Poiesis Theou

A Better Way for the Church to Talk About Sex

Chris Brown — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:00:06 +0000

I serve the Church in a denomination that has been entrenched in battles over human sexuality for decades. Debates about ordination of people in active homosexual relationships, as well as about the definition or marriage, are tearing the Church apart. Seven years ago, I went to a national conference for our denomination and saw the battle taking place. Neither side listened to the other. They talked past each other. What was authoritative for one side wasn’t for the other. There was no common ground on which a debate could even fairly take place. Ever since, I’ve wondered if there could be a healthier, more constructive way for the Church to handle its debates about sexuality. Is there a better way to talk about sexual morality as Christians? Is there a better way to frame the conversation?

I think there is.

This Saturday, January 28th, Upper Room is going to host an event with anthropologist, author, and professor Jenell Williams Paris called “The End of Sexual Identity.” Paris’s book, The End of Sexual Identity, takes a unique approach to our culture’s conversation about sexuality, particularly categories like homosexuality and heterosexuality. And I think this approach could have a really positive impact on the way the Church talks about sex. For a preview of what Jenell has to say, you can listen to this interview with her.

There is more information on Upper Room’s site and you can click here to register for the event. It runs from 10am to 3:30pm. The morning and afternoon sessions will also include panel responses from a variety of people living out their sexuality in different ways. Lunch will be available through Franktuary, who will be selling hot dogs and other items on site.

On the Way to the Cross: 40 Days with the Church Fathers

Chris Brown — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 17:20:51 +0000

Ash Wednesday this year falls on February 22nd. That’s exactly one month and one day from today. In past years, I’ve found myself waiting until the last minute to haphazardly make commitments to Lenten spiritual disciplines or practices. This year, I’m trying to think carefully ahead of time about how to pursue a deeper relationship with God during that penitential season. For me, this Lent may entail taking on certain practices around food and fasting. I also plan to read The Ladder of Divine Ascent, which I’ve heard is traditional Lenten reading in some strains of Eastern Christianity. I’ve been reading other writings from the early Church on spiritual disciplines for a few years now and have been enriched by the fathers’ immense wisdom, their challenging calls to holiness, and their teachings on prayer. Now I’m looking forward to learning from St. John Climacus this Lent.

For those who want to engage such literature from the fathers, but aren’t quite ready to dive in with something as massive as The Ladder of Divine Ascent, I have another book recommendation. On the Way to the Cross: 40 Days with the Church Fathers is a Lenten devotional published this year by InterVarsity Press which combines a rhythm of daily prayer with commentary on scripture from the great leaders of the early Church.

On the Way to the Cross follows a simple format. Each day’s meditation begins with a confession of sin taken from the Book of Common Prayer. A reading from the Gospel of John follows confession, then commentary from various church fathers and a closing prayer, also from a patristic source. Each day also has suggested Psalms for evening reading. The commentary from the fathers is very similar to what one would find the Ancient Christian Commentary series – quotations from early Church writers which give insight into the text from a different point of view than that used by many modern biblical scholars. For example commentary on John 4:1-26 includes a lesson spiritual prayer from Abraham of Nathpar:

Do not imagine, my beloved, that prayer consists solely of words or that it can be learned by means of words. No, listen to the truth of the matter from the Lord: spiritual prayer is not learned and does not reach fullness as a result of either learning or the repetition of words. For it is not to a man that you are praying, before whom you can repeat a well-composed speech. It is to him who is Spirit that you are directing the movements of prayer. You should pray therefore, in spirit, seeing that he is spirit. He shows that no special place or vocal utterance is required for someone who prays in fullness to God. (Pages 33-34.)

My favorite parts of the devotional are the prayers themselves. These offer a glimpse into the passionate worship and devotion that shaped the fathers’ interpretation of scripture. They also offer inspiration to believers today and give poetic voice to what may be deep prayers of our own hearts. For example, the same reflection on John 4:1-26 concludes with a prayer from the Irish missionary Columbanus:

I beseech you, merciful God, to allow me to drink from the stream which flows from your fountain of life. May I taste the sweet beauty of its waters, which sprang from the very depths of your truth. O Lord, you are that fountain from which I desire with all my heart to drink. Give me, Lord Jesus, this water, that it may quench the burning spiritual thirst within my soul, and purify me from all sin. I know, King of Glory, that I am asking from you a great gift. But you give to your faithful people without counting the cost, and you promise even greater things in the future. Indeed, nothing is greater than yourself, and you have given yourself to mankind on the cross. Therefore in praying for the waters of life, I am praying that you, the source of those waters, will give yourself to me. You are my light, my salvation , my food, my drink, my God. (Page 34.)

