Is It Really About the Money? by The Rev. Donald L. Hamer, Rector
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Trinity Episcopal Church, Hartford
Pentecost 24 – November 8, 2015
Mark 12:38-44
“Is It Really About the Money?”
I sometimes wonder if, when this passage from Mark’s Gospel was included in the lectionary in November, it was a conscious decision to lob a soft ball to every preacher in Christendom who is in the middle of an Annual Appeal or so-called Stewardship campaign. When you think of it, the whole role of the treasury in the Temple was not unlike the role of our Annual Appeal: It was to raise funds to underwrite the administrative and program apparatus of the Temple: That is traditionally the role of our Annual Appeal.
And yet, it is all too easy to think that this story is about money. It involves money, but it is about much more than money. It is also all too easy to think about this story by putting the poor widow on a pedestal and thinking about all of the rich people in the Temple as slackers. The problem with either of those understandings is that we tend to idealize people on pedestals and assume we can never attain to their level of greatness. And nobody wants to think of themselves as a slacker – we are all more comfortable somewhere in between. Which of course is the safest place – we can hide there! Right? We don’t have to wrestle with the real issues this passage presents if we don’t identify with anyone in the story!
And while the story of the Widow’s Mite may seem like a soft-ball for the preacher, this text presents challenges on all sides:
n As in the days of the Temple, since the traditional purpose of the Annual Appeal is to raise funds to support the work of the institution, it is not surprising that emphasis often is on those who are perceived to be – at least potentially -- the largest donors. The problem for the preacher in this morning’s passage is that it hardly holds up what the Gospel calls “the rich” – those who “give out of their abundance” – in a good light.
n The story also holds a deeper and seldom-asked question: Does Jesus point to the poor widow as a model for giving, or does he point to her as a tragic example of the potential for religious organizations to suck the life out of people?
Think about that: In the story, the widow gives all that she has to support an institution which, in the very next chapter, Jesus says is soon to be destroyed. In verse 40, Jesus makes it is clear that he holds the scribes of the Temple responsible for devouring widows’ houses. The whole enterprise has been perverted: Those in charge of the institution lead privileged lives propped up by the offerings of the widows and the poor – the very people the institution is supposed to serve. A very disturbing picture Jesus paints of the inner workings of the Temple.
So where’s the Good News in this passage from Mark’s Gospel? I think some context may help us here. This scene is one of the last events in Jesus’ public ministry as related by Mark; all that remains in that Gospel is Jesus’ Temple discourse and the narrative of Jesus’ passion and death. So in this sense, the widow’s selfless act of self-giving – her sacrifice for a broken institution – may be seen as a precursor to what Jesus is about do: sacrifice himself – giving the whole of HIS life – for the benefit of a sinful and broken world.
Perhaps part of the Good News in this passage for us at Trinity is Jesus’ own acknowledgment of one of the observations of our Mission Discernment Group: That care for the widows, the poor, orphans and others on the margins of society are not just good deeds – they are important spiritual practices. The word sacrifice comes from two Latin words meaning “to make sacred.”
The important point here is that the church as a whole must come to understand that church-sponsored activities that care for others and promote the common good have got to be part of the fabric of who we are. God’s mission of caring for others is not one small slice of a larger pie called church – caring for others has to be a major ingredient that is a part of the very essence of everything we do. We need to understand that caring for one another both inside and outside of the church is intimately connected with – indeed flows out of – our act of worship in the church. So when Jesus is criticizing the scribes in this morning’s passage, he is not showing disdain for their religious practices – he is passing judgment on the emptiness of those practices when they are disembodied from the central work of the God whom they are purporting to worship. And that central work is to be a channel of God’s lovingkindness and mercy to the wider community. Likewise, in giving all of the little that she had rather than from great abundance, the widow’s meager offering was sacrificial – made sacred.
This notion of sacrifice can be a hard one for us. In our daily lives, we tend to think of “sacrifice” as giving more than we want to and frequently giving less than we should. Giving up stuff for Lent is a great example. When we look at people who have really sacrificed – people like Mother Teresa, St. Francis, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, those who devote their lives to serving needy populations in remote areas of the world, or, as we approach Veteran’s Day, those who sacrifice their lives and their own personal safety for our protection – we look at them and say, “Wow, that’s awesome.” We put them on a pedestal along with the widow in this morning’s story, and admire their work from afar – but we seldom relate it to ourselves and our own daily lives. We marvel at the enormity of their giving – and the inadequacy of ours. By putting them on a pedestal, we distance ourselves from them, thinking that we don’t have that much to give, or that what we have to offer isn’t worthy, or not imagining ourselves being able to give that way. And so, rather than challenging those notions and really stretching ourselves, nothing ever changes. We objectify our heroes – holding them at arm’s length even as we stay in that warm, comfortable center and hide. But we don’t change.
And we don’t change because we aren’t able to see ourselves in this story. We don’t want to identify with the poor widow who gives everything, and we don’t want to identify with the wealthier folks who give less than they should out of their abundance. And so I invite you this morning to place yourself in this story that we’ve all heard a thousand times not as the widow; not as a scribe, if you serve on the Vestry or in a position of leadership; not as one of the wealthy who gave out of their abundance. Take a moment and picture yourself in the story as the two coins that the widow placed in the Temple offering. And as you do that, think of two words: “Faithful” and “offering.” What are you adding toward the faithful work of following Jesus the Christ?
What comes to mind for you when you think of “offering” as being personal – a real giving of yourself? For St. Augustine, and in our own Anglican liturgical tradition, our duty is to present all of who we are as an offering at the communion table, sharing in Jesus’ own sacrifice of himself. But it shouldn’t end there. We will be reminded of this when we pray this morning: Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us. Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only and not for strength; for pardon only and not for renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the world in his name.
In his sermon on the Incomprehensible Nature of God, St. Chrysostom writes: When the widow put into the collection box only two small coins, the master did not give her a recompense worth only two coins. Why was that? Because God paid no attention to the amount of the money. What he did heed was the wealth of her soul.
My friends, our Gospel story this morning is not at its heart about money. Nor is it about extolling the virtues of poverty or condemning the rich. It is about the gratitude with which we accept the gifts that God has given us and the faithfulness with which we offer them to God’s glory and to further God’s mission in the world.
So the REALLY GOOD NEWS is that Jesus has something better in store for us – not only in the hereafter but right here, right now – and that is the ability to change, to be more than we think we can be. I was thinking of the lyric to that Josh Groban song,
You raise me up so I can stand on mountains,
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas.
I am strong when I am on your shoulders,
You raise me up, to more than I can be.
Jesus invites us to be more than we think we can be. Several weeks ago, when we celebrated Children’s Sabbath, I mentioned the term Lifestyle Stewardship. Lifestyle Stewardship is the faithful offering of ourselves, our souls and bodies in everything we do. It becomes a part of our very being. Will we fall off occasionally? Of course – we’re not Jesus. But imagine if, rather than confining Augustine’s understanding of offering of ourselves to the act of communion around the table, we make it a part of who we are, 24/7, 365?.
Look around you this morning. Look at the richness of who we are, what we represent; the struggles we have endured; the faith that has sustained us; the stories we have to share; the gifts that each of us has to offer; the hopes and dreams that each of us has for ourselves, for those we love, and for our common life together as faithful members of the Body of Christ. Think of yourselves as the coins. And think about how your faithfulness makes you more valuable than you could ever imagine. AMEN.