Hilton Head Island, SC – June 9, 2013
The Chapel Without Walls
Acts 8:9-24; I Timothy 6:2-10
A Sermon by John M. Miller
Text – For the love of money is the root of all evils; it is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced their hearts with many pangs. – I Tim. 6:10 (RSV)
THE LOVE OF MONEY
As long as there has been a Bible, the Bible has probably been misquoted. Does one of the Ten Commandments say, “You shall not kill,” or “You shall not murder”? In most translations, the word is “kill,” but in the original Hebrew, what it really says is, “murder.” The New Testament scholar Bart Ehrman wrote an entire book called Misquoting Jesus. He gives many examples of how people twist the meanings of what Jesus actually said to suit their own theological predilections. And he’s right; everyone does it.
One of the most-frequently misquoted verses is scripture is our text for today’s sermon. Far more often than not, people quote Paul (or whoever actually wrote I Timothy) as saying, “Money is the root of all evil.” What Paul really said was, “The love of money is the root of all evils.” Why he made “evil” plural no one shall ever know, but hardly anyone quotes “evils.”
Let us admit at the outset that Paul’s statement is definitely not entirely true. Many other factors lead to evil, or evils, which have nothing to do either with money or the love of money. Bank robbers no doubt commit the evil of their crimes because of the love of money, as do other kinds of robbers, or mere burglars. The fiscal collapse of 2008 and 2009 was in large measure because of an inordinate love of money on the part of millions of people. But mass killings or slander or lying under oath or physical or mental or sexual abuse are not motivated either by money or the love of money. It is simply an overstatement to claim that all evils result from an excessive devotion to cold, hard cash or to other less liquid assets.
In defense of Paul, however, we must note that money by itself is not a problem as it relates to evil. Money is essentially a means of exchange, which has no value in and of itself. It’s how we think about money and what we do with it that determines whether any evil emanates from it. Giving money to worthy charities, for example, is surely a good thing, not a bad thing. Contributing to a grandchild’s college education is good. Giving money to a beggar on the street may well be a good thing, although a philosophical debate could be held regarding that, and in any case one does not meet many beggars on many streets in our particular neck of the woods.
Nevertheless, many of us, if not all of us, become too emotionally or even spiritually attached to the type of disposable assets most obviously represented by money. We think too much about money, and we also think too highly of it. It is something, but not everything, and it has value, but not ultimate value. Only God has ultimate value, and in Him alone can we find the meaning of our lives, and certainly not in our bank accounts.
Both intellectually and intuitively, we know these things. But from time to time we need to be reminded of them again. Today, for us, is such a time.
In the Book of Acts, there is a story about a fascinating charlatan in the earliest days of the New Testament church. His name was Simon, and he was a magician. As we all know, in magic there is no magic; everything is sleight of hand or optical illusions. I learned that when I was a young boy living in Fort Scott, Kansas. A magician came to town, and he held his show in Memorial Hall. Some friends and I went early to get good seats, and we ended up in the front row. At one point he asked for a volunteer, and the hands of my chums and I eagerly shot up. Surveying this motley mob of munchkins, he must have sized me up in a moment as a willing dupe, so he called on me. I quickly bounded up on the stage. He first did some tricks which didn’t involve me much, but then he said, “Now John, what did you have for supper tonight?” Furtively he whispered in my ear, so that no one other than I could hear it, “Say ‘sausage.’” I, the willing dupe, dutifully said, “Sausage.” Then, without anyone seeing it but with me feeling it, he put something under the front of my shirt, and then slowly extracted a coiled spring which looked like a sizeable chunk of bratwurst or knackwurst. Everyone clapped and cheered, and I was both greatly impressed and mortified. But from that experience I discovered that magic is not magic.
Simon the magician also knew that. Simon claimed that his gifts came from God. The apostle Phillip held a kind of first-century tent meeting in Samaria, where Simon lived, and Simon converted to Christianity. (The fact that Phillip had no hesitation to go to Samaria tells us something about the nature of the earliest Christian evangelism. They were very ecumenical about where they chose to exercise their missionary activities, especially since Jews looked down on Samaritans, and almost all the first Christians were Jews.) Later, in Jerusalem, the apostles began to baptize people in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Prior to that they had baptized only in the name of Jesus.
Simon thought this new formula sounded like a good idea, regardless of the theological implications, and he offered Peter money to show him how to utilize the new baptismal standards. Simon figured he could make some quick shekels if he properly learned the tricks of the baptismal trade. In a fury, Peter told Simon, “Your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain the gift of God with money. You have neither part nor lot in this matter, for your heart is not right with God….For I see that you are in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity.” Simon didn’t have to be the brightest bulb in the pack to realize he had just been given a severe scolding by the Prince of the Apostles. The chastened and terrified charlatan exclaimed, “Pray for me to the Lord, that nothing of what you have said may come upon me!”
The love of money made Simon willing to part with money in the hopes of getting far more money. For him it was a business proposition, and he saw learning the trade of baptism to be a worthwhile investment.
An Arab was crawling through the desert, dying of thirst. He came upon a Jewish salesman, who was selling ties. “Are you interested in a tie? They’re only $5.00.” “Why should I want a tie?” “But they’re pure silk,” said the salesman. “I need water, or I shall die! Can’t you see that, you worthless infidel?” “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” said the Jewish salesman. “Go two miles east of here, and you’ll come to an excellent restaurant. They have all the cold water you could ever want.” So the Arab went crawling off to the east. Several hours later he came crawling back. “Didn’t you get any water?” asked the tie salesman. The parched Arab muttered, “They wouldn’t let me in without a tie.”
