Sermon by Pastor Mike Buttonnn

Giving as an Act of Worship
Text: Psalm 116

^NRSPsalm 116

¹I love the LORD, who has |heard my voice,
and listened to mysupplication,
²for the LORD has given ear to me
whenever I called.
³The cords of death entangled me; the anguish of the gravecame upon me;
I came to grief and sorrow.
⁴Then I called upon the name of the LORD:
"O LORD, I pray you, save my life."
⁵Gracious is the LORD and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
⁶The LORD watches over the innocent;
I was brought low, and God saved me.
⁷Turn again to your rest, O my soul.
for the LORD has dealt well with you.
⁸For you have rescued my life from death,
my eyes from tears, and my feet from stumbling;
⁹I will walk in the presence of the LORD
in the land of the living.
¹⁰I believed, even when I said,
"I am greatly afflicted."
¹¹In my distress I said,
"No one can be trusted."
¹²How shall I repay the LORD
for all the good things God has done for me?
¹³I will lift the cup of salvation
and call on the name of the LORD.
¹⁴I will fulfill my vows to the LORD
in the presence of all God's people.
¹⁵Precious in your sight, O LORD,
is the death of your servants.
¹⁶O LORD, truly I am your servant;
I am your servant, the child of your handmaid; you have freed me from my             bonds.
¹⁷I will offer you the sacrifice of thanksgiving
and call upon the name of the LORD.
¹⁸I will fulfill my vowsto the LORD
in the presence of all God's people,
¹⁹in the courts of the LORD's house,
in the midst of you, O Jerusalem.Hallelujah!

 

Glory be to the Father and to the + Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and shall be forever.  Amen.

Mary was 14 and Tommy was 12 the summer we visited our friends Curt and Rene Schafer, which also happened to be the very week that Steven Spielberg’s “Saving Private Ryan” was first released. From the previews we already knew that the movie would be intense and very realistic, which was enough for Carolyn and Rene to say, “No thanks.” But Tommy and Mary really wanted to go, so Curt and I, his son Grant, who was 15, and our two kids headed to the multiplex. We white-knuckled our way through the opening invasion scenes, but by the close of the movie, it wasn’t the kids who were shook up; it was me. As the movie ended and they began to roll the credits, I was sobbing and the kids were looking at me with these appalled expressions on their faces, like, “Dad!”

I’m just an emotional guy, okay? But whatever emotional temperature you run at, it would be hard not to choke up at that last scene in “Saving Private Ryan.” As the movie closes, we see Private Ryan, now an old man, returning with his wife and children and grandchildren to the American cemetery in Normandy. And as he visits the graves of the men who saved his life, Ryan turns to his wife and with tears in his eyes, his voice breaking, says, “Tell me I’ve led a good life… Tell me I’m a good man.”

And that’s when I lost it. After all that was sacrificed for him to be standing there, after all the life lost for him to be spared, he wants to know that he’s led a life worthy of the price that’s been paid. He needs to hear that his life has honored the sacrifice made on his behalf. Of course, it’s not like anybody is asking him to account for his life. It’s not like he does have to prove to some judge and jury that his life has met the state minimum standards. But because he knows what’s been given for him, because he knows the suffering that’s been born for his sake, he wants to give back, he wants to have lived the kind of life that does justice to the life poured out for him.

That’s powerful on many different levels, not the least on the spiritual plane. I don’t know if Steven Spielberg was trying to make a religious statement, but it’s hard not to make the connection between Private Ryan’s moment of truth and our own awareness of God’s grace in our lives. I wasn’t part of the D-Day invasion. I never had a squad of men come snatch me from the jaws of death to spare my mother the loss of another son. Even so, my life has been bought with a price. My life has been spared through the blood of the Lamb. My life has cost God the death of his only begotten Son, and by God, I don’t want that sacrifice to be in vain. It’s not like God is looking over my shoulder and whispering threats in my ear: “You better measure up. You better get on the stick. You better do better.” But as every day I become more and more conscious of what God has done for me in the sacrifice of Jesus, I want to do better. I want to grow stronger. I want to give more.

The psalm we read a little while ago, Psalm 116, is, you know, the basis for one of the songs we traditionally sing as we receive the morning offering.

What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits to me? I will offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving and will call on the name of the Lord. I will take the cup of salvation and will call on the name of the Lord. I will pay my vows to the Lord now in the presence of all his people, in the courts of the Lord’s house, in the midst of you, O Jerusalem. (Lutheran Book of Worship, 1978)

When you look at the whole psalm, it’s clear that the thanksgiving being offered has come as the result of some great trial. The psalmist has passed through a terrible crisis, possibly a life-threatening illness: “The cords of death entangled me, the grip of the grave took hold of me.” With his life in the balance, the psalmist called on the name of the Lord, and when all flesh had failed, when there was absolutely “no one … to be trusted,” God answered: “Gracious is the Lord and righteous, our God is full of compassion.” And now restored to health, the psalmist asks what may well be the single most important question any believer can ever put to him or herself: “What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits to me?”

I suspect this question is more rhetorical than existential. Already the psalmist knows that there is no repaying God. There is no wiping the slate clean with God. Clearly, we can never even the score or catch up with God’s grace. But still, the psalmist sets his face toward the Temple in Jerusalem to offer the sacrifice of thanksgiving, to take the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord. The psalmist is not going to the courts of the Lord’s house just to fulfill a legal obligation. This is not about pitching in a few shekels because the Temple needs a new roof or because the priests haven’t had a pay raise. This is about God’s grace. This is about one heart’s response to the one God who rescues life from death, eyes from tears, and feet from stumbling. This is not about giving to appease, satisfy, or buy off God, but to praise God in an act of worship that celebrates and rejoices in the wonder of God’s boundless mercy. This is the heart and soul of what we call Christian stewardship.

In the last few years the word stewardship has gotten a kind of makeover, thanks in large measure to the environmental movement. Environmentally, we are all stewards, since the earth is a gift which is entrusted to us to keep and till. Spiritually, too, all we have, all we are, and all we ever hope to be is God’s gift for us to use to God’s glory and the well-being of our neighbor. Unfortunately, in the church we’ve often narrowed the meaning of stewardship to money management, and when we think money, we typically think obligation, debt, legal tender. In that legalistic frame of reference, stewardship becomes a matter of the law, something we have to do, another responsibility we have to discharge if we are to be good Christians. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Stewardship is what we do with our lives, including our money, as each day we realize how wondrously we are loved, how mightily we are protected, how tenderly we are nurtured and cared for. Stewardship is how we live knowing that our lives have been bought with a price, that our lives have been spared by the blood of the Lamb, that our lives have cost God the death of his only begotten Son. Stewardship is then not something we have to do; it’s something we want to do “for all his benefits to me.”

Many of you, I know, have been Lutheran all your lives. Many of you come from Lutheran families that trace their Lutheran roots all the way back to the old country. But many Lutherans, I’ve come to realize, don’t yet know that the Lutheran church is itself a great experiment. And the experiment is simply this: Can a church survive without threat and intimidation? Will people support a church without having the seat of their pants regularly kicked and their arms consistently twisted? Don’t you have to make people feel at least a little guilty? Don’t you have to lean on people for them to let loose of their pocketbooks? Is grace alone really sufficient for people to give their time, talent, and treasure to the cause of Christ’s church on earth?

Every Sunday we gather is a kind of spiritual laboratory to test those convictions, and for the last 500 years or so the conclusions have been the same: Yes, grace is sufficient. Yes, the gospel is enough. And yes, with the ears to hear and the eyes to see, God’s love is what makes stewards of us all.

In the Name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen