Transcript
Beware of the scribes who like to walk around in long robes. Please be seated.
I knew a priest who would do an exercise with couples during premarital counseling. He would talk about how when we say something, the way we say it can have a huge meaning as well. And I’m not just talking about saying something like “yes ma’am!”, versus “Yes, ma’am”. They would do an exercise with a simple sentence.
Let’s pick a common household comment said, by one partner to another, or by a parent to a child, or even between two roommates. “I thought you said you would do the dishes”. Now, when you emphasize the first word, it comes out like this. I thought you said you would do the dishes. And the second word like this. “I thought you said you would do the dishes.. And you can keep going and emphasize every word in the sentence. And some goodies are “I thought you [emphasis] said you would do the dishes”, or “I thought you said [emphasis] you would do the dishes”, or even “I thought you said you would [emphasis] do the dishes”. Each emphasis changes the meaning and some emphasis put the misunderstanding on the person speaking and some put the misunderstanding on the person listening.
It’s certainly a fun exercise, and I suspect all of us could use this exercise in our own relationships and I suspect we placed ourselves in this exercise either taking the role of the person talking, or taking the role of the person doing dishes. And now some of us are feeling defensive, and some of us are feeling annoyed because we somehow manage to place ourselves into the exercise and fill one of the characters.
Now, I want you to do that with this gospel reading today. This reading is from Mark. It is considered the end of Jesus’s public ministry and Mark’s gospel, meaning The next few chapters include Jesus foretelling doom and gloom, and then the plot to kill Jesus and all the events we recognize during Holy Week. The reading today is technically two readings, right? Two pericopes, that’s Greek for the word meaning sections or stories, one about scribes and long robes, which also appears in Matthew and Luke, and one about a poor widow which appears in Luke as well. And while the two stories aren’t really related, it’s easy to pit them against each other.
Now, as my opening exercise had you all doing role play in your head, I invite you to do the same thing here with this passage. Who do you relate to in this passage? Who is the one you most align with? Of course, we all want to be the poor widow. After all, she seems to get the praise of Jesus.
But is that really who we are? To be honest, probably not. Just by the nature of our demographics, not many of us would fit into the category of a poor widow. And yet, that doesn’t leave many other good options for who we might be if we were to role play these two stories. And unfortunately, it invites us into a place of our own self-examination that is not easy, that is downright uncomfortable and unkind to ourselves. And yet, who are we in these two passages?
Granted, perhaps you’re not quite like the scribes who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, because Jesus’s judgment is quite harsh for them. Sadly, though, perhaps, maybe that is where we most often fall in the category of I am important, I deserve respect, I should be honored. And yes, we all are. And yes, we all do. And yes, we all should. But to what extent? How far should our own importance and our own respect and our own honor go before we are no longer individuals being human and instead have seeped into the category of beware, as Jesus says.
While the story of the poor widow is cute and we can very easily be caught up in the sentimentality of it, especially compared to the condemnation Jesus mentions at the end of the first story. If you notice, Jesus doesn’t actually applaud the poor widow. He doesn’t say, do as this poor widow does. Instead, he says that she has done more than anyone else, and a critical eye must wonder why. Why did the poor widow have to put so much more in? Not monetarily more. After all, her gift was barely worth a penny. But compared to how much she has…. What happened to those scribes who think they are so important and so deserving of honor and respect?
Now, I am not saying we need to put so much into the church coffers that we all need to become like the poor widow who, out of her poverty, has put in everything she had. Although if you do want to become like the poor widow and do that, let me know, we’ll rewrite your pledge card, it’s cool. Perhaps instead, we should consider all the ways we do give and how we give. And I don’t just mean to the church, I mean to society, to our families, to our neighbors, even to those we don’t know and won’t ever meet. Do we live like the scribes, expected to be honored and respected? Or do we live like the poor widow, willing to give, even in our own humility, willing to give what little we might have left to give?
Now, I invite you to consider this story in a different light. What if, instead of the two small copper coins representing money, what if they represented faith or hope or even love for our fellow humans? Now, how do we fit into this story? Do we want people to know how much faith we have? How much hope or love for each other? Do we expect to be honored for all that we give and all that we have? Or do we strive to give more? Strive to give until in the end, we have nothing left to give because we have, in our everyday, ordinary lives, lived faith, hope and love and real and concrete and tangible acts, and not solely by rituals or promises.
Jesus offered himself a sacrifice for each of us, and the saints I spoke of last week offered themselves sacrifices for their faith, and the poor widow gave all she had a sacrifice to God. Now what do we offer? The word sacrifice comes from Latin roots meaning to make something sacred. It means offering something of value as an act of devotion or worship to God.
It’s not a hallowed offering of “eh, that’s enough”. It’s a dedicated decision to give whatever it is you are offering as a sacred act, not because you want honor or respect, not because you believe it will make you more important, or fill your bank account more, or whatever you might think you deserve for what you do as you love God and love your neighbor. But because as Christians, as followers of Christ, we are called to make all things holy. To give all of us out of our abundance and out of our poverty. For no other reason, but because it is what God asks of us. This is what God expects from us. It is, in the end, what God demands of us.
And while that can seem daunting, I am going to say something that will sound a little bit ridiculous. We will never be able to do it, and that’s okay. God knows we will never be able to give as much as God wants us to give. And God knows we will never fully be what God wants us to be. And in that, God still loves us.
Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that “still”, let me try that again. And in that, God loves us, loves us, knowing that we will never satisfy the call to give all that we have. Not just money. Also faith, hope and love. We will always make mistakes. That is, after all, the very nature of humanity.
And yet, when we are faced with today’s story from Mark, perhaps if we try, if we are truly honest with ourselves now and place ourselves in the story most accurately now, then we can slowly start to work our way towards the true nature of who God wants us to be, so that when the time comes for Jesus to appear a second time, as our Epistle states, we will all be eagerly waiting for him. Knowing that we did our best, knowing that we did as much as we could in loving God, and in loving our neighbors and our enemies, and all those who are near us and far from us, known and unknown.
Amen.