Money is a means of exchange, which has no value in and of itself. Five dollars to a man dying of thirst is nothing if it gets him some water. But to many people, money is everything, and the more of it they have, the better off they are, they tell themselves.
The movie Arbitrage is about a billionaire Wall Street tycoon named Robert Miller who becomes involved in some shady financial dealings to try to get himself out of a major fiscal jam. The central character, played by Richard Gere, conscripts a young black man, who was the son of a former employee of Miller’s. The young man is urged to commit perjury to extricate the billionaire from his legal quicksand, but he offers to pay him a good bit of money for his services. The street-savvy young man says, “You think money is going to fix this?” Undaunted, the obsequious financier answers, “What else is there?” Later, his wife, played by Susan Sarandon, decides to leave him, both because of his constant philandering and because of his severely compromised business ethics. Either he will give her the settlement she wants, or she will turn him in. “Nothing’s beyond money to you, Robert. But I’m going to take your money.” She successfully blackmails him on behalf of their daughter, whom he had enticed into his financial house of cards. “This isn’t about your business,” she tells him in one of the final scenes. “This is about our life.”
The love of money can get all of us into some colossal messes, if we allow it to do so. Money can easily deflect our resolve and dull our ethical sensibilities, if we aren’t careful.
The first Christians clearly understood that. But then, most of the first Christians didn’t have a lot of money. In the main, they were the Have Nots; they were not the Haves. By the fourth century, when the Emperor Constantine declared Christianity to be the official religion of the empire, Christianity became fashionable, and wealthy people started to come aboard in droves. Ever since, a good majority of Christians have been social swells, and the apparent pagans have been the folks who didn’t have a pot in which to peel their potatoes. But up until then, it was the peasant class, not the merchant class or the ruling class, who comprised the bulk of the adherents of the new religion based on the teachings of the peasant, Jesus of Nazareth.
Still, there must have been some problems with some early Christians being too devoted to wealth, or why would Paul say what he said in I Timothy? In the opening verses of the final chapter in his first letter to his young colleague, Paul said something very typical of his views on social stratification. “Let all who are under the yoke of slavery regard their masters as worthy of all honor, so that the name of God and the teaching may not be defamed. Those who have believing masters must not be disrespectful on the ground that they are brethren; rather they must serve all the better since those who benefit by their services are believers and beloved” (6:1-2).
Saul of Tarsus would never end up as a Frederick Douglass or Abraham Lincoln or Nat Turner or Mohandas Gandhi or Martin Luther King, Jr. In his social outlook it is far more likely he would be a fellow at the Heritage Foundation or a member of the Tea Party. Here’s what he was telling new Christians who happened to be slaves, who would represent a significant proportion of all the new Christians of his time: “If you don’t have two nickels to rub together, don’t worry. And if your master is also a Christian, be the best slave you can be for him. After all, money isn’t everything.” That’s easy to say to someone who has none, but try that tactic to someone who has a lot, and wants lots more. “There is great gain in godliness with contentment; for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world.” Those are edifying thoughts for those who come into the world with silver spoons in their mouths, but they don’t bring joy to the hearts of those who were born with nothing and who die with nothing.
How much should Christians talk about fiscal and social and class inequities? Not much, according to Paul. But Paul knew he had other more important theological fish to fry, and he feared that if early Christianity became identified by the Roman Empire as an anti-imperial, anti-Have kind of a religion, it would be snuffed out before it even had a chance to start. It was a delicate dilemma, and Paul well understood it. Perhaps he was correct to take the conservative choice. In truth he may have felt he had no actual choice in the matter.
And yet he must also have felt some guilt in his essential position, for he went on to talk about the love of money, which he said is the root of all evils. That’s not a message for slaves. That’s a message for slave owners. It’s a message for Haves, not for Have-Nots. It’s something which people who are immigrants to the shore of the Atlantic Ocean in Lowcountry South Carolina need to hear. Paul seemed to be saying, if very obliquely, that it is the people with money who, “through this craving have wandered away from the faith and have pierced their hearts with many pangs” (6:10). People with little or no money don’t ask for much; they generally just want a little something, anything at all. But people with more money than most other people want more of what they don’t have. The love of money is by no means the root of all evils, but without question it is the root of some evils, and maybe even a sizeable bunch.
Of all the important things in the world, money is one of the least important, though it doesn’t seem like it to most people. It’s the things money can’t buy that really matter.
Last week Lois and I went to Charleston for the Spoleto Festival. We went to a chamber music concert, which was excellent, informative, and humorous. I never knew there were so many viola jokes. But later we went to a concert by the a cappella choir of the Westminster Choir College. That day in Charleston was one of the best days in my life. True, it cost some money to buy the tickets and to get the gasoline to go there, but the experience was priceless. Those singers lifted me to the very gates of heaven.
In the situations into which the majority of Christians were born, either in the United States of America or anywhere else in the world, most of us started out with enough. And enough is always enough. Those with nothing want something, and that is understandable. But those with enough may want more than enough, and that too is understandable. However, the latter circumstance is far more problematic than is the former.
In I Timothy 6, Paul is gingerly trying to address two kinds of people, the Haves and the Have-Nots. I don’t think he succeeded particularly well with either group, but at least he tried. Give him credit for that.
So I conclude penultimately, not with my words but with those of the brilliant, irascible, conservative, extremist Tarsus tentmaker: “But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and hurtful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction” (6:9). And then ultimately I say this to you: Concentrate, dear hearts, on higher things. Money is not a higher thing. Nor has it ever been. Nor shall it ever be. Money can’t buy the things of the spirit. And the things of the spirit are always the higher things.