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Which of has not at some time felt that the Christian life was a bit too much like hard work? So often God, speaking through his church or Scripture such as we have read this morning, seems to want us to give up the things we like in everyday life in favour of something far off and supernatural that we cannot see or touch.
St Paul says (or whoever wrote Hebrews – I should acknowledge that Scholars do not all agree) St Paul says "faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see". Throughout much of Paul's writings and the rest of the New Testament we read again and again the idea, radical at the time, that faith is more important than what you do; and in Hebrews, written for an orthodox Jewish audience who would have set a lot of store by history, he recites example after example of the great men and women of Jewish history who lived by faith, hoping for something beyond their everyday life, something that did not come to fruition until long after they had died. And Paul recites all their deeds not to say "how sad they never lived to see the day" but "This is what the ancients were commended for".
In a similar vein Jesus himself says "Sell your possessions and give to the poor" - "Provide… for yourselves… treasure in heaven". Again, it sounds like we're being told to live in hope of something intangible, instead of enjoying the things we can see and touch here and now.
This uncomfortable message is in almost every book of the Bible. It's no wonder that when atheists mock the Christian life they say it's all about pie in the sky when you die. I can't buy anything with treasure in heaven. I want food, clothes, a roof over my head, the company of my friends and family: some mysterious kingdom beyond the grave that I can't see or touch is no substitute. What one wants to know is where does our own personal contentment fit into all this demanding business of storing up treasure in heaven and being certain of what we do not see?
Well, the first thing to say, and the thing we should never forget, is that however arduous the Christian life may appear, we are God's children and God loves us. "God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish" – yes, this is of prime importance; but there's more to it than that. God loves us in the small ways as well as the big ways. "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?" Jesus asks in the Sermon on the Mount. "If you … know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!".
At the end of John's Gospel the disconsolate disciples have gone fishing on lake Galilee and catch nothing. When they come back they see Jesus and he tells them where to cast their nets and they come up with a full net. And then when they come up on shore there is a fire burning with some bread and fish toasting and the first thing Jesus says to them is "Come and have breakfast". This is God incarnate, the saviour of the world, who just the week before died on a cross for the sins of us all - and he's cooking them breakfast. Honest comfort and contentment is not a wicked indulgence: it is the fulfilment of God's purpose.
In a sense this is the only answer we need. But it is also an answer to many other questions. Permit me, then to offer three specific ideas about how the arduous Christian life of our Bible readings is not about pie in the sky when we die, but about good things for us here today in Fulbourn. This Christian life offers a way to be more grown up, less worried, and more focussed on what's really valuable.
More grown up. A thing one notices about small babies is, they know for certain they are the centre of the universe. Their mothers have no purpose but to provide food and warmth – in fact, psychologists suggest that up to a certain age the baby doesn't distinguish between itself and its mother at all. Then as we grow up we get things in perspective. We realise our mothers have other people to attend to, and have wishes of their own. We learn to share with brothers and sisters. At a certain age we realise other people are people like us, with feelings, which we learn to consider.
Now, this realisation, which most of us had not long after we learned to walk, is an example of what St Paul talks about: being sure of what we cannot see. A wasp sting would hurt the person sitting next to you just as much as it would you: and you know this, even though the only time you actually feel pain is when the wasp stings you. Part of growing up is learning that one is not the centre of the universe: other people's pain and happiness is just as really as mine. And the Christian life encourages us to take the obvious next step: to realise that, not only am I not the centre of the universe, but someone else is. One way to think of the story of a human life is of a journey from thinking I am the centre of the universe, to knowing that God is. It is a point in favour of the Christian life that it forces us to have a less childish view of our place in the scheme of things – in short, to carry on growing up.
Worry Less. Again, this is a recurring theme in Scripture. Just before the passage from the Gospel we heard this morning, in verse 25, Jesus says "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" Now worry's a funny thing. If you see your daughter about to be run over by a car you don't worry, you push her out of the way. Likewise, it seems possible that your daughter's grandchildren will grow up in an overcrowded world rife with war and drought – but one doesn't worry about that, because it's too far off. On the other hand if your daughter is out late on Saturday night, that may be the point at which you worry. It's in the middle ground where worry lies. Will I pass my exam? That I can worry about. Shall I study right this minute or go out and lie in the sun? That's not a worry, it's a decision.
Now what do our Bible readings say? On one hand they tell us to keep our eyes on the far distance, like Abraham - or as St Paul says in Philippians "Forgetting what is behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on towards the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenwards". On the other hand they tell us to concentrate on what's happening right now, as Jesus says "keep your lamps burning... be ready". This idea comes up quite often in the Bible: our job is to keep the ultimate goal, God and salvation, clear, and then just do the right thing here and now. The middle distance, the parts of our lives we worry about but can't affect – we leave them in the hands of the Lord. It is another merit of the way of life these challenging Scriptures recommend, that the more we live it the less we worry.
Focus on what makes us happy. It's a truism, but none the less true, that nobody on his deathbed ever regretted not spending enough time in the office. When Jesus tells us to provide purses for ourselves that will never wear out, I don't think he's saying - in the simplistic caricature - "suffer now and have a nice time when you die and go to heaven". He's not telling us to buy future contentment with present suffering. If anything his message is the opposite of this kind of caution. What he's saying is, don't postpone real happiness. The things that really make us happy, God's love, our friends and families and the pleasure of being creative and making ourselves useful to others: grab them right now.
And there are two reasons to do this. The first is that God wants good things for us. If you get to the beach on a hot day, it would be a waste not to get straight into the sea – unpack later. The simple, lasting pleasures are so good it's a shame to wait. But perhaps more important, if one does postpone them they grow harder to enjoy. "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" is not theology so much as practical psychology. The more we concentrate our emotions on things that don't make us happy, the more our ability to enjoy the things that do make us happy withers away.
Now, I know that selling all one has and giving to the poor has disadvantages - and I don't like them. But please don't think I'm commending this doctrine of renunciation lightly. I used to be a merchant banker, but after I was baptised I left my job and gave up a guaranteed bonus which, were I indelicate enough to mention the amount, would make your eyes water. And one of the reasons I left is that when I worked in banking I quite often met millionaires, and they were horrifyingly unhappy. It was as though they'd thought "if I get a new sportscar I'll be happy", and then they got a sportscar and, surprise surprise, they were still unhappy so they thought, "what I really need is a helicopter". And by the time they had five cars and a helicopter and a yacht and a jet, they were still unhappy, but now they were so far down the path of trying to make themselves happy by buying things that they didn't know how to get back to the crossroads and start again trying to find happiness in God, their friends and family, the beauty of creation and kindness to others.
One piece of advice I take from this passage of the Gospel is, live a fulfilling simple and immediate life now, lest we lose the ability to live it later. This seems to me to be yet a third merit of the Christian life commended by our awkward Bible readings this morning.
Now it goes without saying that the main advantage of this life is that of being with God day by day on earth and for eternity hereafter. To that extent it is about pie in the sky when we die – and I want some of that pie. But the scriptures we've read today are not just about the hereafter. It's not about suffering now to be happy in the future. We don't shirk suffering when it comes our way. But the Christian life is not about pointless misery. As Jesus says in John 10 "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full".