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Sermon by: The Rev. Rebecca Tankersley Episcopal Church of the Transfiguration | Dallas, Texas September 23, 2018 Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Proper 20 |
The World Versus God
Texts:
“Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God?”
In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
_______________________
Good morning.
We’ve been reading James, which feels like climbing a steep mountain. We’ve ascended rapidly through a series of switchbacks. Consider James’ dichotomies so far: doers of the word versus hearers; the poor (yet rich in faith) versus the wealthy (whose disregard for the poor reveals a lack of faith); words of blessing versus cursing (all coming from the same mouth). Today, we make our final push toward the summit from which, next week, we’ll have a magnificent view of Christian community. We’ve arrived at James’ central theological claim and, true to form, James hits hard. And of course, I’ve brought a book. It’s called You Are Mine.
Punch-in-ello was a Wemmick, carved of wood by Eli, the Wemmick-maker. Like many Wemmicks, he sometimes did silly things. Like the time he began collecting boxes and balls.
See a Wemmick named Tuck bought a box. It was new and colorful, and he proudly showed it off. Punch-in-ello saw Tuck’s box and longed for one of his own.
Nip, another Wemmick, said, “My box is just as good as yours.” It wasn’t new, but it was bigger. So Tuck bought a ball to have more than Nip. Nip bought two balls.
It got ugly. Tuck bought a box; Nip a ball; Tuck bought a ball; Nip a box.
Ball. Box. Tuck. Nip.
Box. Ball. Nip. Tuck.
Soon all the Wemmicks joined in: the butcher, the baker, the cabinetmaker: everyone wanted to have the most boxes and balls.
Punch-in-ello bought a box, but it wasn’t enough. He sold his books for a ball. He started working nights, sold his home, and bought more boxes and balls. When he could rest, he slept on the ground under his toys. As he drifted off, people walking said “Wow, he must be a good Wemmick.” He liked hearing that.
The mayor started the stampede. “I’m climbing Wemmick’s Peak where I’ll stack my boxes and balls and be the highest with the most! What a scene! All the Wemmicks blindly racing to the top, arms piled high with boxes and balls, bumping, pushing, falling.
Under the weight of his toys, Punch-in-ello struggled to keep up and wandered off the trail. Suddenly, he tripped and fell, dropping everything, and looked up to see he was in Eli’s workshop. Embarrassed, he remained faced down on the floor, until the woodcarver called him by name.
“Punchinello, you’ve been carrying a big load … Do you play with all this?”
“No.”
“Do you like boxes and balls?”
“I like how they make me feel important.”
Eli lifted the Wemmick and took him to the window, showing him the other Wemmicks. “Are they happy? Important? Did I made Wemmicks to act like that?”
“No,” Punchinello admitted.
“You are important not because of what you have, but because of who you are. You are mine.”