The title for today’s sermon is an obscure Hebrew word. I remember it more than 25 years after first learning it because my professor made it memorable. We were studying the passage in Genesis where Abraham heard that his nephew Lot had been taken hostage. Abraham went to battle to free Lot and “brought back all the goods (recush, שׁוּﬤרּ) and also brought back his nephew Lot.” Genesis 14:16 (NRSV). “Goods” is a really vague word. It’s like our word “stuff.” We asked what “goods” would entail and our professor said, “Tupperware.®” In other passages it is translated “utensils” or “moveable property.” Recush is stuff that is portable.

We have an abundance of recush at my house. I expect you have a lot of recush at your house. The ironic thing to me is that all this “moveable property” makes it hard for us to move. And I mean “move” in both senses—relocate, as in move to a different address, and move— as in get from one room to another.

I am preaching to myself today as much as anyone else. I grew up in a family that was shaped by The Great Depression. I expect many of you did too. Some of you grew up during The Depression. In my family, thrift was a virtue, a strength of character, which was valued as highly as honesty. We hated to see anything go to waste. My wife’s family had a similar mindset. Her mother had a sampler hanging in her kitchen that read: “Use it up. Wear it out. Make it do. Do without.”

I know I am not alone in having a lot of recush. We moved into our house twenty years ago. In the rafters in the garage there was a cupboard that contained a dozen perfectly good, empty Hills Bros.™ coffee cans. I laughed when I found them. I’m certain the former owner had forgotten about them, or maybe he remembered and the one way to get away from them was to sell the house! Did I say they’re perfectly good? Those two words make it very difficult for me — and I’m pretty sure for many of you also — to get rid of them. Full disclosure — I didn’t get rid of them. I took them to church; the Sunday school covered them with paper and glitter and a few times a year we pull them out for a “joyful noise” offering. People are encouraged to throw coins into them and it’s fun and silly, plus the money supports programs for kids… and I get a frisson of joy, knowing those coffee cans have been put to good use! We used them last week when we covered the story of Esther. Some of you had cans that you could rattle every time you heard the name “Haman,” the villain of the story.

Here’s the part of the story that becomes confessional for me: When I pulled out one of those cans last Sunday, I found it contained fifteen film canisters. Every single one of them was perfectly good. I could not throw them away. They’re great to keep in the car, in case you need change for a toll or a parking meter. Who wants one, or two - or fifteen? They’re free to a good home. I can’t simply throw them out… they’re perfectly good! Oh, and they’re plastic, so they’re good for the next 10,000 years or so. “Tom,” you may be thinking, “you could recycle them!” Well, not exactly, the caps are made of a kind of plastic that is not currently recycled in this county.

A man came to Jesus and asked a simple question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a simple question, but also a confusing question. One cannot do anything to get an inheritance. It is up to the one who owns the property to decide who will inherit it. The man wanted to know how to get his ticket to heaven punched. While it does not say this, it is pretty clear that the man was well off. He was educated and later it said that, “he had many possessions” Mark 10:22 (NRSV). He had been a faithful adherent to all the religious laws. Just ask him! But then Jesus said something that is a bit of a paradox. “You lack one thing.” Probably the man did not lack any thing. So what did he lack? Could you describe what he lacked in a word or two?

We talked about this at Bible study recently. The consensus was that it was not the fact the man had lots of possessions, but that he was so attached to his possessions. He was attached to his wealth. It was as though his stuff owned him. These words really got my attention: “He was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” He was shocked. He had been obedient all his life. He knew the law and kept it. He was secure. He was safe.

Jesus called him to a radical trust. I look around my office. I look around my house. I am surrounded by stuff. Would I be grieved if I gave all my possessions away? What would that be like?

[At this point I am reminded of a cartoon that was in the New Yorker a few years ago. There is an enormous plastic bag in a field with a twist tie on it. A man with a beatific smile is walking away. The caption was something like “The life-altering moment of walking away from everything you own.”]

I imagine refugees right now, leaving Eritrea, Syria, Iraq, and Central America. They are walking and carrying their most precious possessions. You can’t carry very much. What would it be like to walk away from your home? You are carrying and wearing — you hope — what you will need to get to a safe place and start a new life, in a nation where you do not speak the language or even understand how to shop for food. They’re driven to desperation, and if they can prove “a well- founded fear of persecution,” they may be granted refugee status. They are leaving home because they fear for their lives.

What did the man who knelt before Jesus in today’s lesson fear? I think he was afraid of letting go of what made him feel secure: his stuff. It was easier for him to trust his stuff — or perhaps it was harder for him to give his stuff up than to trust Jesus. It’s a hard lesson. And it’s especially hard for us who have grown up with lives shaped by the fear of scarcity. It’s especially hard for those of us who equate frugality with responsibility and virtue to trust that there will be enough. It’s fear, but it’s even more subtle than fear — it’s the fear of regret of giving something away that we might want in the future. We’re afraid we might part with something and regret not having it at some point in the future. As I was sitting in my office writing those last two paragraphs, I walked to my book shelves and found more than twenty books that I would never miss. Some I read years ago. Many were assigned in seminary. Some I took from the libraries of colleagues who were retiring and wanted me to take them. I took this stack of books to the public library and donated them for their next book sale. I still have books that I will never open, let alone read. It was easy to part with these books because I didn’t even know I had them, so I cannot miss them.

We live in a place where we have enough of everything. We actually have more than enough of most things. Jesus calls us to trust and follow. One thing Jesus never commanded his followers to do was hoard, protect, and guard our possessions. Jesus called us to trust him and follow. That’s scary. And it’s even more scary for people like us who have so much.

I’ve preached on recush before and some people were motivated and went home and cleaned out a closet! They gave some of their recush to Goodwill or Saint Vinny’s. That’s a start, I suppose, and I’m always gratified whenever someone tells me they’ve paid attention to one of my sermons - but I hope you’ll stay with the shock and sadness of the man who came to Jesus. It really looks to me that his possessions were blocking him from a life of dynamic faith.

I expect each of us owns more than he did. Do your possessions bring you joy? I asked myself that question as I walked home for lunch last week. I spotted a sugar maple tree that was alive with bright red leaves, and it was a sunny day, so the red leaves contrasted with the blue sky. That tree brought me joy. That tree reminded me of God’s love and the goodness of creation. That tree even made me happier than dropping off a load of books at the library.

Amen.