All Saints Sunday, Year C | Luke 6:20-31
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
November 6, 2022
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
To watch the full service, please visit this page.
Our celebration of All Saints’ Sunday reminds us that Advent is only a few weeks away, which means we’re rapidly approaching the end of this year’s journey through Luke’s Gospel. Today’s text gives us an opportunity to return to a passage we discussed all the way back in Epiphany: the Sermon on the Plain.[1] The Sermon on the Plain appears to be Luke’s version of the more famous Sermon on the Mount from Matthew. It also reveals one of the major differences between the two Gospels: Matthew’s more internal or contemplative focus, where he writes “blessed are the poor in spirit,” versus Luke’s very open emphasis on social justice and the need to change our world here and now: “blessed are the poor.” Full stop. We talked about how Jesus’ words here aren’t meant to suggest the moral standing or honorability of either rich or poor. They’re more about upending our preconceptions about “heaven.”
Our society imagines God’s Kingdom as a place of indulgence and excess, a dream world where everyone can do anything they want and can have everything they want at any moment that they want. But that looks far more like the American Dream than God’s Reign, where it appears that everyone will have “enough”—not too much, and not too little. For those used to nothing, having sufficient resources is paradise, while for those of us used to excess, having “only” what we actually need might just feel like Hell.
We had some great discussions about those ideas at our Thursday noon service this week. I tried to explain how under the Reign of the Heavens, we all appear to participate in a sharing economy: those who have too much of something bring their extra for those who don’t have enough, and those who don’t have enough are free to openly express their need without the expectation or experience of being judged. Working together, everyone is able to support and help one another, and God’s love and provision flow openly throughout the community.
I brought up an example from my own backyard. Last year I gathered 20 gallons of pecans—good ones—from our single tree. As of Thursday, 15 of those were still sitting in a closet, sorted but unshelled. Under ancient Christian practice as recorded in Acts, I would bring all the excess to the local Church congregation, and anyone who had a need or use for some would be free to take them. The same thing would apply to a garden patch—too much zucchini or cabbage? Bring it in—maybe another person can use it, if not for themselves, then to help feed others they might know who need help. Not enough eggs for baking? Share that need, and maybe some will come knocking on your door. Overestimate the number of candles you needed to make? Spread the light around! In God’s Kingdom, all of us are in it together: if anyone is blessed with excess, all are able to enjoy the bounty and celebrate in thanks to God; if anyone is suffering, all take a share in that suffering, thus alleviating any one individual’s burden.
Someone then asked, “So how does that differ from Socialism?” That stumped me for a few moments, because it’s a really good question. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone ask it, and I’m not sure I’ve ever actually thought about it. But they’re right: Socialism and the Kingdom of Heaven, especially as presented in Luke’s writings, do look a lot alike. I think the essential difference relates to the nature of God’s Reign versus that of Empire. Empire forces others to conform—everyone must participate. But no matter how hard we continue to attempt to do so, we know it’s impossible to legislate Heaven into existence. In fact, compelled involvement immediately undermines any expression of Heaven’s nature, whether that might be on earth or elsewhere. God’s Kingdom, on the other hand, is entirely voluntary and peaceable. We who join in choose to do so out of love and joy, not obligation or coercion, because we can envision the reality of Christ’s teaching and promise. And by exposing that reality among ourselves and in our own lives, hope rises that at some point everyone will choose to join in.
However, today and 1st Century Greco-Roman society don’t look exactly alike, so we need to get a little creative in our application of Luke and Jesus’ ideals. We conduct trade in terms of currency—largely in digital form—rather than physical bartering, like many of Jesus’ listeners would have. When wealth is measured in how many chickens or goats you have at any one moment, it isn’t as difficult to recognize when you can afford to give something to a neighbor. But when we can’t see what we have—when wealth is more tied to a mental concept than a physical reality—it’s genuinely difficult to comprehend whether or not we have enough. So if the world of finances is too overwhelming, how about we take our first steps by returning to the idea of physical wealth?
Take my pecans: both figuratively and literally. Someone at Thursday’s service suggested taking them to the El Cauldito Soup Kitchen over at the Community of Hope, a thought that had never crossed my mind. Why would a busy organization want hundreds and hundreds of unshelled pecans? So later I called and found out that yes, they would, and I took over roughly 10 gallons. Then I found a smaller bucket and, from what remained, scooped up what I thought I might actually use over the next few months. The rest—along with some plastic bags—will be in the Gathering Space after the service, free for the taking.
One of the cool things about that whole experience is that when you think about it, there’s no reason for me to take any pride in what happened: it wasn’t just me that supplied all those nuts to El Cauldito. Dropping off the bags might have been the most obvious part, but it was a variety of people who made it possible. If a group of St. Andrew’s parishioners hadn’t started the soup kitchen several decades ago, there might not have been an organization that could find a use for the nuts. If no one had known about or mentioned the possible need, I would never have thought to act. And if someone hadn’t been willing to stick their neck out and ask a challenging question in the first place, I might never have mentioned the pecans in the first place. I may have delivered the pecans, but the whole of the gifting process came from God working through our community. It took all of us coming and praying and sharing and being vulnerable and working together.
And maybe that’s what the hope of Heaven is really all about. We’ve been conditioned to imagine a world of self-indulgence along with the magical fulfillment of each and every personal desire. But what if the Kingdom Jesus offers is completely different than what we’ve been led to expect? What if God’s Reign is, at its core, the promise of people willing to support one another, the opportunity for a diverse group of individuals to become something greater through unity, a community freely joining to share bounty and relieve burdens, a revelation of our agape God not in spite of the complexities of life and relationships but through them. What if the Hope we long for comes not just for us or on our behalf but instead reveals itself among us and through us? What if we—all saints—working together in love, could not only express but actually be God’s Kingdom in our own day?
[1] http://www.slouchingdog.com/sermons/year-c-february-13-2022-epiphany06