A Word About Possessing,…

 

I was driving home the other day when I passed a parked truck that looked exactly like my truck. I glanced in the rearview mirror and I said out loud: “I think that’s my truck back there.” Turns out I was wrong. It had a different license plate than my truck. But that got me to thinking about ‘my’ stuff. Since I was driving a car that was also mine, I wondered if I might have a case of autopilot ownership. The way I say “my neighborhood,” or “my street.” Even “my country.”

Possession is a funny thing. What do we really own?

I can possess a title, a deed, a key fob, a Social Security number. I can talk about my peace of mind, but I don’t own it. I can talk about my day, too. But I don’t own it. I can’t lock down certainty. I can’t even claim ownership over one more heartbeat.

I may call it “my world,” or ‘my life,’ but it’s not mine.

Scripture says, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world and all who live in it” (Psalm 24:1). Strangely enough, that declaration includes me, whether I notice it or not. That verse doesn’t leave much wiggle room about ownership or my possessions. The world I live in isn’t mine. It’s rented space. And the life I enjoy is, you might say, is on “Borrowed-breath time.”

Job learned that. He had wealth, land, children, reputation. And then—he didn’t, just like that. When he described his situation, he didn’t talk about what he lost. He said, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

He didn’t possess; he was entrusted.

These days, I hear a lot of folks unsettled by what’s going on in “our world.” And maybe that unsettled feeling can be a subtle reminder: I can have an impact on this world, but it isn’t mine to fix, to carry, or to own. We’re stewards, not sovereigns.

Jesus told a story once about a man who built bigger barns to store his wealth, thinking he’d secured his future. But God said, “This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?” (Luke 12). Possession is an illusory thing, especially when I think about ‘my’ life.  Life may come to pass, but it doesn’t come to stay.

There’s no question that the world we call our world is reeling, wobbing, and feeling at times as if the centrifugal force of chaos is tearing at the very fiber of our culture. If there was ever a moment when we need to focus on Jesus, it is now. 

In this blessed Easter season, the empty tomb is a wonderful reminder. Even though the world feels shaky, I still must remember the opening line of that wonderful hymn: “This is my Father’s world.” This world and everything and everyone in it is God’s. Always has been. Always will be. And God hasn’t stepped off the front porch of Heaven and handed the keys to anyone else.

Not to a political party. Not to some powerbroker. Not even to me.

Strangely enough, maybe that’s the most comforting possession of all.