The Collect:O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Mark 12:38-44
38As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces,39and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets!40They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”41He sat down opposite the treasury and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums.42A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.43Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.44For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
In the Name of the God of Creation, who loves us all…Amen. Good afternoon, and welcome to Holy Family on this 24th Sunday after Pentecost, in this Season of All Saints. The Gospel reading for today is the story of the Widow’s Mite, with which we are all familiar. By the time this text rolls around in the lectionary, many churches will have already completed their fall stewardship drives. In some ways, it may seem to be a fastball right down Peachtree for a stewardship homily. If you like baseball metaphors, which I do, this may be a pitch too tempting to refuse—simply give like this poor widow—and give freely—and leave it at that. But the more I thought about this passage, the more I wondered what we are about today. If I were to write a letter to the widow in this story, it might go something like this:
Grace and peace to you. I hope this finds you and finds you well. We do not know each other. In fact, I do not even know your name. I decided to write to you, someone I have never met, because we read out loud the story of how you put all that you had into the treasury plate. I have some questions, though, about what this gesture meant to you, and I thought it might help me answer them if I wrote to you. Sometimes when I write I can figure things out. Maybe in the process I can learn more about you, and the church, and what it means to give. Your story is read often this time of year to inspire people to give to the church. Often, the point of the sermon is to suggest giving in the manner that you gave—not simply to give a little off the top to God—or perhaps more to the point, to the church—but to dig deep, and give freely, all that one has.
My scholar colleagues, however, note that this use of the text may go against the way Mark’s Gospel originally intended the story to be heard. Indeed, by pairing the story of Jesus observing your offering with his pronouncement against the religious leaders in the preceding verses (12:38-40), perhaps we are invited to hear this scene differently than most usually preach it. In denouncing the scribes, Jesus says they “devour widow’s houses” (v. 40). When Jesus comments that the widow “out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on” (v. 44), he is less praising the widow and more condemning a religious institution that would take a “poor widow’s” last penny. You were no doubt on the margins of your society, both by virtue of being a widow, and simply because you were a woman in a culture where the rights of women were often overlooked or devalued. Many in my own culture, by virtue of circumstance, are also on the margins and, indeed, we are living in a time when women’s rights are once again being challenged. Though you never say a word in this passage, your actions speak volumes. So, while your story may indeed call for a stewardship sermon, perhaps its focus should not be on the stewardship of those sitting in the pews. Rather, I wonder if the focus should be on the church’s stewardship of money given on behalf of those who, like you, are on the margins of society. As a biblical representative of the marginalized and powerless, your actions call the church not to take from the poor but to provide for them. I am often confused when I flip through channels and see one televangelist after another preaching the prosperity gospel. “If you pray right, live right, and send me money,” they often say, “God will bless you with success, happiness, and financial security.”
The Christianity they proffer is nothing more than a lottery—you pay a dollar and take a chance on winning more. And like the lottery, this kind of “stewardship” preys on the most desperate, the most anxious. It is the psychological equivalent of taking hostage those who are most vulnerable. While most churches and preachers in my time do not distort faith in this way, in our materialistic society, and for some, this message may seem to be an offering of salvation. I am grateful that the congregation I currently serve is dedicated to giving back to the community. May it continue to be so, and perhaps in some way your story is a reminder of the importance of doing exactly that.
It may be that we need to “un-hear” the usual message preached from your story to hear a more theologically appropriate interpretation. I wonder, if you were to speak, whether you might offer a positive model for how the church should care of the “widows” of today, and those who are marginalized, and suffering. I wonder if we can only really give things that are really ours. In other words, we must own before we can give. Stewards are managers, and managers are not owners. Managers are people who handle resources on behalf of the owner. Managers act in the interest of the owner, who is in this case God. Even the wealth of our households is not ours in any permanent sense. It passes through us. I think you understood this. I think you knew that the money you gave—those two coins—were in some sense not even yours. And so, the question is, did Jesus point to your example as a model for giving in this way? What might you have really been saying to us? Many of the scribes whom Jesus condemns in this passage probably thought, like me, that they were doing what was honorable, and good. Perhaps Jesus is calling each of us who are at risk of benefitting from systems of oppression to consider specific and sustained action by engaging in spiritual practices that challenge oppression and marginalization whenever and wherever we find them, especially in our own backyard. Maybe when you put those coins in the plate you were asking us to explore what it really means to give all that you have, to live in faith. Perhaps you were investing, if you will, in a kind of Ignatian “Holy Indifference.” This does not mean one does not care, but rather means a total openness to the will of God in one’s life. In other words, I will strive to discern my will in relation to God’s for the world. And I will do so without being attached to the outcome in unhealthy ways. As the poet Dante expressed it: “In God’s will is our peace.” Or, as Augustine said, “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.”
We are called to ministries of healing and reconciliation, ministering to the sick, the friendless, and the needy. We are called to respect the dignity of every human being. I wonder if those two coins you gave represented these deep values. We are called to free people from anything that would separate them from God, from others, and from their most authentic, true selves. You are asking us to remember that the true meaning of sin is to “miss the mark.” Perhaps in pointing to your story, Jesus is not just celebrating your giving. Maybe he is also emphasizing that the giving was in the wrong direction. Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. “Behold what you are…become what you receive,” St. Augustine said about the Eucharist. I think you understood that we do become what we receive, and what we give. In a sense those two coins symbolized who you had become, and who you were becoming. I remember Mildred, another widow who gave so much, and who was a resident on the Alzheimer’s Unit at Wesley Woods. She never said a word to me in the nine months I served as chaplain there, but she knew every word of every hymn we sang in worship. She had become the songs she sang in the little Methodist Church she attended all her life, and Alzheimer’s could not, would not ever rob her of this deepest core self. She sang with gratitude, and with joy. “Behold what you are…become what you receive.” Indeed, and what we give in gratitude, without thought of what we receive in turn, reminds us that through our participation in the sacraments of baptism and Eucharist we are transformed into the Body of Christ, to be taken, blessed, broken, and given for the world. Amen.