Amen. May God grant us ways to drink from that stream of life this Lent.

Resolving to Seek Holiness

Chris Brown — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 21:31:41 +0000

We’re ten days into 2012. That’s plenty of time for plenty of New Year’s resolutions to have been made and to have already been broken. I find this sad because resolutions actually do have power to yield dramatic fruit in our lives, if we’re willing to stick to them for the long-haul.

Yesterday I read a post by John Stahl-Wert called “Resolved.” which describes the lifelong resolutions made by three great figures from American history. These resolutions were not weak, shallow, or trite. They were resolutions which required deep development of character, resolutions to seek justice, live obediently, and fulfill one’s duties. As Stahl-Wert points out, these men “believed that their impact in the world would spring from their character; that their character would spring from their investments in character, and that character investment is a life-long pursuit.”

Another man whose investment in his character left a lasting impression upon the world is Charles de Foucauld. Since I first read his writings last August, I’ve found his passion for prayer, his imitation of Christ, and his heart for evangelism inspiring. Now I’m reading his Spiritual Autobiography, and (with providential timing) this week I came across the set of bold, life-defining resolutions he made while living in Nazareth and seeking to imitate the life of Christ:

I resolve: To ask for martyrdom, long for it, and if it please God, suffer it in order to love Jesus with a greater love; To have zeal for souls, a burning love for the salvation of souls – which have all been ransomed at so unique a price; To despise no one, but to desire the greatest good for everyone because everyone is covered by the blood of Jesus; . . . To be perfect, to be holy myself, for Jesus held me so dear that he gave his love for me; . . . To have an infinite horror of sin and the imperfection that leads to it, because it has already cost Jesus so dear; . . . To have absolute trust in the love of God, an inextinguishable faith in his love, because he has proved it to me by being wiling to suffer such pains for me; To be humble at the thought of all he has done for me, and the little I have done for him; To long for sufferings to give him love for love, and imitate him, and not be crowned with roses whereas he was crowned with thorns . . . (The Spiritual Autobiography of Charles de Foucauld, Jean-Francois Six, ed. [Ijamsville, Md: Word Among Us Press 2003] pp. 93-94)

Strengthened by Christ to fulfill his calling, Foucauld lived into all of resolutions he made. He left Nazareth to live a simple and prayerful live the Sahara desert, bearing witness to Christ by his example and holiness among the nomadic Tuareg people group. Having asked for martyrdom, he received it, being murdered there in 1916.

The power of Foucauld’s resolutions lies in the fact that they were all ways of “taking up his cross”. Foucauld resolved to seek holiness, to take up his cross and follow the Jesus who said “he who does not take up his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me” (Matthew 10:38). That resolution, and the cruciform life Foucauld thus led, left an impact on the world. Today there are thousands of people following Foucauld’s example officially in religious and lay communities around the globe. I imagine thousands more are unofficial followers of him, individuals like myself who have simply been inspired by him to seek a deeper life with Christ.

When Jesus becomes Lord of our lives, he doesn’t wait for an arbitrary starting date like January 1st to ask us to resolve to seek his Kingdom. He asks today: Are we willing to resolve to seek his Kingdom, his holiness, even his cross?

Theology vs. Theology: Bookshelves and Icons

Chris Brown — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 19:35:05 +0000

For the past two mornings, as I’ve tried to start my day sitting in silence and contemplation in my study, I’ve noticed a disturbing contrast. To my left, on the desk, are icons and a candle. To my right are bookshelves. On the left, I see an image of Christ on the cross, an image Mary holding Jesus, and an image of St. Michael the Archangel. They’re illumined by a small candle. The scene invites prayer and reflection. And in the stillness of the early morning, I feel like I should be able to focus prayerfully.

