Sermon for Oct. 26, 2025
Luke 18:9-14
Here we are in the third week of this preaching
series on how giving and receiving unlocks a flow of blessing between us and
God. Today’s topic, and the theme of
this week’s readings in the stewardship-season devotional guide, is this: Give God a share of the blessings God has
given you.
Hmmm. “Give God a share of the blessings God has
given you.” On the surface, those words
sound like they make sense. But have you
ever thought how crazy it is that we would offer God anything? What is it exactly that the creator of the
universe needs? I think about something
my mother used to say, when she was considering what to get my grandmother for
Christmas or a birthday. Mom would sigh
and say, “My mother gave me life, and I’m giving her a handkerchief?” I think our relationship with our heavenly Parent
is something like that. There’s just nothing
we can give that measures up to the gift we’ve received.
Clearly, then, it’s not about the gift. Instead, it must be the giving that God
values. So, what would God like to see
us offer? Maybe our worship gives us a
clue in the offertory sentences, those snippets of Scripture that the Prayer
Book gives the presider to say just before the anthem and the offering. Here’s one of the best: “Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and
make good your vows to the Most High” (BCP 376; Psalm 50:14).
So, one thing we know that God wants is our
gratitude. And we offer that gratitude every
time we gather here for worship – not just in our prayers and our hymns but in
the work we do at the altar. Every
Sunday, we come here and bring Jesus’ sacrifice into our present moment. We remember that God has given everything for
us, God‘s own life, in order to give us life forever. We call it Eucharist because, in Greek,
that word means “thanksgiving.” When we
remember what God has done for us, and who we are as a result, “thank you” is
really all we can say.
Where we can be creative and generous is
in how we say, “Thank you.” Here
in this stewardship season, when we consider how to give God a share of the
blessings we’ve received, money often takes center stage. That’s not wrong. Not only is the church trying to plan a
ministry budget for next year, but giving money is one of the richest spiritual
practices we can offer. I talked about
that a little bit last week in my interview. But I want to go deeper today and share with
you how my experience of giving to God has changed – especially in the past
eight months.
I see a parallel between my experience and
what we heard in the Gospel reading this morning. I find myself identifying with the Pharisee in
Jesus’ parable – the one who judges the sinful tax collector and wears his
spiritual practices like medals. I don’t
think it’s so much the Pharisee’s self-righteousness that feels familiar to me
… although, just saying that is a sign of my self-righteousness. It’s not even so much the way the Pharisee
checks the boxes on righteousness that feels familiar to me … although, I am afflicted
by that trait, too. I think Jesus’ deep
critique of the Pharisee has to do with his pride, which, by the way, is
another way of saying “original sin.” And it’s in pride where I see an intersection
with my own story of giving back to God.
It probably won’t surprise you to hear
that I’ve been a rule-follower most of my life, and that certainly applies to
my life as a steward. As a kid, I put my
coins in the mite box like I was supposed to. When Ann and I joined a church after we got
married, we made a pledge. It was a tiny
pledge, but it was a pledge. I sang in
the choir, so I was giving some time and dubious talent, too. All that was right and good.
But deeper down, when I look back at my
stewardship in years past, what I see is someone who didn’t feel any need to
give beyond meeting an obligation. Spiritually, I kind of figured I had my bases
covered. I mean, I was going to church; I
was making a pledge; I paid my taxes; I wasn’t hurting anybody; I was honest in
my work; I loved my wife and kids. I
figured my salvation wasn’t much at risk.
It didn’t occur to me that I might have a more
immediate need than “getting into heaven.” It didn’t occur to me that God might be
offering deeper meaning, and purpose, and wholeness, and healing – after all,
being made safe, and whole, and well lies at the root of what that word salvation
means. That kind of salvation in the
here and now was waiting for me … just on the other side of the pride that said,
“I’m fine God, thank you very much.”
In the decades since, as life has taken
its toll on my self-assurance, I’ve come to see that God might actually have
something to offer beyond what I was offering to myself. And that sense of wholeness and well-being has
come to me, ironically, in proportion to what I’ve been willing to give of
myself.
