“More than a Spark”
Psalm 8; Luke 12:22-31
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
February 18, 2018
“Whatever you do, don’t roll your socks up in a ball and fold back the tops.” So writes Marie Kondo, in her book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. She goes on to explain why: Your socks have been working hard all day, trapped between your shoes and your feet. Don’t you think they be treated with a little respect on their time off? Shouldn’t they be able to relax, rather than being squeezed into tight potato-like balls? She proposes, instead, an elaborate system of folding each pair in half, then in quarters, then arranging them standing up in a beautiful rainbow of colors in the sock drawer.
I tried it. Apparently I was so successful in helping my socks feel relaxed that they decided to have a wild party in my sock drawer. I’m still finding loose socks that never made their way back to their mates.
A few years ago, the Edwards Church book group met in Mary Gillis’ house to discuss Marie Kondo’s book, which was then on the best-seller list. We had a lively conversation, for the book is provocative. Kondo is a bold evangelist for her particular decluttering system, insisting that if you follow it precisely, it will change your life forever. You will never relapse into clutter-collection; more importantly, you will be happy and fulfilled.
An appealing promise. We are rightly suspicious, though, of self-help books that promise dramatic change. There is one piece of her system that has stayed with me: the basis she uses for keeping or discarding an object. She doesn’t propose that we throw out anything we haven’t used in two years. She doesn’t put things into categories like “necessary” and “optional.” Instead, she holds an object in her hands and asks herself, “Does it spark joy for me?” If it does, she keeps it. If not, she thanks it for the role it has played in her life, and puts it in the discard or donate pile. If you follow this method, she assures us, your life will be better because you will be surrounded by things that spark joy.
I thought back to Marie Kondo’s decluttering method as ten Edwards Church folks gathered at Niko’s Pizzeria last month to discuss our Lenten theme, “Making Space…” The conversation was complicated, as we began unpacking all the layers–our attachment to objects and habits that don’t serve us, the reality that choosing which things to discard is a source of stress in many households. It began to feel heavy–like giving up chocolate for Lent when Ash Wednesday happens to fall on Valentine’s Day.
The gift Marie Kondo gives me is definitely not the reorganization of my sock drawer. It is the invitation to let the process of “making space” be a joyous one. I am grateful for her challenge to pay attention to sparks of joy, to see them as signs that there is something valuable here, maybe even something holy.
Marie Kondo brings a fascinating perspective to our Lenten invitation to make space. This is a church, though, and we seek to be followers not of Marie Kondo but of Jesus. So we ask the question– “What would Jesus say to Marie Kondo? How would Jesus propose we make space in our lives?”
I think Jesus would smile at Marie Kondo’s “spark joy” method, and then he would tell her she doesn’t go nearly far enough. “You’re talking about surrounding yourself with things that light a spark of joy in your life,” I imagine him saying. “That’s a good start. I am talking about a life that is filled with joy. I’m talking about a community, a kin-dom that overflows with joy because it emanates from love.”
In our beautiful and perplexing gospel reading, Jesus lays out his own de-cluttering plan. He talks about stuff–the things we keep in our storehouses and barns to delude ourselves that we can ensure our own security. Even more, he talks about the clutter in our minds and our hearts–the worries and anxieties that weigh us down.
Jesus doesn’t suggest we start by examining the storehouses and barns, or even the anxieties. He tells us to start by rearranging our priorities. Begin, he says, with what is most important, and allow the rest to fall into place or to fall away. He is clear about what is most important: strive first for the kingdom–the realm, the kin-dom–of God’s love.
Jesus’ words make Marie Kondo’s bold promise of a happier life seem wimpy and tentative. Jesus promises that if we start by seeking the realm of God’s love, we will have everything we need. We will revel in beauty like the lilies; we will live overflowing in the joy that is at the heart of this kin-dom of love.
