Bean counting faith

Luke 17:5-10

The definition of ‘Bean counter’ is a person, such as an accountant or financial officer, who is concerned with quantification, especially to the exclusion of other matters.

It’s a characteristic that makes accountants – apart from when we need them – the butt of many jokes.

Such as the one about the woman who went to see her doctor. The doctor examined her and said, “I’m sorry. It’s bad news. You have only 6 months to live.

The woman said, “That’s terrible. Is there anything I can do?”

The doctor said, “I advise you to marry a CPA.”

"Will that make me live longer?"

"No," says the doctor. "But it will seem longer."

Or this letter, written by Charles Babbage, to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, about a couplet in his poem ‘The Vision of Sin:

“Every minute dies a man, Every minute one is born;" I need hardly point out to you that this calculation would tend to keep the sum total of the world's population in a state of perpetual equipoise, whereas it is a well-known fact that the said sum total is constantly on the increase. I would therefore take the liberty of suggesting that in the next edition of your excellent poem the erroneous calculation to which I refer should be corrected as follows: "Every moment dies a man, And one and a sixteenth is born." I may add that the exact figures are 1.067, but something must, of course, be conceded to the laws of metre.

All of us, however, are guilty of a tendency to focus on quantification.

My nieces and nephews go to the same primary school as Andrew Palmer’s children, and my sister was telling me this week that recently, when they were visiting the Palmer’s house, my niece had announced (somewhat enviously as theirs are mostly in the G category), “Mum, do you know the Palmer’s own 27 PG movies!”

Quantifying what we own in relation to others isn’t left behind in childhood. Graeme spoke last week of how easy it is to compare our wealth to those at the wealthiest end of the spectrum, rather than seeking a more beneficial perspective – for ourselves and for others – by looking towards the poorer end.

And we have a tendency to quantify, in a negative sense, our potential in other areas for the kingdom of God.

In Luke 17:5-6, the disciples say to Jesus, “Increase our faith!”

Jesus replies…

Now commentators aren’t 100% certain what variety of tree this is – black mulberry is an educated guess – but whatever variety it is, it was credited by rabbinic tradition with having extremely strong roots; ‘to be able to stand in the earth for 600 years’! Clearly Jesus is talking in hyperbole about something being possible that would be impossible, similar to other references in the gospels to mountains throwing themselves into the sea.

My first reading of these verses says, “Gosh. If faith as small as a mustard seed can accomplish this how much smaller than that must their faith have been! And what hope do I have – with my piddly little bit of faith – of accomplishing anything!

But I am missing the point about mustard seed…

Throughout the gospels mustard seed is associated with the potential of the kingdom of God. a small, insignificant seed that becomes a tree, where the birds of the air can nest in its branches.

One commentator writes, the disciples “have no need of more faith, but of the right kind of faith – a vigorous, living faith.”

It’s not about size – it’s about the variety! It’s not ‘how much’ faith we have, but ‘what sort’. It’s not our gifts, our experience, our energy levels, whether we’re old or young, our financial resources – all of this doesn’t matter. The right kind of faith is living, growing faith – faith that knows God is at work in us.

And is obedient to what God asks us to do.

Jesus says…Luke 17:7-8…

Now on first reading I find these verses jarring. Like Graeme’s encounter with the word ‘Unworry’ on the back of the bus, they worry me. They don’t describe the picture of God I cherish. That picture is based on Luke 12:37 where the slave comes in from working all day and the master leaps up and offers her (or him) his seat. Or Luke 22:27 where Jesus says, “I am among you as one who serves.”

Perhaps if we take this description of the Christian life out of the master and slave context, and put it in contemporary terms (employers, employees, job expectations) it is more comprehensible, more acceptable. Or move it into the domestic sphere. There, as I say to my children, we all work because we are all part of the family. I don’t believe any husband has had much success with the line, “Aren’t you going to thank me for cleaning up the kitchen?”

But perhaps we are missing the point about modelling myself on Jesus. “Because I have served you,” says Jesus, and, “the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves.” “Do this in remembrance of me.”

Serving a master who serves, doesn’t make us masters. It makes us slaves.

“So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves [or not deserving of credit for this]; we have done only what we ought to have done!”

So much for our attempts to quantify what we’ve done for God, what our reward should be, what titles and positions our work has entitled us to!

And so much for our attempts to quantify how much of our lives God can influence; just 9 to 5, or just Sundays, or just one or two areas of our lives, or just for one period in our lives.

God, as a master, claims all and every part of our lives.

But here’s the paradox, for God, as our lover, also gives all and every part of Godself to us. Barclay writes, “It may be possible to satisfy the claims of law; but every lover knows that nothing he [or she] can ever do can satisfy the claims of love.”

At the end of These Strange Ashes, Elisabeth Elliot’s autobiographical account of her first year as a missionary, she recounts an apocryphal story about the apostle Peter.

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘I’d like you to carry a stone for me.’ But he didn’t give any explanation. So the disciples looked around for a stone to carry, and Peter, being the practical sort, found the smallest stone he could find. Jesus then said: ‘Follow Me.’ He took them on a journey and about noon Jesus had them sit down, he prayed, and all the stones turned to bread. He said, ‘Now it’s time for lunch.’ In a few seconds, Peter’s lunch was over. When lunch was done Jesus told them to stand up. He said again, ‘I’d like you to carry a stone for me.’ This time Peter said, ‘Aha! Now I get it!’ So he looked around and saw a small boulder. He hoisted it on his back and it was painful, it made him stagger. But he said, ‘I can’t wait for supper.’ Jesus then said: ‘Follow Me.’ He led them on a journey, with Peter barely being able to keep up. Around supper time Jesus led them to the side of a river. He said, ‘Now everyone throw your stones into the water.’ They did. The he said, ‘Follow me,’ and began to walk. Peter and the others looked at him dumbfounded. Jesus sighed and said, ‘Don’t you remember what I asked you to do? Who were you carrying the stone for?”

Christian faith should not be the bean counting variety; calculating how much or how little faith we have; or ‘how much’ or ‘how little’ might be required of us.

Rather, Christian faith should be the seed growing variety; where little becomes big, where big seems only a little, when we serve a God who has come to serve us.