Best seats of my life, right behind the home plate. I was with my dad and brother-in-law at a San Diego Padres game. The tickets were a gift, an exceptional gift! They put us on the edge of the field and in a special section–one that allowed guests an all-inclusive, unlimited access to a menu ranging from hot dogs to shrimp cocktails to gelatos. With ironic tragedy, however, it was the shortest game ever: The nine innings were over in just two hours and 23 minutes. (A normal game, as you may know, usually takes three to four hours!) On top of that, the Padres lost to the Minnesota Twins. As we left, I said to myself: “Why, Lord? I’ll never have seats like these again!”
The face value of each ticket was $345. Hardly your nosebleed knock-downs!
For a brief moment, we were living what many would consider a quintessential expression of the good life. It has such a powerful allure, at least for me. And for my dad, too, it seems. At one moment during the game, he looked over and said: “I could get used to this!” My sentiments exactly! I wouldn’t mind having those same seats at every Padres game if I lived in San Diego. I wouldn’t mind equivalent seats for the Vancouver Canucks!
But at the same time, I would mind. Because having such seats—and the resources that make them possible—might prove to entice and mislead my heart with an ease that would be embarrassing.
Christ has quite a bit to say about money. Not that it’s bad per se, but that it can very quickly and very stealthily induce regrettable attitudes and actions. Not in the sense of inflicting harm on others—but more in the sense of starting to think that our life conditions, our wealth, and our stature owe more to our efforts than they in fact do. And when we start telling ourselves these types of stories, we tend to veer away from God. We don’t veer off necessarily in an explicit way. But in our hearts. In our self-estimations. In our desires.
I don’t want to veer away from God. So I’ve learned (and am learning!) to be cautious about anything—especially the allure of our commercial culture’s conventional ideas about the good life—that might pose that risk.
To be more blunt, I have to be extra vigilant about the enticement of wealth because it’s already made considerable inroads into my heart. I am an American, you see, and was culturally conditioned to cherish the “American Dream.” I don’t mean to say that I struggle with greed in some exceptional way. My conscience is clear on that issue. What I mean is that there’s a part of me that looks with yearning to material prosperity. A part of me that can be prone to think that material success—and the desserts that come with it—offers something more than God. Something more satisfying. Something that gives greater stability. Heightened happiness.
Our use of money is a thermometer for the condition and desires of our hearts. It’s a more reliable witness than the words of our mouths.
On my best days, I know that this isn’t true. But it is a powerful myth. It gets reinforced in our society everyday in thousands of ways. This is why I am constantly in need of immunization against it. Because I don’t want to be one of those people that Paul warns against in the New Testament: Beware of those who “profess to know God but deny him by their actions” (Titus 1:16). Our estimation and use of money, you see, have a lot to do with the “godliness” that is envisioned by the New Testament. Our use of money is a thermometer for the condition and desires of our hearts. It’s a more reliable witness than the words of our mouths. In a word, what we do, often more than what we say, displays our true beliefs and desires.
To my sorrow and anger, I’ve watched men and women mouth spiritual commitments and assent to “Christian beliefs.” Yet, in watching their lives, I saw how they hastily neglected these same convictions in the ways that really count. The allure of money, and all that it can buy—things, prestige, and superb seats—was too much. It seized control of their hearts. So while they may still talk a lot about God, their standard of living increases much faster than their generosity. And God grieves this. Their willingness to use money for personal gain vastly overshadows their inclination to use it for the gain of others.
Such habits send a message loud and clear: there are two Gospels vying for control of a person’s heart and one, which I call the American Dream (its influence extends far beyond America!), is outpacing the other—the Kingdom of God. As I think about all this, a preacher back home—who speaks with great eloquence and persuasiveness about Jesus—comes to mind. Not too long ago, he decided to build a two million dollar house. That’s a lot more space (and land) in Carolina than in Vancouver, mind you. It seems to me that the American Dream Gospel has not been sufficiently curtailed in this man’s heart.
Yet, while I cringe at his actions, I have to ask myself what I’d do if I were in his shoes. This is why, in part, I strive to be vigilant in guarding my own heart. I know all too well that in certain circumstances, with access to certain resources, I could follow suit.
This morning I used the only prayer in the Book of Proverbs. It asks that God make me neither too rich nor too poor, for both stations can put one at risk of wandering away from God or becoming a hypocrite (Prov. 30:7-9). It’s a good prayer for me to pray. It’s a good prayer for the church to pray. It shields us from temptations that can undermine our integrity and jeopardize our witness. Like all people, we need some money. But we love God. When these get reversed, bad things happen. This is why I don’t need to be in the premium seats at every baseball game.
