Just last week in the Gospel we met Zacchaeus, who was a rich man, and who, in the course of only ten verses in scripture determined to give half of what he had to the poor. Zacchaeus would have been a great spokesman for Commitment Sunday. We’d met Zacchaeus before, of course, but we often forget about his generosity.
You know, I make up the preaching schedule here; and I’ve been wondering why I assigned to Mother Johnson the wonderful story of Zacchaeus, and signed myself up for the story of the bride for seven brothers, all of whom die, leaving her a childless widow. She doesn’t seem like just the right messenger on Commitment Sunday, does she?
Zacchaeus, on the other hand, who had done well in his career as a tax collector, put me in mind of a number. That number is 80,000. 80,000 is the number of hours that you are likely to work in your career. It’s 40 hours per week, times 50 weeks per year, for 40 years. It’s a lot. But what else were you going to do with your time?
The guys behind a movement called “Effective Altruism” want us to think carefully about these 80,000 hours of our lives, because they think we can change the world if we use that time well. And I think they are right to encourage us to do so. Mostly, these guys are trying to encourage young adults to consider carefully how they could steer their way into a “high-impact career,” like something in government, or non-profit work, or medicine, sciences or technology. But also, they are trying to encourage people who have plenty to give a portion of their money away. And at the bottom of the list of “key categories of impactful careers” that these guys provide (among which the clergy are not listed, I’m sorry to say), at the bottom of that list there is a last bullet-point that says “Earning To Give.”
Follow that link, and you will find yourself on the receiving end of advice that suggests that maybe you should be a banker or a consultant and simply maximize your earning potential because the more you make, the more you can give. After all, you’re going to be working for at least 80,000 hours. The beauty of all this is that it’s not complicated: as a banker or a consultant, if you make more money, you can give more money away! Write this date down, because never before have I suggested from the pulpit (or anywhere else that I can think of) that it might be a good idea to be a consultant. And it might not happen again.
But if you are earning in order to give… well, it turns out that being a consultant, or even a banker, can be a very good thing indeed! So, if you are a banker or a consultant, or in some other high-earning profession, write that phrase down and commit it to memory. You had the earning part down, it’s the giving part we want you to add to your memory: earning to give, earning to give, earning to give. (I’m helping you remember it now!)
Unsurprisingly, the Effective Altruism folks suggest that a good benchmark of giving is 10% of your earnings. It’s like they read that somewhere. I wonder where? It’s less than Zacchaeus gave, but you have to start somewhere!
I don’t have to reach back to last week’s gospel reading to enlist a rich man for my preaching today. We actually encountered a rich man in the scriptures assigned to be read today, but you may have forgotten that he was a rich man: his name was Job. At first glance, Job would not appear to do very well at the auditions for Commitment Sunday, either. Everything he has was taken from him: his wealth, his family, and his health.
Job’s ruin is so thorough and so awful because he must serve as the stand-in for every tragedy, every victim, every failure, every loss. And anyone who suffers ought to be able to see and hear themselves in Job. So miserable is Job that he curses the day he was born: “Why did I not die at birth?” he complains in a grotesque lament. Every mother of a Ukrainian or Russian soldier who has been killed in a senseless war should be able to find her lament echoed by Job. Everyone who has lost everything to a hurricane, or wildfire; everyone whose child has died before they have should recognize the depth of Job’s misery. Everyone whose own life is shaped by pain, injury, or illness, should find a kindred-sufferer in Job.
It is because we actually do live in Job’s world of suffering that what we do with our 80,000 hours of work matters. More precisely, it’s because some of us live right in the center of Job’s world of suffering, and some of us live far removed from it, much closer to beautiful things.
Here at Saint Mark’s, we try to position ourselves at the crossroads of suffering and beauty, because we believe this is where God has called us to be, and this is where God’s people need us to be. We delight in the beauty we receive from God’s hands, and we also recognize the suffering that is a significant part of life.
At the crossroads of suffering and beauty we also may find Job. And what does Job do as he stands there, but open up his voice and sing? The very same voice that had lamented, “Let the day perish in which I was born,” has another song to sing. This song is one of Job’s greatest gifts, and chances are you already know it. At the crossroads of suffering and beauty, Job stood still and sang: “I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth!”
Thanks to Handel, Job sounds, improbably, like a soprano. But the register of the voice aside, it’s his certainty of faith, at the crossroads of suffering and beauty, that we borrow from Job, to sing as our own song too. And it’s the confidence of this song that identifies Saint Mark’s as a place, a community, an institution worthy of your gift, too. I know that my redeemer liveth!
Our ministry here - worshiping God and serving God’s people - is carried out at the crossroads of suffering and beauty, with the surest faith that Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer, is alive among us! Since his own Cross was also set up at the crossroads of suffering and beauty we believe that Jesus can be found there whenever we look for him. We know that our redeemer lives!
In your 80,000 hours of work - and all the hours of your life, too - you will come past these crossroads more than once, most likely. And when you get to the crossroads of suffering and beauty, you may not even know you are at an intersection, you may be caught so deeply in the ruts of the path of suffering that you can hardly see beauty. But such a moment of pain and sorrow is precisely when you deserve to hear someone singing with sure confidence: “I know that my redeemer liveth!”
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To be honest with you, as I stand here this morning, I’m not sure I can say with certainty who this sermon is about. I don’t know for sure if it’s about Zacchaeus or about Job. I don’t know for sure if it’s about the guys at Effective Altruism, or if maybe it’s about anyone who is going to work for 80,000 hours in the course of their lifetime. Maybe it’s a sermon about earning to give. But maybe it’s a sermon about the surety of faith. Or, maybe it’s a sermon about the complexity of life at the crossroads of suffering and beauty.
Mostly, I think a preacher should know what a sermon is about; things go wrong when you don’t. But whatever this sermon is about, it is about any soul that has known suffering , uncertainty, fear, and pain, but which has also longed for beauty. And it is about the sound of that voice, standing at the crossroads of suffering and beauty, and singing: I know that my redeemer liveth!
Can you hear that voice - from a distance, or up close? More importantly, can you take up that song yourself?
Does it matter to you, as you toil away at your 80,000 hours of work, which may or may not be in a high-impact career? Does it speak to you when you consider the pain and the loss that you have known in your life? Does it give you hope, when you hear it, or repeat it yourself? I know that my redeemer liveth! I know, I know, I know… that my redeemer liveth!
And does it make you wonder if, perhaps, the best thing you can do with part of what you’ve been given, part of what you’ve earned, is to give it away?
I know that’s what it does for me.
And I know that my redeemer liveth!
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
6 November 2022
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
The Complaint of Job, by William Blake