But my eyes are drawn instead toward the books. The shelves overflow with more books than I have time to read. I look at them an instantly start thinking of the books I want to read or should read or need to re-read. Most of these books are “theological” in one sense or another. They’re books that I read in seminary, or that are relevant to my work as a pastor and church-planter. They’re books that should cultivate the knowledge of God. But on these mornings they’ve served instead as a distraction from the even more immediate knowledge of God to be gained through prayer. This troubles me.

The overflowing, disordered bookshelves on one side of the room are an icon of the modern academic approach to theology. My bookshelves and the academy say that if you are a theologian, you publish books which systematically expound upon doctrines and dogmas. I look at the bookshelves and become anxious, thinking of all the books I want to read or feel I should read. There is a never-ending buffet of literature out there to be consumed. As Ecclesiastes says, “Of the making of many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body” (12:12b). These bookshelves cultivate tiredness more than prayer.

The icons on the other side of the room are, well, icons - windows to another reality and a different kind of theology. I look at them and sense a call to stillness, the sort of stillness where God can speak for Himself. Experience of the never-ending reality of God inspires awe and worship, not anxiety. Books still certainly have a place in this kind of theology, but they’re different and are read differently, more slowly. The point isn’t the making or reading of many books. The point is growth into the likeness of Christ, which is infinitely more valuable. These books and icons and candles echo the words of Evagrios the Solitary, “If you are a theologian, you will pray truly. And if you pray truly you are a theologian.” My eyes are still naturally drawn toward the bookshelves, but I want the latter kind of theology, prayer.

The Grace of God Appeared

Chris Brown — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 23:00:24 +0000

At Upper Room, we’re developing a tradition of sharing God’s Word through poetry instead of sermons on special holidays. (For a recent example, see Mike’s poem from this year’s Christ the King Sunday.) Since it’s my turn to preach for Christmas Eve tonight, I’m following suit and sharing a poem which I wrote this week based on the lectionary texts for tonight: Isaiah 9:2-7, Psalm 96, Titus 2:11-14, and Luke 2:1-20. The title and theme of the poem come from Titus 2:11, “For the grace of God has appeared that offers salvation to all people.” In order to preserve the formatting, I’m sharing the poem here in a PDF: “The Grace of God Appeared“.

Merry Christmas!

Public Truth

Chris Brown — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 22:44:00 +0000

I went Christmas caroling two nights ago with a group of people from Upper Room’s partner congregation in Greenfield. It was delightful, despite the fact that it was freezing out and by the time we finished I couldn’t feel my fingers. For an hour we walked up and down the streets of Greenfield, singing songs about Christ to whomever answered their doors.

Midway through the night, it hit me just how radical and subversive this gesture of holiday cheer actually was. We were singing lyrics like “Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day to save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray.” At any other time of the year, in any other way, if you knocked on someone’s door and told them they had gone astray and were under the influence of the devil, you would have a door slammed in your face. Knock on a door to announce the reign of a king who transcends all earthly authority and people will think you’re mad. Knock on a door to invite people to come adore with you a baby you think is God, and you’ll at least get some raised eyebrows. But sing it in a Christmas carol, and people smile and thank you.

I noticed a similar phenomenon this morning when I was working at the cafe. We had the radio playing Christmas music, and every other song was singing truth about Jesus loud and clear enough to offend anyone who would actually listen closely. But no one complained. Is it because they weren’t really listening? Or is it because the truth behind the lyrics is part of the perennial appeal of Christmas music? If Christmas carolers and the radio can sing so freely this time of year about the birth of Jesus to people who may not believe in Him, what prevents us from speaking publicly about Jesus in other contexts?

Lesslie Newbigin spoke of the Gospel as “public truth.” He wrote, “Truth must be public truth, truth for all. A private truth for a limited circle of believers is no truth at all. Even the most devout faith will sooner or later falter and fail unless those who hold it are willing to bring it into public debate and to test it against experience in every area of life” (Foolishness to the Greeks, page 117). The good news of “Joy to the World” is a public truth, one which we should be able to share with confidence any time of year in any appropriate situation. If we’re timid in sharing the Gospel in less sugar-coated forms than Christmas carols, we should pause to question why. Do we fear rejection or dismissal? Do we fear that we won’t be able to answer the questions of others? Why do we hesitate?