What an outrageous promise! It feels especially outrageous this week. How can Jesus tell us not to worry when there is so much going on? We worry about our children–their physical safety and the emotional impact of active shooter drills. We worry about our teachers–how they will find the strength to keep caring in the face of so much fear. We worry about the persistence and resurgence of racism, the plight of our immigrant neighbors, the dangers of the flu, the explosion of gun violence, the ways we are contributing to climate change, the survival of democracy here and world-wide.
In this time where there are so many reasons to worry, Jesus’ exhortation almost feels offensive. In order not to worry, it seems, we would have to ignore what is happening–and that feels wrong. Or we would have to pretend we don’t care–and that feels even more wrong. Worrying, after all, is what we do to convince ourselves we’re doing something when we can’t figure out what we should do.
Jesus risks offending us and our worry-attached hearts in order to point out the obvious: “And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?” Jesus is not suggesting that we ignore the pain around us. He is certainly not suggesting that we pretend we don’t care. Instead, he calls us to channel all that caring into something greater than ourselves: the realm of God’s love. Stop worrying about your life, he says, and start really living.
So what is this kingdom–this kin-dom, this realm–of God? When Jesus used the Aramaic word that gets translated first into Greek as basiliea and then into English as kingdom, no one around him quite understood what he was talking about. We don’t fully understand either. We know it is not a place with a physical location. It is not a political entity. It is not the promise of heaven after we die. It is not fully established, and it is not some future apocalyptic event.
Jesus’ parables and actions give us some hints about what it is. The realm of God’s love multiplies exponentially like a mustard seed. In this kin-dom, children are treasured and the most vulnerable are esteemed. Enemies share a meal. Brokenness is healed. There is enough for everyone and no one needs to hoard. The realm of God, Jesus says, is “at hand”–already coming into being and not yet complete. It comes through the power of God’s love, and God calls us to love it into fulfillment.
What does is mean for us, in this complicated, messy world, to strive for the kin-dom of God? It means comforting a child who is overwhelmed. It means creating beautiful gardens where our neighbors can find peace. It means praying for the up-coming Open Spirit retreat for Framingham and Natick teachers who care for our most vulnerable students. It means speaking up at today’s Town Hall meeting about the need to address the epidemic of gun violence. It means calling and writing and marching on behalf of dreamers and food stamp recipients and national parks. It means making beautiful music to lift someone’s spirit. Always, it means stopping our frantic efforts in order to pray, to listen for God’s voice, to notice when we have slipped into trying to do it ourselves, to reconnect with the power of God’s spirit.
Marie Kondo uses the word “magic” to describe the promise of her de-cluttering system. Jesus never uses that word to describe the promise he makes. There is no magic. Our worries will not magically disappear the instant we start striving for God’s kin-dom. God will not magically give us the things we think we need. Striving for the kin-dom of God is a lifelong commitment, and the re-prioritizing Jesus promises is a lifelong journey of learning to trust that we are not alone, learning to trust God’s abundance.
There is nothing magical about the kin-dom of God. There is a lot that is miraculous. With love and the right kind of care, a traumatized child heals. Strangers and enemies become friends. A fearful person discovers courage. Scarcity becomes abundance as we trust enough to share what we have. Even as we walk through this pain-filled world, we awaken to joy–not just a spark but a full-fledged fire of the spirit.
It is traditional, during Lent, to refrain from saying or singing Alleluia. The word, which simply means “praise God,” evokes a sense of joy and wonder. The tradition reflects the penitential nature of Lent; it also creates a sense of explosive joy at Easter, when six weeks of holding back is unleashed.
You may have noticed that we broke the rule today with our anthem. We did it on purpose, in response to Jesus’ words. Jesus promises us that God’s love is breaking into our troubled world. Jesus calls us to be part of bringing it into being. Jesus assures us that we don’t have to waste our lives in worry and fearful accumulation of stuff. Instead, we can share the beauty and peace of the lilies. Instead, we can revel in the joy of God’s love.
That is such good news we simply have to break the rules. So here it is again: Alleluia! Amen!