Labor Day is a holiday with two faces for me. In a way, it’s my favorite holiday because there is absolutely nothing that needs to be done about it. There are no lists of things to prepare, no cards to feel guilty about not writing, no presents to think of, create or purchase and mail, no special meals to prepare. Labor Day is the holiday that calls us to rest and give thanks—a holiday that honors the work that millions of people do in every hour of our lives to keep the machinery of our world running relatively smoothly and calls to mind the struggle in every generation to provide a living wage for all workers.
Labor Day is my favorite holiday, but it’s also my least favorite. Tomorrow is the official last day of summer. This is the last official weekend of summer. The calendar may say that summer doesn’t end until the equinox later this month, but we all know that’s just a technicality. Especially for those of us whose internal calendars were set in our young years by the last day of school on the Friday before Memorial Day and the first day of school on the Tuesday after Labor Day, tomorrow is the last of the so-called lazy days of summer. All the home improvement stores have been reminding us in this last week that it’s now or never for that long list of things we planned to get done this summer. If we don’t get it done this weekend, it won’t get done until next year.
I think it was the Loew’s commercial that sent me down the road of reflection on things done and left undone this summer. I never really got around to writing down a list, so the reflection was not as depressing as it could have been. My back yard still is crying for attention, but the fence that was falling down has been replaced and its fresh new appearance inspires me to do a few more things out there before the rains come—if that ever happens again. The interior paint is still not completed, but I can take replacing the water heater off my list for another decade. If it were written down anywhere, the list of things yet to be done would take my breath away, but I had a minor epiphany yesterday as I was dealing with the stacks of paper in my home office.
have one of those little books that tracks what I’ve done to the house, and a couple of times a year—whenever I’m putting the receipts where they belong—I record repairs and what-not so that I’ll know what was done, who did it and when it was done. As I was logging the information about my new water heater, I realized that there’s a reason why I have to write these things down in my little book. It’s because these thing—while important to the running of my house—are not important enough to hold space in my memory. I will not remember that this was the summer that I replaced the fence or got a new water heater. What I will remember is that this was the summer the Bri, Katie and I took a road trip to Cal Poly so that Brianna could see if it’s the school that fits her best. I’ll remember watching Katie take over 200 pictures as we walked across the Golden Gate Bridge, ate lunch at the Tiburon ferry pier and joined hundreds of other tourists for a cruise around the bay. I’ll remember buying black-eyed peas and okra at the farmers’ market and passing along the way of cooking I learned as a young teen. I’ll remember the moments that stretched my patience and tickled my funny bone and touched my heart. Most of all, I’ll remember watching these two people I love so dearly grow into the women they are meant to be.
I greeted the summer with a list of tasks tucked away in my mind, but watching Brianna and Katie juggling their tasks of growing up reminded me that we always have to-do lists, no matter how old we are. Watching them reminded me that we all are always growing and that this business of growing can be a slippery venture at any age. At first glance it seems like a teen’s list is not so different from that of many adults. There’s the process of accomplishing things like grades and of building an identity as an independent person within the family and the community and of gathering equipment like clothes and cars and various electronic toys. If you substitute salary and status for grades and perhaps add in a house, that list would work pretty well for most adults in our country. When I look around me at my stuff and other people’s stuff and all the stuff that’s yet to be bought, I’m sometimes reminded of a bumper sticker I used to see, usually on the back of a Corvette:
He who dies with the most toys wins.
In today’s gospel portion, Jesus reminds us that he—or she—who dies with the most toys is still dead. Our stuff—our accomplishments—our completed lists don’t give us our lives. Our lives are a gift from God. We are given freedom to use our lives as we will, but Jesus reminds us that when we cling to the things that are tied to this earth, we set limits on the lives we lead. When we cling to the trappings of life, we turn our backs on the things that are most central to our being.
Jesus invites us to live our lives as his followers, and Paul, in his letter to the church in Rome, gives us a handy list of directions for living in Christian community. These directions for life bear an amazing similarity to the vows of our baptismal covenant. As we come to the end of summer and put away the lists of things that we’ve planned for our earthly houses, I invite you to consider adopting Paul’s list for this next season of our lives. Hang on to this rich bit of scripture. Put it in your pocket or your purse or on top of your dresser or in whatever book you happen to be reading. Look at it at the end of the day and take some time to wonder. Wonder how you might have lived a little closer to the mark and ask for God’s help in the day to come. Wonder at the way your actions marked you as a follower of Christ and give thanks for God’s presence with you. Look at the list and remember that each day gives us another opportunity to be the people Christ calls us to be, to live the lives Christ calls us to live, to follow the one who came to teach us to live in response to God’s abundant and gracious love.
Thanks be to God.