I have never been and have no desire to be a door-to-door evangelist. That’s far from how I believe the Gospel is best communicated in our context. But I want to have the same boldness in speaking about Jesus in any context that I had on Sunday night when we were knocking on doors and singing, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” I want to speak with the confidence that the public truth of the Gospel really brings “tidings of comfort and joy” all year-round.

Confidence and Humility: Mary the Preacher

Chris Brown — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 01:20:00 +0000

This Advent, some friends and I have been reading Jacob of Serug‘s Hymns On the Mother of God. Jacob was a fifth century monk, priest, and poet in the Syriac Church, and these hymns display the rich poetic interpretations of scripture that others in his tradition (like St. Ephrem the Syrian) were known for. And in Jacob’s interpretations of Mary’s life and the Nativity, he has used beautiful poetry to talk about Mary’s virtues and the beautiful mystery of the Incarnation. She is humble, pure, discerning, and wise and so she is chosen to bear the Son of God. As Jacob imagines the priest Zechariah telling Mary, “that One whose glory fills heaven is in your womb. / The One who forms babes in all wombs dwells in you, Mary, because of this the babes exult and are glad in Him” (p. 55).

What struck me today in Jacob, however, was his depiction of Mary telling Joseph about her pregnancy. Jacob has combined Matthew’s and Luke’s accounts and has placed Mary’s visit to Elizabeth and Zechariah (Luke 1:39-56) before Joseph’s awareness of Mary’s pregnancy (Matthew 1:18). He envisions Mary telling Joseph about the Baby in her womb, interpreting to him the words of the angel Gabriel and the words of the Hebrew prophets as Zechariah and Elizabeth had taught her:

The Virgin also, with loud voice and uncovered face, spoke with him, without a bride’s veil. / And with the revelations and interpretations of the prophecy, she was urging him not to doubt on account of her conception. / He marvelled at her while listening to her, what must he do! The Word is great and who can believe in it without revelation. / She was telling him the words which she heard from the angel, and she was narrating to him how the priests in Judea had received it. / She was also reminding him what the prophets spoke; he trembled while remaining steadfast, and he firmly believed everything, while hesitating.

Mary is presented elsewhere in Jacob in comparison to the liturgical items of the temple: she’s the ark containing God’s Word, an altar, a mercy-seat. But here Mary is a preacher. And she presents a beautiful model for proclamation. First, she’s speaking from a position of vulnerability. Pregnant before her marriage, she could easily have been ostracized and shamed. To speak out in such a situation required boldness, a freedom from fear of how Joseph would react. Mary is humble and modest, but she speaks with confidence, a confidence that comes not from her own strength but because “The Word is great” within her. She speaks what she’s received from the angel and what she’s been taught by Zechariah and Elizabeth, so she claims no authority for herself. Yet she speaks confidently in order to inspire faith in Joseph. Altogether, she’s speaking, as the commitments of the House of St. Michael the Archangel say, both ”with confidence and humility“. The two go hand-in-hand.

Modesty and boldness, humility and confidence, are not polar opposites. Each requires the other. Confidence without humility is arrogance. A lack of confidence also does not equal humility. Mary displayed great courage speaking “with a loud voice and uncovered face” and “urging [Joseph] not to doubt”, and yet she is the epitome of humility for Jacob of Serug. May God grant us such bold modesty.

Welcome Year 2B (or Why We Use the Lectionary)

Chris Brown — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 11:00:14 +0000

Today is the first Sunday of Advent for us, which means it’s the beginning of the liturgical year. And that means it’s time to switch back to the lectionary for our sermon texts. At Upper Room, we usually preach lectio continua (straight through a book or portion of scripture) during the ordinary Sundays of the year. But in Advent, Lent, and the weeks following Easter, we follow the Revised Common Lectionary, which provides particular readings from the Old Testament, Psalms, the Epistles, and the Gospels for each Sunday. It runs on a three-year cycle (A, B, and C), of which this will be year B. I was a stranger to the lectionary until going to seminary, but now I really appreciate it.

