God and what I ought to do.  Which made me notice that—in this parable—the reasonable and expected work was assigned to the slaves. Jesus evidently expected something more of the disciples. But between mustard seeds and mulbury trees, I’m just not sure entirely what it was.

Given that I’ve been invited here to help you launch your annual pledge campaign, I could say that what disciples ought to do is choose greater generosity, which is the theme of this year’s campaign. But I won’t do that, because I think that does an injustice to the Gospel, and likely to your fundraising efforts as well. Truth to tell, come pledge season, committing to share our time, talent and treasure with St. Mark’s really is just what we ought to do. And because of your generosity, your church can do what it ought to do. Like loving and serving those who need it, while paying salaries and keeping the lights on. What more could be expected of disciples like us?

I’ll get back to what else Jesus might want us to do in a moment, but in the meantime, I want to tell you a story about a little girl I love. She’s my three-year-old granddaughter, and she goes to church with her grandfather and me. Not to Sunday school, but to the sanctuary, which is her preference. We try our hardest to teach her what she ought to do, with mixed success. She does well with the peace and she loves holy communion, but our attempts to teach her to sit and stand at the appointed times is an abject failure. Mostly, she’d rather race up and down the long side aisles in her princess dress.

Which means that when the ushers begin to collect the offerings, she’s on her mark and ready to make a run for it. She clutches the dollar her grandpa just handed her and dashes towards the nearest person with a plate, so that she can be a full participant in the ritual. Now her grandpa gives her the dollar because, in age-appropriate ways, we want her to learn what ought to be done. We’re teaching her holy habits, which she doesn’t necessarily understand cognitively, but she certainly understands as a ritual. Is she choosing generosity? I don’t know that I’d say that, exactly, given that the dollar is not hers and she doesn’t really have any use for money, anyway.

But I’ve noticed a funny thing happening when Ella races up to the offering plate. Other people notice her—she’s kinda hard to ignore—and reach for their wallets too. People I know to have already pledged generously, and—in other circumstances—would probably let the plate pass them by. As is the case in most Episcopal churches. But Ella’s evident delight in contributing something—anything—causes everyone else to reconsider their relationship with the offering plate. They give a little more; they choose greater generosity. Wanting, I imagine, to be good examples and also to experience some of Ella’s joy. I myself want to be such a joyful giver!

Who showed you how to be generous? Whose example do you follow? Those are serious questions and I want you to sit with them for a moment. Somebody has modeled the joy of faithful living and generous giving for each of us, just as foremothers Lois and Eunice modeled a sincere faith for Paul’s protégé Timothy. The holy habits of Christian life are the gifts of people who precede and surround us and encourage us. Or, to reference the digital culture that we West Coast urbanites are immersed in, they are our influencers. However, instead of making content to encourage shopping or workouts, or—God forbid—unpasteurized milk, I believe we are called to reclaim the role of influencer for God’s good and just purposes.

I hope I’m a good influence, and I’d also like to think that I am modeling the role of a faithful grandmother like Lois for my granddaughter. But a funny thing happened on the way to the offering plate at St. Paul’s in Oakland. It became clear to me that little Ella was influencing the adults too, including me. She showed us all that giving is brave, giving is joyful, giving is full participation in the life of the community. And while all of this is especially charming when the giver is three and racing around in a princess dress, it’s not only the children who influence us to choose generosity. We do this for each other every day. Your choice for generosity is not just good for your soul and good for the mission of St. Mark’s; it’s also good for everyone around you.

Returning to this morning’s challenging Gospel text, as I promised to do. Part of the reason this parable is so hard to hear is that it assumes a deep familiarity with first-century Jewish culture, which we mostly don’t share. And the Greek word doulos—related to our contemporary word doula and here translated as slave—described a social function quite unlike the sinful function of chattel slavery once practiced in the United States. Which tempts your preacher to sidestep a Gospel that requires so much explanation. The apostolic succession of Lois and Eunice and Timothy has plenty enough to teach us about choosing generosity today.

But because this is the week of Yom Kippur—the holiest day in Judaism—I’m going to invite us to go a bit deeper into Jesus’ rabbinic teachings. He never condoned nor condemned the first-century practice of slavery. Instead, he built parables around the job of the doulos, just like he did around the familiar characters of fishermen or farmers or housewives. To his hearers, this would have sounded like a parable about fidelity to the law, also known as the Torah. Serving a master is only what the doulos ought to do, just like following the laws is the least a faithful Jew ought to do. But Luke—and only Luke—put this parable together with a teaching about going above and beyond the law. He actually put it together with a teaching about forgiveness, which is where the disciples’ opening question about increasing faith came from. Take my word for it, or read the first four verses of Luke 17 for yourselves.

Choosing forgiveness—like choosing love or generosity—goes above and beyond the basic requirements. These are choices not just for what we ought to do, but they require us to really examine our hearts and change our habits. To look to the example of people we admire—prophets and saints and martyrs—and also those around us at St. Mark’s. Maybe even to the joyfully generous example of children. So with that in mind, I invite you to again recall those influencers who showed you how to be generous. And then imagine, for a moment, who might be inspired by your generous choices.

Our Jewish neighbors know that we grow in faith both through doing what we ought to do, and also through what we choose to do for the sheer unbounded love of God and neighbor. They have a Yom Kippur prayer that sums up the grace this God offers us, most especially when we influence one another to good—

“To those I may have wronged, I ask forgiveness. To those I may have helped, I wish I could have done more. To those I neglected to help, I am truly sorry and ask for understanding. To those who helped me, I am deeply… grateful.” Disciples of St. Mark’s Cathedral, being grateful for each other’s example is only what we ought to do. Now let us go forth in faith, choosing to be an example of generosity to others.