When at some point I moved on from the innocuous Candy Land game as a kid, I became a big fan of Monopoly. To a young kind, it seemed like a grownup kind of game, and it was exhilarating to deal with all that paper money. The wispy bills came in all denominations and colors—gray, yellow, green, blue—and there were many of them. Each time you passed GO time, the banker doled out $200. Every player began the game with the same amount of money. What wasn’t there to like about this game?
As if that were not enough, in Monopoly, the bank never runs out of money! The banker only needs to create more money on ordinary paper if the bank goes dry. Now, admittedly, landing in jail or having to pay income tax is a drag, but stacking up piles of colorful money and using it to buy property like there’s no tomorrow more than makes up for it.
The most obvious reason the younger version of myself liked this game was that there was no real risk involved in it. The money was fake, even if its inauthenticity provided a strange thrill during the heat of the game. What was the harm in buying a string of properties on Park Place or Boardwalk? If you lost them, it was just a game. At the end of the day, even if you had to give up all your amassed property and fake bucks in Monopoly, chances are, there’s still the real home in which you’re playing the game. There’s still the checking account with money in it. The game was just a game.
Have you noticed that Jesus seems to have no interest in playing games? Now, don’t get me wrong. I happen to think Jesus had a great sense of humor. To see it, you must use your imagination when reading Scripture. But Jesus is not playing games when he’s grilled about the origin of his authority. And yet, I suspect there’s a wry humor behind his blunt unwillingness to offer any explanation for the nature of his authority. And when he asks a question of those who question his authority, Jesus receives no answer at all. So, perhaps with a glint in his eye, Jesus refuses to answer the demand made of him. You won’t give me an answer, then I won’t explain the origin of my authority. In the stage cue direction, Jesus winks at others in the crowd looking on.
Jesus might have a sense of humor, but he never plays games because his life and his witness and all that comes with it are no game at all. The characters in his life are not pawns but souls in need of a Savior. And as Jesus nears the cross in Matthew’s Gospel, it is evident that those around him, especially his very own disciples, still fail to understand that what might have seemed like a game before is no game at all.
As the cross looms on the horizon, the money put down on the string of houses on Park Place is looking cheap. When it runs out, people just handwrite new bills. To get ahead in the game, people say the right things to please the right people and avoid saying things that will offend those dealing in property on Boardwalk. And if they’re worried about committing to any answer, they say nothing at all.
Which is why Jesus suggests that it’s better to say no and change your mind than to say yes with fake money and then close the game when the going gets tough. In other words: put your money where your mouth is. Let your heart and your deeds demonstrate that this is no game at all.
Right now, in a world of conflicting messages, low commitment, cheap words, and shallow friendships, it’s easy to be a Christian dealing fake money in a board game. Jennifer Reddall, the Episcopal Bishop of Arizona, recently named this quite bluntly in a message to her diocese. Here’s what she said: “The skepticism of many young people in our nation towards organized religion often has its roots in the sense that churches are hypocritical–they profess faith in a God of loving relationships, but sometimes exercise behavior that is un-loving and abusive.”[1] To many so-called Christians, discipleship seems to be more than a riskless game. Bills can be printed on demand, and you can close shop when things get too risky.
Should we, then, be paying more attention to the ones who are saying no? On a first reading, the first son in Jesus’s parable who initially says no to his father’s request to go and work in the vineyard seems insubordinate. Why won’t he go to work? How can he be so disrespectful of his father? But the twist in this parable—and there’s always a twist in a parable—turns the screw in our gut. This first son ends up being the most righteous, not because he said no, but because he changed his mind. It takes a significant amount of humility, self-awareness, and courage to transform a no into a yes.
But the second son is dealing out fake money in a game where the stakes are abominably low. His yes is not really a yes at all. His yes is a no. Why not stay in the game until the fake money runs out? But of course, then, the banker can just create more. Stay in the game until it gets too boring or hard. Enjoy the allure of winning and calling the shots. But don’t risk too much. Say yes to save face, but then do whatever you want.
Perhaps we should listen, for a minute, to those who are saying no. Why are they saying no? And when we find out why, maybe it can help us understand the true meaning of Christian discipleship. Those who want nothing to do with the Church abhor the slippery feel of fake money doled out like there’s no tomorrow. They’re tired of hearing people quote the baptismal covenant and then treating others as pawns in an abusive game. They’re tired of seeing the Bible hijacked to beat people into submission. They’re tired, perhaps, even of well-behaved Christians who do not offend or hurt but whose lives have no spiritual seasoning or spice. They attend Church each Sunday, but as soon as the service is ended, they fold up the game as if it has no relevance to the rest of the week.
Even more shockingly, could it be that those who say no to laboring in the field say no not just because they hate hypocrisy and the proliferation of fake money? Could it also be because they have some instinctive idea of just how difficult discipleship is? Are they so in awe of what Christian commitment really entails that they’re worried about saying yes and then trading in fake money for the rest of their lives?
So, before we pass GO one more time, maybe we should look at the bills in our own hands. Is the money fake or is it real? Are we playing a game that we can end at any time, or is this the way of Jesus, which never ends? And when the tragedy strikes, or when we’re asked to put our money down to support ministry, or when we’re invited not just to sit in the pew but labor in the field, are we willing to do it?
Of the many things that I value about this parish, it’s that I don’t find it to be a place that deals in fake money. I see a profound movement of the Holy Spirit among us that is causing all kinds of people to take Christian discipleship seriously, whether those who’ve been here for decades or those who’ve been here for a few weeks.
Week after week, we find people coming to Mass, laboring in the vineyard of ministry during the week, going deep in formation, and giving sacrificially of their resources and time to enable God’s ministry to flourish here. Here, we strive to deal in real money. Here we try to avoid playing riskless games.
Perhaps at some point in your life, you’ve said no, but now you’re saying yes. And what about those who aren’t yet here? What about those who are presently saying no, those who would rather play no game at all than play with fake money? What can they teach us? And what would it take to turn their no into a yes? Because in the Christian life, an unwillingness to change one’s heart is perhaps the most chilling offense against God’s grace. And a meaningless yes is just fake money when heart and deeds don’t match it.
There is something incredible behind a no that understands the power of becoming a yes. Every time we fall into sin and then turn again to God, our no becomes a yes. None of us is immune from no, but thanks to God’s abundant and never-ending grace, every no can become a resounding yes.
And best of all, God always says yes to us. Sometimes, the response might seem like a no, but in the mystery of God, it’s always a yes. God’s yes is always available to us, even when we say no. No never has to be our final word, for sometimes a long period of no might result in the most genuine yes of all. As much as we might play games with our faith, God never plays games with us. God doesn’t trade in meaningless denominations of cash. And when our hardness of our heart is softened and our no finally becomes a yes, we’ll find that God’s eternal yes has never, ever left us.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
October 1, 2023
[1] https://azdiocese.org/2023/09/decline-and-discipline/