Aside from the fact that it provides seasonably appropriate readings for each Sunday, I have two reasons why I use the lectionary. First, it takes control out of our hands. For four years now, I’ve been reading the daily lectionary, a similarly structured set of readings for every day of the week which goes through most of the Bible in a two-year cycle (1 and 2, of which this will be year 2). When I started doing this I noticed that it relieved the anxiety I had previously taken in to my devotional times. What should I read? How do I know where to begin? Giving up that control meant that it was much easier to sit down and read the Bible. All I had to do was open the book and turn to the appointed readings. Then I found that I was reading parts of scripture I would never have read on my own and over time it gave me a much deeper knowledge of the Old Testament. Soon I began to hear God speaking in new ways through parts of scripture which had previously seemed dry to me. Yielding control over my reading of scripture led to a much deeper and richer reading experience. Which leads to the question, Can we really hear God’s word to us if we choose where we encounter it? Altogether, the daily lectionary has been a tremendous blessing to my personal devotional life. (If you’re interested, it’s easy to access online and the PCUSA has printable monthly reading lists available.)

Second it’s an exercise in ecumenism. The Revised Common Lectionary (RCL) is used by Roman Catholics and a number of mainline Protestant denominations. It’s far from perfect, and omits a number of passages which pastors should still address (hence Year D). But to read the same scriptures as other Christians of different stripes, especially at the high points of the Christian year, shows that we seek to find our unity in the Word of God. The daily lectionary likewise is used by Roman Catholics, Anglicans, and other Protestants and I’m grateful to know that other Christians around the world are reading the same texts I read each day. Not only are these the same texts that our brothers and sisters in different denominations or communions are reading, they’re the same texts that our brothers and sisters in China, in Uganda, in Italy, and in the United States are reading. That’s a beautiful picture of Christian unity.

A Thanksgiving Prayer

Chris Brown — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 22:37:53 +0000

I came across this prayer yesterday and wanted to share it because it’s appropriate for the holiday tomorrow. It’s originally from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.

Accept, O Lord, our thanks and praise for all that you have done for us. We thank you for the splendor of the whole creation, for the beauty of this world, for the wonder of life, and for the mystery of love.

We thank you for the blessing of family and friends, and for the loving care which surrounds us on every side.

We thank you for setting us at tasks which demand our best efforts and for leading us to accomplishments which satisfy and delight us.

We thank you also for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone.

Above all, we thank you for your Son Jesus Christ; for the truth of his Word and the example of his life; for his steadfast obedience, by which he overcame temptation; for his dying, through which he overcame death; and for his rising to life again, in which we are raised to the life of your kingdom.

Grant us the gift of your Spirit that we may know Christ and make him known; and through him, at all times and in all places, may give thanks to you in all things. Amen.

The line expressing thanksgiving for disappointments and failures grabbed me. The Holiday of Thanksgiving is one where it’s common to give thanks for the beauty of creation and for the blessings of friends and family. But our failures? Disappointments? Should we thank God for things that break our heart? Unemployment, sickness, mistakes, embarrassment, damaged relationships. Thanks be to God?

The prayer thanks God for these things because they lead us to acknowledge our dependence on God. As the scripture passage I’m preaching on this week says, “All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away. . . . Yet you, LORD, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” (Isaiah 64:6-8). Like the leaves falling from the trees around us now, we can’t sustain our own life, and season come when we wither and die. Like clay pots, we can easily break. And our only hope is in the One who is Sovereign over all creation, who like a potter can shape and mold our lives according to his will. Thus the prayer offers thanksgiving for Christ: He whose life seemed to end in failure and disappointment, but who rose in victory and triumph. He who gives us life. He who repairs these broken pots.

Thanks be to God.

