Meat

"Don't hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or--worse!-stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it's safe from moth and rust and burglars." Matthew 6:19-20 The Message

So, a few months ago I had this impulsive urge to make hamburgers. And being the BBQ fanatic that I am, I decided that in that moment I had to purchase a smoker. I've tasted the best brisket, the best ribs, and the best sausage in the world right here in Texas, so I decided it was time to give it a shot myself. So, Shelby and I jumped on our computers to look for the best smoker we could get for our money. When we finally found the one, we rushed out to go get this smoker so we could have hamburgers that night. 

After I assembled it that night and made some delicious, juicy burgers, I cleaned up the smoker just like the instructions said, put the lid on, and read through the manual about all the different things I could do with this smoker. 

The problem is, it's months later and I still haven't used this smoker. I had huge ambitions for this thing. Thoughts of fatty, moist beef danced in my head as I thought of the possibilities. But now, every morning that I go outside to meditate, this smoker stares me in the face reminding me of how my ambitions didn't pan out the way I thought they would. 

And then there's my friend Lucas. He has a smoker too. Except, he's smoking meat just about every weekend. He's in deep. He's become a self-made brisket connoisseur, and because of it other people are getting to benefit from his grilling skills. When he goes out to his back porch, his smoker's staring him in the face and reminding him of what a great investment it was. And people are getting blessed by it. There's just nothing like the drippy fatty end of a brisket. 

But I say all of this to get to this point: It's not really about the physical smoker is it? It's really not about cooking. It's really not about impulsive buying. It's about the who and the what that's surrounding the smoker. 

In my case, the smoker just sits. No one is benefiting. Well, I guess some cow somewhere is benefiting, but I think you get the point. 

In ancient Hebrew, there was this tradition called the year of liberty or the year of jubilee.  Every seventh year, the land would be given a break - no planting and no harvesting. Anybody who was in debt would be forgiven, and all indentured servants would return to their families. It was all about stopping, remembering, and returning. The idea behind it was, everything and everyone belonged to God. The land was God's. Property was God's. People were God's. And so, the time of jubilee was a time to be pointed back to the reality that nothing was really owned but everything was a gift to be shared. It was a reminder that the land wasn't owned by man and that especially people weren't owned by masters. 

Land wasn't just something to be owned and servants weren't just another commodity and debt wasn't just another fact of life. 

Everything and everyone was returned to their original owners as a symbolic remembrance of how everything belonged to God, or Yahweh. In this way, land became more than just land, but a symbolic reminder of the God who gave significance to the land. Money became more than just money, but a symbolic reminder of the God who gave significance to money. 

Ownership became more than just ownership, but a symbolic reminder of the God who gave significance to ownership. 

I own the land, but I don't really own the land. I own the servant, but I really don't own the servant. I own the money, but I don't really own the money. 

So what does all this have to do with me and my stupid smoker?

According to ancient Hebrew philosophy, my smoker is insignificant if it's not being used to bless the world around me. 

And so, it raises a whole new question about impulsive buying doesn't it?

We've all watched the show Hoarders. We've seen the destruction that having too much stuff creates. We've seen the devastated families that have been ripped apart by one member's obsessive addiction to having more. And I think it's easy to watch extreme shows like that and to start rationalizing and justifying the clutter in my own life that's just taking up space. It's easy to use extreme stories outside of my own story to avoid the fact that I'm holding on to stuff and not returning it to its original purpose. 

This jubilee opens up a whole new can of worms doesn't it?

It makes the car not just a car, the boat not just a boat, dinner not just dinner, and work just not work.

Everything becomes illuminated with this profound and sacred significance. Everything is on its way to being returned to its original purpose - a reflection of the way God provides lavishly to all of creation. Everything's being redeemed, restored, and renewed. 

And so to the ancient Hebrew, nothing was insignificant. The smoker wasn't just a smoker, but a means to reflecting about how Yahweh provided and how everything belonged to Yahweh.

If I'm to live out the concept of Jubilee, then I have to ask the question, "What do I have in my possession that's not being returned to its original owner?"

What do I have in my possession that's not being used to bless the world around me and the God who provides for me? Whatever those things are - material or immaterial - are most likely the things that my heart's so wrapped up in that the thought of them being taken away or given away causes unnecessary anxiety in my life.

Jubilee calls me to give those things away to people who are better suited - to return them to their rightful owners. Jubilee calls me to take a hard look at what I put a badge of ownership on, and be reminded that everything, big and small, belongs to God.