Mighty mites

Occasionally, I am startled and deeply humbled by how far short my efforts fall compared to the demands of the Gospel.  In fact, what I have come to understand is that if am not humbled by what I read in the Gospel, it is not because I have been miraculously transformed into saintliness.  On the contrary, if I am not humbled by what I read, then I have not paid enough attention to the reading.  This Sunday's passage - the widow's mite - is a case in point.

Jesus sat down opposite the treasury and observed how the crowd put money into the treasury.

Many rich people put in large sums.  A poor widow also came and put in two small coins worth a few cents.

Calling his disciples to himself, he said to them,  "Amen, I say to you, this poor widow put in more

than all the other contributors to the treasury.   For they have all contributed from their surplus wealth,

but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood."  (Mark 12: 41-44)

When Jesus lauds the widow for contributing “from her livelihood,” literally, contributing her very life, he is both hinting at his own soon-to-be-realized sacrifice and offering us a model of giving totally and sacrificially of our own lives.  How often have I done that?  Not even close.

Okay, giving up my life, that’s a pretty extreme demand, but do I even try to give sacrificially?  At least that would be a step in the widow’s direction.  To help me with that, let’s explore another aspect of the widow’s actions.

What must the widow have been thinking when she made this contribution?  Sure, the Jews considered contributing to the Temple as a direct command from God, a giving back to God some small, small portion of what he gave to them.  Yet surely there was plenty of reasons why she should be exempt from giving.

The priests in Jesus’ day were among the wealthiest citizens of Jerusalem.  The temple was a vast source of wealth for them.  Did they really need her meager donation?  Or would they just waste her contribution on more extravagant gowns and lavish feasts?

Just before this passage, Jesus tells us that the priests and scribes did not always act as the holy people they purported to be.  Did they even deserve her two little coins? Or would they just use them to take further advantage of people like her, the poor and the powerless?

The Temple was a truly magnificent building, perhaps the most impressive edifice in the entire Roman empire outside the city of Rome.  The widow could easily rationalize that her small contribution could not possibly add anything to it.

Despite these justifications for withholding her contribution, she gives - not just one coin, but two!  One coin  would have fulfilled her obligation.  What made her decide to give the second coin when just giving the first coin would have left her hungry for a day?  Did she consider this in her calculations?

I’m guessing not.  She was a bit reckless here, in the literal sense of not considering, or perhaps not caring about, the consequences of her action.  Or perhaps she depended on God to not let her jar of flour run empty or her jug of oil to run dry.  That’s my key. If I can be a bit more reckless in my giving, I can develop habits which lead me to more sacrificial giving. 

But, of course, I have been well-trained to avoid being reckless with my money, to be prudent.  Ben Franklin runs deep in my veins: a penny saved is a penny earned; God helps those who help themselves. 

How often I face the same considerations as the widow and make the opposite decision.  I see a beggar in the street and may think, “if he tried to get a job, he wouldn't need to beg – he doesn't deserve my charity.”  Or maybe, “if I gave him money, he’d just waste it on booze or drugs. I'd just be wasting my charity.”  Or maybe, “I only have a few bucks in my pocket and I didn't bring any lunch to eat today, I’ll give him some money next time.”  The widow did so much better than me. 

Perhaps I’ll never get the opportunity to match the sacrificial nature of the widow's offering, but if I could just put aside my prudence for a time and give the next beggar or whoever needs my help all the cash I happened to have in my pocket that day - don't count it, just give it - I could approach the recklessness of her gift, the recklessness of her love.

So that's the plan.  Stop rationalizing.  Stop counting the cost.  Stop being Ben Franklin and start being the widow: give recklessly; love recklessly.  Trust God to pick up the pieces.