This sermon was preached on Sunday, January 5 at St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Wellesley, MA for the occasion of the Feast of the Epiphany. The texts for this sermon were: Isaiah 60:1-6, Ephesians 3:1-12, Matthew 2:1-12, and Psalm 72:1-7,10-14.
Once, when my sister and I were little, we came to my father locked in a vicious argument. One of us had given something to the other, but the other had not reciprocated. We looked to our dad to arbitrate. But rather than act as judge, my father taught us a principle with which to resolve this and future disputes. A gift, he said, is freely given. The giver relinquishes their say to what the recipient will do with it, or do in return for it. A contract, however, explicitly states the obligation and holds the other what is expected in the exchange. Ask yourselves, was this a gift or a contact?
We quickly picked up on this principle, but it also somewhat backfired. It became a game of tricking the other into giving you a gift, then dancing away from the sister, chanting “Gift not a contract! Gift not a contract!” when she looked to you for something in return. We learned to be clear in what we expected from each other, but we also learned that giving gifts left you vulnerable. You had to trust in the generosity of the recipient. The ultimate lesson, of course, was that a mix of gifts and contracts that make for a strong sisterly bond. The true recipe contained both the building of trust through obligations seen through and genuine affection born from gratitude for the other’s generosity.
Robin Wall Kimmerer, a native American plant scientist, believes that choosing to see creation and our lives as a series of gifts can have a profound, transformational effect on our relationships. In the indigenous philosophy that shaped Kimmerer’s own childhood, gifts are freely given, something for nothing. But that does not mean they make one free.
The contractual exchange of property comes with a bundle of rights: this is mine, this is what I can do with it. Freedom comes when parity is established, the agreed-upon contract is ended, and two parties moving away from each other to do what they please. But gifts come with a bundle of responsibilities: to care for the gift and its giver, and to give it forward to others. Through the movement of gifts, parity is never reached, but the connections between giver, recipient, and their wider community is strengthened. For the gifts multiply, passing from hand to hand, generating what Kimmerer calls “feeling bonds.” An expected gift creates in us sensations of surprise, unworthiness, and gratitude precisely because they are freely given, unearned, and undeserved. Overwhelmed with joy, we choose how to respond from that joy in our own way. We choose how to keep the relationship alive, healthy, and whole. For Kimmerer, gifts and contracts present us with two ways of seeing the world and its resources, two different stories that we can tell about our lives. For her, only one of the stories leads to restoration and enough for all.
When we tell the story of Jesus' birth and the three wisemen, do we tell a story of contracts or a story of gifts? Matthew is keen to prove that Jesus' origin story is made up of promises kept by God. The star comes to show the wisemen from the East that God has made good on a promise from long ago to bring a Messiah into the world. The wisemen set out on their journey to complete their side of the prophecy--nations streaming to the new sovereign, bearing the tribute that is his due.
But there is another way to tell this story. Wisemen in the East are moved in their hearts to seek out this gift of all gifts from God. And when they reach the child, the wisemen are overwhelmed with joy. They give freely of themselves, opening their chests, offering the preciousness inside. Transformed by their encounter, the wisemen return by another road.
But perhaps Kimmerer needs to be nuanced a bit. Perhaps we do not have to choose. Perhaps it is all one story. The wisemen recognize the Christ Child first as a promise fulfilled. But open to the mystery of the unbelievable generosity of God, they meet the baby as the greatest gift from God ever given. In their gifts, the foreigners reveal a way to relationship with God for all peoples. The covenant has not been cast aside, but opened wide. All there is to do is be thankful and keep the gift in motion.
When we tell the story Jesus's death and the cross, do we speak of a contracts or a gift? In one story, we tell of Jesus’s blood as a ransom paid on our behalf. The cross becomes a contract fulfilled, freeing us from the slavery of sin and death. In yet another story of the cross, we tell of God’s grace, freely given, unearned, and undeserved. A gift that can never be repaid. Ultimately, these stories are not in conflict, though. They can be told as one story: we were freed by a God who keeps promises. We have been given a gift whose only response can be to give and give again.
The theology of contract imbues the Episcopal faith. We begin from the principles and obligations of our baptismal covenant, leaning on them to guide us our whole lives long. We recite the Creed, God's promise to us, each Sunday. But the theology of gifts runs deep as well, in our stories, in our faith, in our liturgy. Each Sunday we say, all things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine have we given thee. The gifts of our lives are not ours but God's, meant to be cared for and given again.
More than fifteen years ago, a classmate asked me why I wanted to become a minister. I responded honestly that it was the best thing it seemed I could do with the particular gifts God had given me. And now, six days from my ordination to the priesthood, my answer is the same. This giving of myself and my gifts back in service of God, it is the only thing I can think to do. Yet, in doing so, I and you with me, will draw from our baptismal covenant to make a new vow to one another and to God.
As lovers of God, as God’s beloved, we stand on the firm ground of God's steadfastness. From there, we begin our various journeys, whether it be marriage, priesthood, parenthood, or life itself. We use these vows as our guiding stars. But the wise men also remind us: as adorers of the Christ Child, we are to be open to the unexpected goodness of God. Gifts whose only response can be to give them forward, again and again, opening the way to relationship to all.
