The economy, inflation, spending money that isn’t there—got you worried?  Surviving your retirement?  Healthcare, sickness—concerned about these?  Conflict and horrendous crimes, at home and abroad, terror attacks, urban chaos, drug abuse.  Corruption and the abuse of power?  Maybe none of this keeps you up at night.  I sleep alright, most nights.  Even if you’re not all that concerned about any of the above, you probably know people who are, even very much so, like it’s all they seem to talk about.  You probably try to avoid those conversations, which is probably wise.

And we know it doesn’t really take much for us to get concerned, too: an injury, a new diagnosis, loss of a job, an unexpected big expense, a death in the family . . . the next round of elections.  We can always find something about which to worry and fret.  My mom was good at that.  I never quite understood that about her.  Not that I’m such a don’t-worry-be-happy kind of guy.  Like my parents before me, there were times years ago when I didn’t quite know how I was going to pay for food that week, and I was just about out of oatmeal.  Ever have to leave everything at the checkout because your card was declined?  If you’ve been to the store lately, you might still worry about how you’re going to pay for this week’s groceries, and it’s not like it’s all Doritos, ice cream, and Diet Dr. Pepper in that cart.  If ever there was a good time to swear off eggs and butter.  And beef.  And chicken.  And fruit.

So, when Jesus, knowing that the people with whom he was speaking were well acquainted with lack and shortages in ways you and I for the most part have never experienced, when he says to them, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom” (12:32), how were they supposed to hear that?  And how are we supposed to hear it?  We pray, Thy kingdom come.  Soon, already.  I mean, can we have it, now?  Let us be filled, now.  Lack, deprivation—these wear us down, wear us out.

The kingdom.  What is it?  Where is it?  The kingdom is where God’s will is done.  The kingdom is that way of life that reflects the full goodness of God’s will, God’s way of life for us.  Scripture describes that way, that kingdom, in many places: just, kind, merciful, peaceable, concerned for neighbor, for righteousness, for truth.  Some in the church feel called to be activists; all in the church are called to be advocates.  The kingdom is not a place, on this earth; kingdom living is a way to a place with God.  The kingdom has a king, and the king’s rule is evident in all who are in the kingdom, reflected by all who are of the kingdom.  God wants to give this kingdom to us; He wants to have us in that kingdom.  Our first response shouldn’t be well of course He does why wouldn’t He.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.”  How are we supposed to hear Christ’s words?  First of all, as a call to faith.  Faith is not the negation of fear.  Fear is no betrayal of faith.  God knows there’s enough to make us afraid, in this life.  Resolve, then, in Christ, to make fear our call to courage; the Spirit is with us.  Faith is for courage.  Courage doesn’t sit, paralyzed, waiting for the worst; courage makes the most of what has been given under present circumstances.  We can be afraid and still be people of faith.  Job was.  We hear this combination often in the psalms.  Faith is the life-raft on the churning sea of fear; we can be nauseous, retching over the side, yet we are safe.  Safe does not mean disaster will never happen.  Around here, with the Harvey high-water marks even today still evident, I don’t need to tell anybody that.  Safe means disaster is not the end of the story, is not the sum of the story: you’re born, you live, you die is not the story we’re living, here.  Born with difficulty into difficulty, we are reborn for glory.  We are reborn to know the grace of God in fuller measure, to witness it and to be witnesses to God’s grace.  Rebirth does not eliminate difficulty; rebirth gives us a new, true way through difficulty.

When hard times come along, as they will and must in this life, let’s not be too quick to conclude that this is the wrathful judgment of God upon our wicked, stubborn, impenitent hearts, as if He’ll just scrape us off the face of the earth and flick us on the dung heap of fragrant failure.  Not that we ever stop to think much about God’s wrath.  What’s He so angry about, anyway?  Now, let me be clear—I do believe God chastises His people: as we get slack, dull, inattentive, as our hearts begin to wander, He will remind us of the important things.  He has done, with me, many times.  He can have what feels like a hard way of getting our attention, but when He gets it, He gets it: and we begin to get it, too, again.  Everything is to redirect us once again toward God who calls and claims us; to remind us of who it is waiting for us at the end of this journey, and who it is accompanying us all the way there.

