Investing in One Another

 Sermon preached at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
www.goodshepherdfw.org
by the Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector
Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 22B), October 6, 2024

Genesis 2:18-24 ; Psalm 8 ; Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12 ; Mark 10:2-16I met my childhood best friend Travis the summer before his first grade year, my second grade year. It was Luke Skywalker who brought us together. From then on it was Star Wars at recess, Star Wars after school, Star Wars at sleepovers.

That’s how you make friends when you’re a kid, of course. You have something in common. Chances are neither person says to the other, “Let’s be friends.” It just happens.

Of course, children might well say, out loud, “Let’s be friends.” But that’s because they don’t yet know what a vulnerable proposition this is. The other person might say no. So we learn quickly not to say it. There are other ways to become friends than putting yourself out there so boldly.

When it comes to teenage romance, the avoidance of “let’s be friends” takes the form of coy flirtation, which is a skill not everybody develops. I believe the sophistication of flirting is an attempt to impress the other while maintaining some level of self-protection. If things get weird, you can always insist you didn’t mean what they thought you meant.

And so we grow into adulthood, and despite the difficulties marriage has endured in the past century, our culture still places a lot of emphasis on pairing off and reproducing. When you’re young, getting married will typically improve your tax situation. (When you’re older, not so much, but that’s a topic for another time.)

But not everybody wants to get married. Not everybody is even interested in romance or sex. So when we read in Genesis today the mythological story of the creation of Eve, don’t assume this means that God declares we must pair off and make babies. We all know from firsthand experience that this is not the case for everyone—nor does it need to be.

Likewise, when Jesus criticizes divorce, don’t assume this means that God is disappointed or angry with you if your marriage falls apart. It can be hard to get out from under that emotional baggage, especially if church folks have shamed you about it in the past. And there’s a huge gender imbalance here; over the centuries, men have routinely used this passage to keep women trapped in abusive marriages, not acknowledging that Jesus was speaking specifically to men. And if you were here last week, you’ll remember that Jesus had just told his disciples that if they’re having a hard time being good to those who are vulnerable, they might consider chopping off a hand or plucking out an eye!

Jesus’ larger concern here is that our relationships with one another matter. When we decide—with or without saying it out loud—“let’s be friends,” or lovers, or whatever … we are investing in one another. We are giving ourselves in vulnerability to someone we cannot control and whose actions we cannot predict. There’s a huge risk in this.

Years ago in a college communications class I read the book The Miracle of Dialogue by Reuel Howe, and it’s always stuck with me. The author begins his book as follows:

Every [person] is a potential adversary, even those whom we love. Only through dialogue are we saved from this enmity toward one another. Dialogue is to love, what blood is to the body. When the flow of blood stops, the body dies. When dialogue stops, love dies and resentment and hate are born. But dialogue can restore a dead relationship. Indeed, this is the miracle of dialogue: it can bring relationship into being, and it can bring into being once again a relationship that has died.[1]

In every case of divorce that I’ve ever known of, the marriage stopped working when the partners realized that they were no longer on the same side. It can be far less painful to walk away—still painful, to be sure, and sometimes with sad consequences to children and others affected by the marriage. But divorce might well be the lesser of two evils, chosen with care and wisdom.

Even so, often it is indeed possible for dialogue to bring a relationship back from the dead, as Reuel Howe writes—whether a marriage or a friendship or a work partnership. The decision to be on the same side is the decision to expend the energy to invest in one another again, and this is one way resurrection happens in God’s world.

And this is a glorious thing, isn’t it? How do humans do this? The Letter to the Hebrews quotes Psalm 8 to assert that God has made humans “but little lower than the angels.” What other creatures in the known universe share such complex, mutually dependent love with one another and can even see it rise again after death? Reuel Howe believes the difference is the ability to communicate so clearly and specifically.

Do you see how amazing you are? Your very existence? No wonder the psalmist also cries out, “I will praise God because I am fearfully and wonderfully made!”

Do you see also how amazing every other human being is? If we could only remember this each day, clearly and faithfully, nobody would ever abuse or kill another human being, and even divorce would become far less common. We would use our energy to invest in one another instead.

Look to your right. Look to your left. Look behind and in front of you. Every face you see is the face of one of God’s precious creations. On Ash Wednesday we’ll remember that we all die, but today, don’t miss noticing that we all live! We are systems—processes—works in progress—create by God so that we can learn to walk in love. We are creating ourselves, with God’s help, and with the help of one another. And we are doing so through repeated incidents of death and resurrection, on small and large scales.

Our relationships with one another matter.

I dream of the Church being a place where people really can say, out loud, “Let’s be friends.” Not just within the Church, but also to those beyond our walls. People can be difficult, God knows, and often we lack the self-awareness to see how we truly affect others. But we are also capable of incredible patience, shocking grace, deep generosity. And when we recognize that someone needs patience, grace, and generosity, we’re far more likely to stretch ourselves to give it. So we do take up other people’s crosses and walk with them.

Today we begin our 2025 pledge drive, and I want to say one thing about it very clearly: the investment we make in Good Shepherd with our money is actually tied to the investments we make in one another. If we were just a bunch of disconnected individuals, showing up once a week or once a month or twice a year for a quick spiritual hit and then payng for the show, we would see that reflected in the church budget. People wouldn’t give as much to help this place thrive.

But to the degree that we are friends in this place—vulnerably offering our lives to one another to share—we find that more money flows through Good Shepherd not only for the good of our members, but for the good of the world. Our relationships matter so much that the effect of it even shows up in black and white on spreadsheets.

Now, this may sound crude to you. But like it or not, money is one of the many tools we have for expressing love, because it accomplishes real things in this world that can benefit others tremendously.

And of course, correlation is not causation. More money doesn’t mean a healthier church, and not having enough money doesn’t make a church a loveless place! It would be blasphemous for me to suggest that. I am only observing what I have seen in this place.

Those who take the vulnerable step to care for one another, for our community, and for the world invest not only their love and care, but also their money, in whatever ways they can personally afford. We pool our resources as we can afford—and some of us even stretch our previous assumptions about how much we can afford—because we see that it will enable the Church of the Good Shepherd to keep doing what we do. We expect that the money we give will benefit not only others, but ourselves as well.

The hard line Jesus takes against divorce is shocking and difficult, but it is ultimately about depth of investment. When we invest time and effort and love and, yes, money in one another, we’re far less likely to say, “I’m going to throw this away and not worry about how much it hurts the other person.” Jesus is simply saying, don’t do that!

And I don’t think it’s coincidental that the gospel writer places Jesus’ words about children next. Children are inherently vulnerable, as yet unaware of most of the pain that they will have to endure in life. Some of that pain will be needless and avoidable, if only people would care for them more. But other kinds of pain will help them grow and learn and love. Children will fall out of trees and learn from the pain. Children will give themselves to others in trust and sometimes endure rejection, and they’ll learn from that pain, too.

We are all children in this world, forever and always, if only we will not become jaded and cynical—as long as we keep reminding ourselves that all human beings are actually on the same side, growing into the love God would have us learn.

Hello, Good Shepherd. Let’s be friends. That means taking risks to invest in one another, and sometimes it even means getting hurt and committing ourselves to the dialogue it will take to envision resurrection. But there’s no other way to learn to walk in love as Christ loves us.

Amen.