As a pastor in New York City, I've found myself challenged to think more deeply about “stuff." I've come to believe that the truth about what we too casually name “materialism” is not so simple. It ought to be clear, after all, that God doesn’t hate stuff. Witness the creation story. God invents stuff. At the end of each of six days, God engages in self-congratulation, pronouncing serial evening benedictions on the stuff created that day: “Good!”
When I can’t pray I often turn to the end of Romans 8. Here Paul
pulls back the velvet curtain of revelation. What we see is amazing: a
never-ending festivity where there sounds a strained, melodious,
mysterious prayer that all the suffering in this present world cannot
drown out. At the heart of the festivity is the Triune God praying for
us.
Biblical language about God often reflects the patriarchal cultures
in which that language was crafted, but every once in a while we get a
glimpse of a God who transcends male identity. In Isaiah, God comforts
us like a nursing mother comforts her child. Jesus said that he wished
to gather up the people of Jerusalem like a mother hen gathers up her
chicks.
There were only 11 disciples on the mountain. The group was incomplete because one had betrayed Jesus and given in to despair. The others hadn’t acquitted themselves much better during the time of trial. The impetuous one had denied Jesus three times. Some had scattered and hid. Together or on their own, it just didn’t seem they were enough.