On “Tithing”

Chris Brown — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 16:17:10 +0000

It’s “stewardship season” in most churches – the time of year when churches communicate openly about their financial needs to the congregation, often soliciting pledges of regular giving from their members so as to budget appropriately for the coming year. At The Upper Room this Sunday, we’ll have an all-church meeting where we’ll talk about the vision for the future of the church, including our decreasing grant funding and our (challenging but attainable) goal of reaching $53,000 in tithes and offerings in 2012. So we’re participating in the festivities of “stewardship season”, but I think there are deeper issues beneath the surface that need to be addressed, in our church and in all churches. Stewardship is not a season. It’s not something we only practice part of the year. Faithful stewardship is about what we do with all the resources God has entrusted to us all the time. And while this particular conversation needs to be had this Sunday, we run the risk of an impoverished understanding of stewardship if we only talk about it this Sunday and only use typical churchy language. In fact, I think the language we use often gets in the way of faithful stewardship. We have to change the way we talk about money.

Take for instance the word “tithing”. Churches like to encourage tithing, defining it usually as the giving of ten-percent of one’s gross (pre-tax) income to the ministry of the church. The idea comes from several Old Testament passages. Leviticus 27:30-33 says that a tenth of the fruit of the land is to be “holy to the Lord”. Numbers 26:12 says that a tithe collected every three years went “to feed the Levite, the foreigner, the fatherless and the widow”. So the principle is often applied to the present-day life of the Church: a tenth of the income of the Church’s membership should be holy to the Lord, and should thus provide for the paid ministers of the church (Levites) and the mission budget (foreigners, widows and orphans).

But it’s not that simple. Consider these words from Richard Foster about why the New Testament actually never speaks of tithing as a practice in the early Church:

“The tithe simply is not a sufficiently radical concept to embody the carefree unconcern for possessions that marks life in the kingdom of God. Jesus Christ is the Lord of all our goods, not just 10 percent. It is quite possible to obey the law of the tithe without ever dealing with our mammon lust. . . . Perhaps the tithe can be a beginning way to acknowledge God as the owner of all things, but it is only a beginning and not an ending” (Freedom of Simplicity: Finding Harmony in a Complex World – Revised and Updated [HarperOne 2005] pages 58-59).

If Jesus is Lord of everything – the One who already owns everything we have in our possession and the One whom we can trust to provide everything we truly need - then ten percent seems like a paltry amount to give back. It’s a starting place, a beginning, as Foster suggests. But on the other hand, when we really look at our finances and where our money goes, ten percent starts to seem like an incredibly high amount to give. For most of us, it seems like it’s always getting more difficult to make ends meet.

Again, tithing isn’t simple. Consider also the issue of “split-tithing”, an increasingly common practice in my generation in which people give away (at least) ten-percent of their income to “Kingdom-work”, but only a portion of that ten-percent ends up going to the local church. I understand this concept well. In fact (I confess) it’s what Eileen and I still practice. The problem with this line of thinking, however, is that it runs the risk of thinking that the local congregation isn’t really “the Church”. But the truth is the local congregation really is the Church and its mission is just as valuable as feeding orphans overseas. Both are worthy of our giving because both are ministries of Jesus Christ.

So where do we begin this stewardship season? Maybe by asking Jesus what we need to do to grow in our discipleship. As his constant push against the legalism of the Pharisees in the Gospels shows, Jesus is less concerned with whether we give 10 percent and more concerned with whether He is master of our life, or if we bow to money (Matthew 7:24). So how is Jesus calling you to show that He’s master of your life? Maybe by giving more to the church this year, taking a step towards tithing if you haven’t before. Maybe Jesus would just as soon ask you to sponsor a child through World Vision or support an overseas missionary or a local campus minister. Or maybe Jesus wants you to “sell your possessions and give to the poor, and then you will have treasure in heaven” (Matthew 19:21). He didn’t just say that to the Rich Young Ruler; He also said it to all his disciples (see Luke 12:33). The question is which step is necessary for you to grow in your discipleship.

So if you’re in Upper Room, you’ll receive a commitment card which we’re asking you to fill out and return to the church. And on it there will be a line with the following options which could be checked: “□ This is a step towards tithing. □ This is my tithe. □ This commitment goes beyond tithing.” Whichever box you check, know that it’s not about “measuring-up” to human standards of giving; it’s about making a tangible commitment to grow in your discipleship this year. Know that there’s no shame in a step towards tithing, committing to tithe is not fulfilling a law, and going beyond tithing is no reason to be proud. Make the commitment that will go deeper than the surface of the words and transform your discipleship.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” – Luke 12:32-34 TNIV -