There are those difficulties into which we get ourselves (out of which God will always lead us, as we allow Him).  There are the difficulties that spring up because we are people walking by faith in a fallen world.  In any and all difficulty, Jesus calls us to keep one thing clearly in view: this life is preparation for the next.  Fullness of the kingdom is what we shall have after this life.  We will not have that fullness here in this life; we only begin to perceive it and then exhibit it as best we can, as we remain conscientious that we are called to be exhibitors of the kingdom.  Faith is the way to the kingdom, which it pleases the Father, our Father, to give to us.  “I go to prepare a place for you,” Jesus tells us (Jn 14:2).

When we keep clearly in view the promise of the kingdom awaiting us, when we hold this promise close in our hearts, we are enabled to ride out the storms in confidence and hope.  It may be that we shall ride the storm on into the next life; we may ride it out here, deposited at last amid the mud and splintered lumber, to survey the devastation and rebuild once more.  God shall supply all our need.  You’ve weathered storms; I have weathered storms.  And it may even be that we feel, regarding one or maybe two instances we’re not going to talk about today, or ever, that God has sort of let us down for no good reason.

Yet we know in our hurt hearts, as the Spirit counsels with us, that it just isn’t so.  God tends our wounds, in this life, beloved.  It is not God who disappoints, just the disobedience of the world: the ignorant, willful, foolish disobedience all around us, and even still within.  God is a God of healing and has made us to heal.  Here, we cry, and our wounds weep.  There, He will wipe away every tear, and we shall be perfectly, finally, fully healed, forever.  If it sounds just too good to be true, remember, we walk by faith and not by sight.  Always faith.

We want to put love right at the top of what we do here, how we live, and it is good to do so.  Let’s also be mindful, though, that there are a few words that occur more often in the New Testament even than that supreme word love.  Love occurs some two hundred thirty times in the New Testament.  Faith occurs twice as many times.  Well, I won’t say we can therefore conclude that faith is twice as important as love, but I will suggest that God wants us to be thinking about faith at least as much as love.  The greatest of these is love?  Only where there is, also, faith.

If we know all this, how then shall we live?  Jesus tells us, shows us: “Sell your possessions and give to the poor.  Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (12:33-34).  Jesus speaks about compassion, mercy, and holiness with anyone who will listen.  Compassion is not genuine and cannot be until it is first holy.  Holiness has no true holiness if it has no mercy.  Mercy does not excuse; mercy forgives and calls to holiness.  Compassion does not make a virtue out of vice but forgives and calls to holiness.  God’s love is not soft, beloved.  God’s way is to give, generously—even to those we may not believe deserve it!  Prodigals, all.  God gives for a higher purpose.

There is need, urgent need, all around us: not material want only.  Who is hurting, in your circle?  Who is lonely?  Who is torn?  Who is living as if there were no God, no judgment, and no grace?  While we cannot fill all the need—only God can—we can by our choices and prioritizing, take God into our living and thereby put God’s life into the field of vision of those around us.  We can share God with others.  What is the pearl of rare price?  God, salvation, Christ, a life of faith—worth everything, each sacrifice, inconvenience, challenge, difficulty . . . even each sorrow.  Jesus lived as we live, knowing joy, and sorrow, offering grace to all who would receive it.  Might we, also, try the same way?  Call them all to God.  Let’s call everyone around us to God, into that lifegiving relationship in Christ by the Word through the Spirit.  It matters, what we choose to pursue in this life.  We pursue what we prioritize.  We can pursue what cannot last, all that ends up ultimately in the dump; we can pursue what is eternal and eternally worthy.  The big houses become too much for us; we become unable to drive the cars, the trucks; inflation and the economy make all our wealth uncertain at best: even as it grows it loses value.  One extended power outage can ruin all we’ve stored up for ourselves in fridge and freezers.

My treasure, beloved, is not in my refrigerator.  And believe me, I like what’s in my fridge, very much.  I look forward to opening my fridge, often.  My treasure is not in my bank balance—thank God!  Much as I love you all and care for your welfare deeply, and that of my wife and children—my treasure of treasures is not yet there, either.  My treasure is not in this world or the things of this world, beautiful and terrible, sorrowful and blessed.  Jesus calls each of us to consider, carefully, decisively, what we treasure.  Our heart will always be with our treasure; thus, our treasure will always govern our heart.