The Five Hundred Dollar Briefcase

The Rev. Dr. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
March 7, 2010

The Five Hundred Dollar Briefcase
Isaiah 55:1-3

My old one was pretty beaten up.
It was a rugged canvas briefcase I’d bought
from Land’s End ten years earlier.
What it lacked in style
it more than made up for in function.
It was well-traveled: Boston, San Francisco, Toronto,
London, Frankfurt, Moscow, St. Petersburg --
stuffed under seats, jammed into overhead bins;
always carrying more than it was designed to hold:
a laptop, books, papers, pens,
from time to time even a shirt and a tie.

But it was time for a change.
I’d been Editor of Management & Finance Publications
for The Economist Group in New York City for more than a year,
and I thought it was time for something nicer than a $50 canvas bag.
I was meeting regularly with senior executives
from large corporations -
I thought I needed something that was more appropriate
for my position.
More to the point: I felt I deserved a good briefcase;
that I had earned one.

I began to shop the best leather-goods stores in Manhattan.
This was the mid-1990s,
before the technology bubble and the real estate bubble,
but still prices were high.
It would have been easy for me to have spent
well over a thousand dollars,
so I set what I considered to be a reasonable limit.
I thought something around $500 would suit me just fine.
A five hundred dollar briefcase would set me apart,
fit my position -
a five hundred dollar briefcase would satisfy me.

I looked and looked,
and finally found the perfect case:
Leather so soft, the feel of a well-worn baseball glove,
solid brass fittings,
small, but expandable,
elegant, understated.
I ordered the case, asked that it be monogrammed,
and two days later walked proudly out of the store
carrying my new briefcase.
It felt right,
just right for an editor at the Economist,
a man with expertise in
the most sophisticated issues of management and finance.

It was only a matter of days before I realized
that my new briefcase was heavier than my canvas bag.
It also had a shoulder strap that was not at all comfortable.
The bag could expand to hold a laptop,
but I could not stuff as much into it
as I had with the old case.

A few weeks later, when I made my quarterly trip
to Economist headquarters in London,
I left my expensive, impressive briefcase home.
My old Land’s End bag seemed more practical,
more useful for traveling.

I was beginning to think that I had made a foolish purchase.
Not just an impractical one,
but a vain one,
that I had sought to purchase a briefcase
that would make a statement about me,
about who I was.
My ego got the better of me.

I had bought something to fill what I thought was
more than a want,
more than a desire,
it was a need,
my five hundred dollar briefcase.

Within three months I stopped using it,
and was back to carrying my dirty, worn,
but more than adequate $50 canvas case.
My five hundred dollar briefcase became an expensive
filing cabinet next to my desk at home.

There is no society in the world that is as consumption oriented,
as shopping oriented,
as “thing” oriented as ours.
We buy things to fill needs,
practicing “retail therapy”
because we feel we deserve something,
that we need something,
that we must have something.
Yet how quickly the fascination fades
sometimes even before the credit card bill arrives.

We buy things to feed a hunger,
to quench a thirst,
not realizing that it doesn’t matter what we buy,
or how much we spend.
We’ll only be hungry and thirsty again,
sooner than we can imagine.

Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk,
and author of many deeply spiritual books,
was highly critical of our culture
for its focus on materialism and consumption,
for its focus on the “inessential and the superficial”.
(Northcutt, Christian Century, Mar. 9, 2010)

A five hundred dollar briefcase,
as nice as it was,
was also utterly inessential;
it was superficial;
Ultimately, it wasn’t even all that practical.

Lent reminds of how easy it is for us
to focus our sight, our minds
on the inessential,
the unnecessary,
the unimportant,
the superficial.

Merton wrote, “When we live superficially
we are always outside ourselves,
never quite “with” ourselves,
always divided and pulled in many directions…
we find ourselves doing many things
that we really do not want to do;
saying things we do not really mean;
needing things we do not really need;
exhausting ourselves for what we secretly realize to be worthless and without meaning our lives.”
(as quoted, Northcutt, CC, Mar. 9, 2010)

Lent provides us with the opportunity to look at ourselves
to see where we are living superficially,
to see where we are skimming across the surface of life
chasing the inessential,
the worthless,
the meaningless;
valuing those things on which God puts no value,
and paying little attention to those things
that God does value.

Lent reminds us as no other time of year does
that in Christ we are given the opportunity
to die to old ways,
and be reborn in new life.
And this rebirth, this being born again,
this is not a one-time event;
It is a process,
it is an evolution, not a moment in time,
something we work on constantly.
As Merton observed,
“The true Christian rebirth is a renewed transformation,
… in which [we are] progressively liberated from selfishness
and not only grow in love,
but in some sense actually become love.”
(Merton, Essential Writings, 66)

We slough off the old,
the layers we have built up over time,
layer by layer, bit by bit,
the layers that get between us and God,
us and Christ.
We slough them off in our life-long rebirth
so that the love that is deep within us can come out,
the love God has given us,
the love ignited by the Holy Spirit,
the love fueled by Christ.

Lent offers us the opportunity to turn,
to turn away from
all those things we may feel we need,
want, deserve,
but which are superficial,
empty,
unsatisfying.
God shows just how well he knows us when he asks,
“Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?”
(Isaiah 55:2)

In turning, in repenting,
we can find what is truly satisfying,
what will leave us feeling filled and content.
In leaving the empty and the unsatisfying behind
we can, perhaps for the first time in our lives,
truly understand what the term
“the peace of Christ” really means.

Here at this table
you will find what will fill you
what will satisfy you.
Here at this table,
a table that looks so spare,
you will find what is essential,
what you desire,
what you need.

Come to this table for this Holy Meal,
prepared by our Lord.
Come and “eat what is good,
and delight yourself in rich food.”
(Isaiah 55:3)
Come to this table and eat richly
and you’ll walk away satisfied, content,
and at peace,
singing the Psalmist’s song:
“O God, you are my God,
I seek you,
my soul thirsts for you;
my flesh faints for you…
your steadfast love is better than life…
in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.”
(Psalm 63:1)
AMEN