Where Do You Give From?
The Reverend Canon Elizabeth Knowlton
Mark 12:38-44
November 12, 2006
The Cathedral of St. Philip
When I was a sophomore in college I had the opportunity to participate in an organ recital with two of my friends. After much preparation the big night came. By all accounts it went very well and I received a lot of positive feedback. Enough that I started to wonder whether I should think more seriously about a career in music. While I had assumed law school was my next step, I decided that I should go and speak to Dr. Bolitho, my organ professor.
I will never forget the conversation. After telling him about my excitement about the recital I asked him, "well, do you think I should consider pursuing this full time?" I don't know what I expected the answer to be, but it was not what I got. He said, "well you've just had a success and that always feels good. But unless you tell me you have to do this, you're probably not ready for the commitment. This is a difficult field to make a living in and unless it is the only thing that will make you happy, you shouldn't pursue it."
Frankly, not only was I surprised, I was a little taken aback. Offended even. I had expected my teacher to encourage me, which in retrospect he did. What he seemed to know, was that I was not prepared to give my whole life to music, despite my great love for it. I wasn't willing to accept the sacrifice required and no amount of external praise was going to replace that commitment. He was very wise. It would not have been the right choice for me.
“Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect….” An ironic text to say the least for a preacher in these walls. I admit it was a little harder to don my purple cassock this morning, I even considered a mini skirt. Add we also have added to that image the subject that makes many of us nervous---money. Ah yes, and its stewardship time.
But whatever your feelings, I invite you to bear with me. Any apprehension might actually be a gift, as long as we don't get stuck there. If we claim our belief in the power of the transformative word, we need to grapple for the depths. If all we can see from this gospel text are images of overly adorned clergy or impending stewardship packets, we might miss a much deeper question lurking under the surface.
The gift of our apprehension is that it puts us on alert. We wonder what this preacher might be saying to us and whether she has authority or integrity we can trust. You might honestly wonder where my commitments lie, and I hope you ask yourself the same question. But, as I thought about my reaction to this particular text, I wondered why we don't feel that every single week. If the gospel is failing to confront us, or we listen uncritically to what is being said from this pulpit, we might indeed find ourselves back in the temple.
As Jesus is spending time in the temple he is challenging the status quo and the assumptions of power. But he is also challenging our uncritical acceptance of what the scribes have been saying. In the verse immediately preceding this text he has been poking fun at their interpretative style, lest the crowd take them too seriously. He begins to chip away at their armor of certainty and superiority and invites the crowd to think in a new way. He invites them to look beyond the external signs and test the depths.
He tests their commitments and invites us to test ours. But in that test is also an invitation to real freedom. To fully give all of ourselves to the life God want us to have. A promise that our deepest longings can be filled. Filled without the external means we might think are required.
So why don’t we all find ourselves fully committed to the gospel? Why are we ever tepid? Shouldn’t we always have both feet firmly planted in God’s camp ready to do whatever is required, sacrifice embraced at every turn?
If we really believed our needs could be met by God, the whole industry of consumer marketing would fall flat on its face. But the reason it keeps coming at us from every corner is that it works. We start to believe that we will feel more complete if we only acquire the next promotion, a bigger house, or the right clothes and automobiles. Rather than calling on God to help us discern our commitments, we are far more likely to consult our speed dial list on the cell phone for advice.
I think the answer is really quite simple. It is hard to do. The external is a lot more tangible and accessible. We receive praise and affirmation. We receive the long robes. To look only to God not only flies in the face of our cultural expectations, it frankly challenges our survival instincts. The more we have in the way of gifts, material or otherwise, the harder it can be clear the decks to even hear the question being asked.
What we are being asked to believe is that the widow really has given more. Against all of our cultural valuations, we are asked to believe that she has made a better example of discipleship than the “professionals” strutting around the temple. While we acknowledge that intellectually, maybe even cede Jesus the point, I think there is often a lingering disclaimer in our gut.
So, this can be anxiety producing. Our apprehensions rise and we launch our defenses. They might be skepticism, disengagement, or even self-righteous indignation. If we feel we have given a lot we might be offended or enraged at the suggestion that we haven’t given enough or been enough for God. Or that our gifts were not considered better and primary.
But the question is really not about the amount. Jesus is challenging the place from which we are giving. Those throwing in the large sums are not chastised by Jesus. He doesn’t say they should take any of it back. What he challenges is their giving half heartedly out of excess---as an afterthought. They lack a deep sense of commitment. It is the difference in picking out a precious gift for someone you love with great care and attention and buying a lavish gift for a grab bag event. You might spend the same amount of money, but the commitment and relationship involved is quite different.
And the worst part is that in the commitment department, we seem to be on a rather level playing field.
A friend of mine used to have a sticker on her calendar that said, “Jesus loves you, but I’m his favorite.” It is a great line. But there is a deep need exposed in its humor or we wouldn’t laugh. It points out the difference between our intellectual assent to the idea that God loves all of the creation, with our real fear that there won’t be enough to go around.
We might like the assurance of equal forgiveness, but do we really want equal love? Which of us if we grew up with siblings really wanted equal attention given by our parents to our brother? To our sister? Wasn’t there at least a day when we need more and resented the presence of our fellow family members? We take that experience of disappointment and scarcity and often put it all over God.
I think that when we start to uncover that side of ourselves, the fearful part of ourselves that longs to be favored, we are actually on the right track. If we are willing to admit that limit, that selfishness, there just might be space for transformation. Our genuine skepticism that God could accomplish that for each and every one of us is the first step on a long journey towards deeper trust.
But, it is a place that feels pretty awful. Frankly it feels pretty impoverished.
“Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had.”
The widow giving out of her poverty is not a saccharine glorification of her deprivation. It is not meant to limit our obligation to the poor. But it is also not meant to guilt the wealthy into giving more until it hits them where it really hurts. It is an invitation, to see in her poverty, a freedom that we all need.
When we are able to set aside our desire to be the favorite, the most privileged, the wealthiest, or even the most pious, we do not just find poverty. We might actually find we have a lot more energy to give generously and with fuller and deeper commitment. The energy that was needed to support the structures of superiority and certainty has yielded room for relationship and grace. The process may make us nervous and it will prove to be rather demanding. But, paradoxically, the place of poverty has yielded the abundant grace of God.
Amen
Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org