students of jesus

Ed Cyzewski offers today's guest post in our series on the parables of Jesus. He works as a freelance writer in Columbus, OH. He is the author of Coffeehouse Theology: Reflecting on God in Everyday Life, and posts at In a Mirror Dimly, a site I check daily. He's thoughtful and intentional about his commitment to follow Jesus; his devotion to the Lord is quietly on display for us to see and imitate. He and his wife live in Columbus, OH, along with their pet rabbits, but keep the rabbit thing on the down-low because I'm pretty sure the landlord doesn't know about the bunnies.

Sometimes Jesus calls today’s heroes fools. It’s true.

Americans such as myself love stories of people who take big risks, strike it rich, and then accumulate gobs and gobs of money in the bank. Such admiration is built into the American dream. Jesus calls such people fools.

That stings.

When a young man asked Jesus to order his brother to split their family’s inheritance with him, Jesus described a man who farmed his land and produced more than he ever could have imagined, a surplus that exceeded the capacity of his barns. This unexpected bounty became a turning point in the story. The man immediately turned his thinking to greater security and wealth, setting into motion a plan to build new barns for his wealth.

I’d like to step back for a moment to look at the choices facing this man. On one hand, I can imagine saying, “He worked hard and earned his surplus, why wouldn’t he keep it? Didn’t he take risks and even some losses in previous years?” This story hits me where it hurts, telling me that an unexpected financial windfall could be the worst thing for me.

While the man in this story may have taken risks before, Jesus pointed out that he had a problem with envy and his priorities. This farmer had barns where he could have stored plenty of crops.

Jesus wasn’t condemning a savings plan or storing up for the future. The key is that this landowner reaped a surplus and immediately became fixated on preserving it.

We could also look at this story and ask where this surplus came from, and then we’ll start to glimpse a bit more of the truth behind this story. God had provided him with that surplus, and the man’s actions betrayed a heart that had lost sight of God as provider.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to forget about God, building his new barns and storing away his crops meant that he wasn’t caring for the poor around who could  have used some extra food. Even as this man’s earthly treasure overflowed, his heavenly bank account had gone into the red. Financial security had become an idol that had replaced God—the root cause behind his poor spiritual investment strategy. The extra time spent with his barn building pulled him away from worship or service to others.

When Jesus declared that this foolish man would die the very night he set all of his plans into motion, he drove home the immediacy and importance of being rich in love for God and generosity to others. In an instant his plans had collapsed and his long-term investments in better grain storage fell to pieces.
He no longer had anywhere to hide; his idols had left him destitute and any arguments about his surplus being a “blessing” from God fell flat.

We could look at this story as a lesson about finances, but it really applies to any kind of treasure. We can build social connections, public respect, and even get a stupid number on Klout that’s supposed to mean we’re hot stuff.

Whenever we rely on comfort and security rather than on God, we become spiritually bankrupt. We are pulled away from loving God and loving others. Like the man who spent his time fantasizing about future comfort and drawing up plans for larger barns, we can work long hours, fill up our days with self-indulgence, or immerse ourselves in social gatherings and entertainment. While none of these things by themselves are necessarily wrong, they can eat up our time to the point that we have nothing left for God or for those in need around us.

When we start serving our own comfort and security, we have lost sight of God and his plans for us. Investing in temporary wealth that we can’t take with us at the expense of God’s eternal investments makes someone a fool. That such a story strikes me as so radical and counter-cultural reminds me that I’m closer to that fool than I’d like.

At that time Jesus, full of joy through the Holy Spirit, said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure.” (Luke 10:21)

What kind of God celebrates when smart people are clueless and newcomers are in on the joke? In this chapter Luke tells the story of seventy men returning to Jesus with news of spectacular ministry results. Jesus danced for joy and said something absolutely astonishing: he rejoiced that the wise and the learned did not have access to the ways of God. He delighted that children had discovered the way of the Kingdom.

Although there has never been a greater teacher in the history of the world, Jesus placed a higher priority on innocence than intelligence. This passage reminds us that Jesus revealed the things of God by inviting others to join his mission and carry out his work--he rarely lectured. He taught in parables; he infuriated the religious wise guys; and he welcomed those foolish enough to simply do what he said.

How can a finite human mind grasp an infinite God? St. Augustine--although he was one of the greatest intellectuals in history--lamented it was his heart that was too small. He asked God to graciously enlarge the mansions of his heart, not the halls of his mind. Love comes before knowledge. I’m awestruck by this idea: God isn’t impressed with my wisdom or intelligence, but he is impressed with the condition of my heart. He will bend low to comfort a contrite spirit.

What if our approach to following Jesus is fueled by the world’s idea of wisdom? Have we chosen a worldly method to pursue the King of Heaven? The spirit of this age respects knowledge. It’s a given. Knowledge trumps ignorance. Knowledge is power. Knowledge is self-authenticating. We have loved knowledge since the Garden of Eden. Perhaps we have loved knowledge more than we have loved our Creator.

The western church presents a view of discipleship based upon ever-increasing knowledge, and Christianity becomes a subject to be mastered. Those who are smartest become the “best” disciples. The spirit of this age tells us knowledge is good because it is knowledge. But what if the smartest among us know nothing of love? The Holy Spirit is not impressed with how many verses we have committed to memory. He does seem to delight in us when even a few of those verses find their way into our everyday lives.

One of the great pitfalls of reading the scripture resides right inside my own head: there’s a distance between what the Spirit speaks and what I hear. I trust the Bible. It’s the revelation of God’s heart and mind. But I don’t trust me. I’m capable of missing the point, of reading my own values into the text. I’m capable of using God’s wonderful words for my own devices instead of his purposes. That makes the Bible a dangerous place to visit if I am not connected to the love of God.

Woven into the fabric of the Biblical witness is the still small voice of relationship. It warns of the dangers of knowledge. “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up” comes the whisper. Later on the voice grows: "Where there is knowledge, it will pass away.” We discover the voice coming from Paul’s prayer closet interceding on our behalf, “I pray that you . . . may have power . . . to know this love that surpasses knowledge.”

The Apostle Paul, one of the greatest minds in history, learned first-hand that knowledge can never drive us to the love of God, but the love of God can drive us to know him more.