Years ago, I began a regular practice of
prayer basically because I had to. In our
ordination vows, we have to say “yes” to these questions: “Will you be diligent in the reading and study
of the holy scriptures?” And “will you
persevere in prayer both in public and in private, asking God‘s grace, both for
yourself and for others?” (BCP 532) Being
a rule-follower and a new priest, it seemed like I should make good on
those vows. I would read Morning Prayer
and one of the Scriptures appointed for the day, and that was good. Over time, and with the coming of smart
phones, I added a walk with the dog while I listened and prayed. I’d pray at other times, too, of course,
especially coming in here for a few moments of quiet when things would go
sideways.
Now fast-forward a couple of decades to
eight months ago. Among the changes that
came when Ann died was that I separated Morning Prayer from walking the dog. I started making myself a cup of coffee and sitting
in Ann’s plant room to hear Morning Prayer. That left time and space for me to offer my
own prayers while I walked the dog. It
was a good change, providing more time to pray, and that pattern has held.
In fact, it’s improved, as of about a
month ago. Something has shifted in my grieving over the past month; and, kind
of suddenly, the future seems more like something I want to live, rather than
something I have to endure. Not
coincidentally, along with that shift have come additional daily offerings of
myself. I’m now taking a walk very early
in the morning — a real walk, not the dog’s time to stop and sniff. It’s great both for exercise and for silent
reflection, to go along with Morning Prayer and my own prayers while walking
the dog. Plus, I’m being much more
intentional about what I eat and what I drink than I’ve ever been before.
Why am I telling you all this? Because this extra time in prayer and extra
attention to self-care has been some of the best stewardship I’ve ever
practiced. In a sense, it has cost me
something. I lose a couple of hours each
morning that I used to use for work. So,
yes, that means I’m getting less done. But
it also means I’m going deeper in my relationship with the One I’ve supposedly been
working for all along, and that really seems right and good. It feels like a gift offered to the One who
created me, and redeemed me, and sustains me – and who, presumably, would
prefer I stuck around a while.
And, like all true gifts, this time and
self-care is a gift to the giver, as well. That happens on two levels. Stewarding myself better improves my
well-being, and my outlook, and my day-to-day sense of hope. But the blessing also runs deeper, and here’s
where it connects to today’s reading. Offering
myself to God reminds me who I am. It
reminds me that I’m better off choosing not to be the Pharisee but the tax
collector in today’s parable – admitting that I need God‘s grace, rather than
thinking I’m healed well enough on my own.
The truth about stewardship is that God
doesn’t just want your money. God wants
your life. And that’s because God wants
to walk alongside you through it, not to grade you on your progress but to lead
you to healing waters. Following that
path means turning away from all kinds of things but particularly the pride of
self-reliance, choosing to rest in the humility of dependence instead.
None of that is new information, right? You know all this. But it can be so hard to hang onto it,
especially when our wiring and our culture turn us toward self-reliance
instead. So, how can we remember the
call? How can we remember to follow the
advice of another one of the Prayer Book’s offertory sentences, to “present
[our]selves as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God” (BCP 376;
Romans 12:1)? How do we do that?
Well, years ago, I learned from my
spiritual director a way to think differently about this part of our worship we
rarely consider, the offertory. You
know, every Sunday, we pass the plate and offer our gifts. It’s a great symbol of our call to give God a portion
of what God has given us. But with a
slight twist, passing the plate can become even more deeply sacramental. The difference comes in imagining what it is
that you’re putting in. As my spiritual
director told me, don’t just drop in some bills, or a check, or your token of
electronic giving. Instead, put your
whole self in the offering plate.
I get it: That’s a lot to ask. But, ironically, it’s also the one gift that each
of us has to offer in an equal amount. In addition, it’s the gift that God values
most – the fullness of who you are. And,
of course, as with all true gifts, the blessing flows back to the giver, too. Trust me: The more of yourself you offer, the more of
yourself God heals.