Gifts and contracts, contracts and gifts. Binding us together, setting us free.
Once, when my sister and I were little, we came to my father locked in a vicious argument. One of us had given something to the other, but the other had not reciprocated. We looked to our dad to arbitrate. But rather than act as judge, my father taught us a principle with which to resolve this and future disputes. A gift, he said, is freely given. The giver relinquishes their say to what the recipient will do with it, or do in return for it. A contract, however, explicitly states the obligation and holds the other what is expected in the exchange. Ask yourselves, was this a gift or a contact?
We quickly picked up on this principle, but it also somewhat backfired. It became a game of tricking the other into giving you a gift, then dancing away from the sister, chanting “Gift not a contract! Gift not a contract!” when she looked to you for something in return. We learned to be clear in what we expected from each other, but we also learned that giving gifts left you vulnerable. You had to trust in the generosity of the recipient. The ultimate lesson, of course, was that a mix of gifts and contracts that make for a strong sisterly bond. The true recipe contained both the building of trust through obligations seen through and genuine affection born from gratitude for the other’s generosity.
Robin Wall Kimmerer, a native American plant scientist, believes that choosing to see creation and our lives as a series of gifts can have a profound, transformational effect on our relationships. In the indigenous philosophy that shaped Kimmerer’s own childhood, gifts are freely given, something for nothing. But that does not mean they make one free.
The contractual exchange of property comes with a bundle of rights: this is mine, this is what I can do with it. Freedom comes when parity is established, the agreed-upon contract is ended, and two parties moving away from each other to do what they please. But gifts come with a bundle of responsibilities: to care for the gift and its giver, and to give it forward to others. Through the movement of gifts, parity is never reached, but the connections between giver, recipient, and their wider community is strengthened. For the gifts multiply, passing from hand to hand, generating what Kimmerer calls “feeling bonds.” An expected gift creates in us sensations of surprise, unworthiness, and gratitude precisely because they are freely given, unearned, and undeserved. Overwhelmed with joy, we choose how to respond from that joy in our own way. We choose how to keep the relationship alive, healthy, and whole. For Kimmerer, gifts and contracts present us with two ways of seeing the world and its resources, two different stories that we can tell about our lives. For her, only one of the stories leads to restoration and enough for all.
When we tell the story of Jesus' birth and the three wisemen, do we tell a story of contracts or a story of gifts? Matthew is keen to prove that Jesus' origin story is made up of promises kept by God. The star comes to show the wisemen from the East that God has made good on a promise from long ago to bring a Messiah into the world. The wisemen set out on their journey to complete their side of the prophecy--nations streaming to the new sovereign, bearing the tribute that is his due.
But there is another way to tell this story. Wisemen in the East are moved in their hearts to seek out this gift of all gifts from God. And when they reach the child, the wisemen are overwhelmed with joy. They give freely of themselves, opening their chests, offering the preciousness inside. Transformed by their encounter, the wisemen return by another road.
But perhaps Kimmerer needs to be nuanced a bit. Perhaps we do not have to choose. Perhaps it is all one story. The wisemen recognize the Christ Child first as a promise fulfilled. But open to the mystery of the unbelievable generosity of God, they meet the baby as the greatest gift from God ever given. In their gifts, the foreigners reveal a way to relationship with God for all peoples. The covenant has not been cast aside, but opened wide. All there is to do is be thankful and keep the gift in motion.
When we tell the story Jesus's death and the cross, do we speak of a contracts or a gift? In one story, we tell of Jesus’s blood as a ransom paid on our behalf. The cross becomes a contract fulfilled, freeing us from the slavery of sin and death. In yet another story of the cross, we tell of God’s grace, freely given, unearned, and undeserved. A gift that can never be repaid. Ultimately, these stories are not in conflict, though. They can be told as one story: we were freed by a God who keeps promises. We have been given a gift whose only response can be to give and give again.
The theology of contract imbues the Episcopal faith. We begin from the principles and obligations of our baptismal covenant, leaning on them to guide us our whole lives long. We recite the Creed, God's promise to us, each Sunday. But the theology of gifts runs deep as well, in our stories, in our faith, in our liturgy. Each Sunday we say, all things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine have we given thee. The gifts of our lives are not ours but God's, meant to be cared for and given again.
More than fifteen years ago, a classmate asked me why I wanted to become a minister. I responded honestly that it was the best thing it seemed I could do with the particular gifts God had given me. And now, six days from my ordination to the priesthood, my answer is the same. This giving of myself and my gifts back in service of God, it is the only thing I can think to do. Yet, in doing so, I and you with me, will draw from our baptismal covenant to make a new vow to one another and to God.
As lovers of God, as God’s beloved, we stand on the firm ground of God's steadfastness. From there, we begin our various journeys, whether it be marriage, priesthood, parenthood, or life itself. We use these vows as our guiding stars. But the wise men also remind us: as adorers of the Christ Child, we are to be open to the unexpected goodness of God. Gifts whose only response can be to give them forward, again and again, opening the way to relationship to all.
Gifts and contracts, contracts and gifts. Binding us together, setting us free.
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