Faith Works 10-3-20

Faith Works 10-3-20

Jeff Gill

 

Knowing when enough is enough

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Sufficiency is an old-fashioned theological term not much in everyday use, but it still has a place in our spiritual reflections.

 

It has to do with the idea in Christian belief that Jesus is all you need, without anything or anyone else necessary for your satisfaction and salvation.

 

Sufficiency says "Jesus is enough."

 

Many of the tales through the ages of religious conflict have to do with our persistent tendency to make our heart's ease and soul's security dependent on "Jesus plus," or "You only need Jesus, and" let alone "Jesus has a list of additional criteria." Anything plus Jesus is likely to be too much, whether in personal or churchly terms. God has a lot going on in this world, but in terms of sufficiency, Jesus alone is enough. Anything else is extra, and too much extra is . . . well, I'd say something about a tasty, well made cupcake and too much frosting, but I worry that might just confuse some of you.

 

Because to be more than a bit theological about practical matters, I believe the doctrine of sufficiency applies to not just spiritual redemption but earthly happiness. Which is what brings us back to where I left you last week, with piles and piles of stuff.

 

I know, some of you might be saying "Jesus is not enough if you're hungry, or broke, or homeless." Yes, that's right, sufficiency is not quite a recipe for diet or budget or household economics, but it's part of the superstructure that allows even those aspect of everyday life to work in a whole and healthy way.

 

Let's go back to that cupcake. Okay, frosting lovers: will you concede that there's a point at which it's too much? Where is your enough? An inch? Two inches? A foot?

 

Biology is teaching us that sometimes we can't just trust our physical, evolved instincts alone to know when enough is enough. The economics and biochemistry of scarcity means that our taste for sweets and sugars, fats and greasy good, is larger than is good for us when there's plenty available. Our body alone doesn't always know when it's enough, and we keep going. Choices are needed, to slow and even to stop ourselves, including the placement of frosting, the pouring of ranch dressing, the ladling of cheese sauce.

 

And economic science along with practical politics ask us if our consumption of too much stuff, piled high and shoveled deeply, is actually depriving others of their basic needs. Not that every financial transaction is a zero-sum game, but do we even ask ourselves "if I get this, does it mean someone else can't get that?" Especially when we are piling up stuff (attention Matthew 6:19) far beyond what we need, what we will ever use, what can reasonably be called "enough."

 

And as a spiritual discipline, just like learning to focus our attention on God, and noticing what it is that most easily distracts us and making that an area of extra attention and effort to set aside: the stuff we either most pile up, or least want to get rid of, usually is telling us something. About unresolved anguish, personal pain, deeper doubts which we're trying to cope with through stuff. There is a false spirituality at work in the joy of shopping, the illusory ease in your heart from purchases, the fake satisfaction of knowing you have that stuff . . . somewhere.

 

When your stuff is what gives you peace, but only for a moment, I can say to you with certainty: it isn't enough. And this is what we Christians mean when we say "Jesus is enough." And where some ask a non-trivial question about buying or keeping stuff about whether or not it gives you joy, as a believer myself I would suggest that, at least for some of us, we could even more usefully ask if our stuff is an idol, a replacement for Jesus, a substitute certainty or replacement satisfaction that says to us we can find a better connection to the Divine, to the Eternal, than through Jesus.

 

None of this says we have to throw everything away and live as wandering hermits, though as Jesus said to a person whose stuff was weighing him down, "maybe you should think about it." That's my theological take on all this; I'll offer some slightly more practical counsel about it all next week.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still got plenty of stuff to sort out, none of which he will take with him. Tell him how you are getting your idols put into storage at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.