Acts 4:32-35
Easter 2 / Year B
I suspect the
search for Utopia began not long after Adam and Eve were banished from the
Garden of Eden once the human focus shifted from getting back to what was lost
to forging a path toward what might be.
The word utopia, first coined
by Sir Thomas More in a work of fiction published in 1516, is a compound of two
Greek words – no and place.
But just because utopia doesn’t exist doesn’t mean people have stopped
looking for it… or trying to create it.
Those who seek to
create a utopian society typically are motivated by religious belief or social theory
(or both). Of the two, communities
centered around religious affiliation historically have fared better. Those organized solely on collective
principles have tended not to hold together for any significant length of
time. Many of the religious communal settlements
in our country arose out of the Second Great Awakening of the late 18th
and early 19th centuries and were fueled by the European Reformation,
persecution, and immigration.
One such community
was established in Zoar, Ohio about an hour’s drive from where I grew up. Founded in 1817 by a group of German
separatists fleeing religious oppression, it was named after the biblical town
to which Lot fled after leaving Sodom. The
commune began with an initial purchase of 5,000 acres on the banks of the
Tuscarawas River; a transaction financed by a loan from Pennsylvania
Shakers. All land and possessions were
jointly owned and managed by regularly elected trustees. The group benefited greatly from the
construction of the Ohio Canal in 1830 and subsequent business it brought to
the area. Rejecting baptism and confirmation,
the people of Zoar recognized no religious observances, with the exception of
the weekly Sabbath. They created a
garden in the center of their town based on a description found in the Book of
Revelation. The town’s hotel, renowned
for its German cuisine, catered to presidents as well as paupers. With the passing of Zoar’s charismatic leader
in 1853, the community went into gradual decline, eventually voting to disband
in 1889. Zoar was just one of scores of
such utopian communities that flourished for a while, then disappeared.
In this morning’s
first lesson we find the church in a utopian moment at a point very, very early
in its history. How early? While the text isn’t precise, it appears to
be no more than two or three months after the resurrection. Jesus has ascended into heaven and the Holy
Spirit has come on Pentecost. While the
Apostles wait anxiously for the Lord’s return, they fill their time preaching,
healing, baptizing, and remaining watchful.
And they care for one another, making sure no one is in any kind of need.
The text tells us
“those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private
ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.” Everyone sold what they had and gave the
proceeds to the Apostles who then made distributions as needs emerged. Clearly no one was thinking about planting a
crop, let alone planting a tree, because Christ was coming at any moment to
establish a new Kingdom. This was not a
time to eat, drink, and be merry. It was
more a time to care, share, and remain aware.
All could be of “one heart and mind” because all shared in the common
belief of the Lord’s imminent return.
I have heard more
than one colleague refer wistfully to this passage, wondering how the early
church could get it so right and we in today’s church have it so wrong; what with
our allegiance to private interest and capitalism. But they miss is a central truth about human
nature. We can no more create a
sustaining, thriving commune than we can hold our breath in order to live under
water. It is not in our nature nor is it
in our best interest. And, in time, the
early church learned this first hand.
Crops needed to be planted. Oil
for lamps needed to be purchased. Tunics
needed to be washed and darned, and darn it if some people did not “do their
part.” Eventually, St. Paul would have
to put in writing, “If a person will not work, neither shall he eat.” (2 Thess.
3:10).
Both Jamestown here
in Virginia and Plymouth in Massachusetts were founded on communal principles
and both suffered several years of depravation until each realized the need to
grant private property to its members.
While the residents of each community still were required to work for
the common good (such is the nature of a pioneering enterprise), the early
years of famine and hardship abated only after individuals could reap the
benefits of their own labor. For better
or worse, this is how human nature is wired and any system which does not
account for it is doomed to fail, even if it is managed by well-meaning
believers guided by Jesus’ chosen Apostles awaiting the Lord’s return.
Eventually the early
church’s focus on common property diminished, allowing the intended benefit to emerge
into prominence – the care for those in need.
And the early church cared deeply about the needs of its most vulnerable
members, establishing the ordained ministry of Deacons to tend to it. By most accounts early Christians lived incredibly
generous lives and won converts more through their humanity than through their
preaching. And we are the heirs and standard
bearers of their example and witness.
A few weeks ago I
did something for only the second or third time in 34 years of ordained ministry. I made a general appeal for contributions to
the Rector’s Discretionary Fund. It had
gone into arrears because its primary source of income - public worship
with regular offerings - had been cut off. In addition, during these difficult times,
the need for assistance from the fund has increased dramatically.
When I was first
ordained clergy discretionary funds could be used for a variety of
purposes. In addition to helping people
in need, clergy were permitted use it to purchase books, attend conferences, buy
clergy shirts, and offset any other number of unfunded professional expenses. Almost every priest I knew maintained a
private checking account to serve as a fund to be used at his or her discretion
and most banks waved regular fees because it was seen as charitable work. As you might expect, this process was
somewhat loose and ripe for abuse.
For the last twenty
years or so discretionary funds rightfully have been restricted to meeting the needs
of people experiencing hardship. The funds
now are maintained by the church and checks are cut by the treasurer at the request
of the priest. While this may not seem completely
discrete, as one person from the Presiding Bishop’s office once said to me, “If
you can’t trust your treasurer to be discrete, perhaps you need a new treasurer.”
Well, as I said, I
made a special appeal to you for discretionary funds and you responded. As of the end of this past week you all have
contributed almost $5,300. Just shy of
$1,000 of this has come through the Lenten Mite Box offering. I am very grateful for your generosity and
promise to administer what you have given as effectively and generously as I
know how.
This is one way we
at St. Paul’s live into the early church’s concern for one another. Another way is through the variety of outreach
ministries our parish sponsors and supports.
Sadly, as you know, most of this has been put on hold since the
beginning of the pandemic. Please keep
our Vestry in your prayers as we meet tomorrow evening to discern how we can
begin again to extend care to our neighbors and our neighborhood.
I suppose two
things remain consistent throughout the history of the church. First, we hear God calling us to tend to the
needs of others. God calls us into communities
which need to have caring as one of their primary hallmarks. And second, how care is expressed and
administered changes time and time again.
Old methods become outdated or no longer possible to manage. New possibilities and opportunities continually
emerge. Individual members of the
community sense a personal call to utilize a specific gift, talent, or passion
in a way that helps others and glorifies God.
This, I think, is
what St. Paul’s wants from each of us.
We are not looking for you to bring all your possessions to the church
so we can sell them and give away the money.
It simply is not practical and, in fact, our facility would not function
well as a warehouse. What we do want is
to help each of you tap into your unique gifts, help you to discern a calling,
and assist you by mobilizing others who want contribute in some form or fashion
to the vision, leadership, and effort your offer. It is a process as old as the early church
and from time to time – such as this time – stands in need of renewal. What stands true throughout is our desire to
share God’s love, especially with the least, the last, the lost, and the lonely.
