The Rev. Carol Wedell
November 8, 2009

Well, it's the second Sunday in November and I've just read a very familiar passage-one that is often used around this time of year to encourage you to give generously as you contemplate your pledge, your financial commitment to this congregation.  Even as I read this short passage I knew I was at risk of losing some of you!  You may feel like an online colleague of mine who said this passage gives her PTCS - post traumatic church syndrome!

What new thing do you say about the widow's mite?  It is a bit of an uncomfortable passage for us preachers, because Jesus is critiquing folks like me who "wear long robes": "Beware the scribes who like to walk around in long robes and have the best seats in the synagogue.  They devour widow's houses and say long prayers."  (If any of you want my seat for a day, I'll gladly share!)  Clearly, Jesus is making a very strong statement about the religious leadership. The real context here is that Jesus called attention to the widow's gift less for her giving itself, than to point to the injustice of the scribes.  They were the ones who would interpret the "Law" and decide cases of inheritance and property, and for their services usually charged a percentage of a deceased person's estate. But sometimes, as Jesus said, they seized the opportunity to "devour widow's  houses."

It's important to remember that women were in a rather precarious situation in Jesus' day.  Ordinarily a girl would marry as early as 13 or 14 - while her husband would be much older.  So very often these brides were widowed.  They couldn't inherit property, so unless there was some other man to take care of them - their father, a son, a brother-they were likely to be impoverished to begin with.  Jesus takes aim at the religious establishment who could help them, but rather make their plight even worse.

The traditional interpretation of this text (the one that you probably expect to hear) is that Jesus is praising the generosity of the widow.  She is giving everything she has to God!  Now let's be honest.  Doesn't that make you think she is more than a little bit foolish? Sounds crazy to me.

But what if Jesus isn't praising her?  What if he is pointing her out as an example of how the religious institution fails to care for her, and even makes her situation worse?  Jesus' observation is first an example of a corrupt system that preyed on the vulnerable and called it religion. The point is less the heart of the widow than the sin of the scribes.

So we have at least two possible interpretations of this text.  I want to suggest another way of viewing it.  One way of approaching scripture so that it touches the deepest part of us, is to place ourselves in the text and see how it feels, what we observe, how we respond.  In the book, Soul Sisters, Edwina Gateley shares the experience of one who watches the poor widow - and in so doing learns something about herself.  Her lyrical account is so beautiful, that I am going to share a lengthy part of it today.  So picture yourself standing as an observer, listening with your heart to what God may want to say to you today.

What must it really be like to have nothing?  What must it really be like not to know whether you will eat tomorrow?  Stark poverty is really quite a nasty thing - it has an odor all of its own which seeps through broken skin and threadbare clothing - hiding in the crumpled crevices drawn tight against the cold.  Poverty is uncomfortable, not only for those who live with it, but also and perhaps, especially, for those who merely observe.  For are we not all, as they say, a paycheck or two from poverty?  Are we not all susceptible to sudden and unexpected tragedy that could cast us, pitilessly, into that grey and insubstantial place where dignity and self-respect stand hostage to hand-outs?  What must it feel like to line up for benefits - hands outstretched, like a baby's, to catch the crumbs that fall from corporate table? 

I do not know.  I pray I never will.  I can only speculate and imagine, watch and wonder... Perhaps even...perhaps, I can break open my heart enough to let the mystery in, to risk empathy with this other woman standing there on the street corner, outside the shelter, the soup kitchen, the church, clutching her pennies like gold just for a moment - a short, cringing moment -I could be her...  And in a second of redemption, I am.  Fingering the two pennies hiding deep in my pocket, I stare at the collection box rising, intrusive, daring, before me, jangling "World Hunger!" in coppery dance.  Empathy evaporates at the enormity of the demand.  Redemption retreats.  I am no longer the other woman, the one with the two copper coins, for I know in all of my being, that I would never - could never - let go my two coins, no matter how small they are... They are all I have.  That's reasonable.  Reasonable too, to let go the speculation and imagined empathy.  Better not pretend to understand how she could even unclench her fist and drop her coins into the hands of another.  But she did.  I am not her.  We are separate.  Different.  I am small spectator of something bigger than me....is she there simply to leave me gaping, my claimed worthiness resentfully unraveling before her goodness?  I wish she had not intruded into my heart, quickening its beat.  But I must look again, sister, impelled by your eyes-brighter than the glinting coins, moist with incipient tears, shining and reflecting a wisdom born of anguish.  Poverty did not suck dry the richness of your spirit, sister!  It could not squeeze small your generous heart, but left you rich in wisdom.  Your eyes tell you story, sister, and I must listen -  locked in  your honest gaze.  For you have captured me, and your deep-welled goodness softens and reminds me of, my essential self - before I sold my soul to Security and Comfort and Compromise.  I think I love you.  And I tremble with that truth - for I looked into your eyes and I cannot, ever, be the same.  You have given more, Jesus said, than all the rest. You have give more than I...For I have never been that poor, I have never been that rich.

What are we to say or do before such goodness?  What is the gift to do to me - given my million mites?  How can I ever personify the generosity in that little gift-daring me to greatness?  How dare you, Jesus, with your penetrating vision, your discomfiting words, leave me struggling in such a space!...Locked in my deepest knowing, are your eyes, sister, like burning lights calling me to divest and share my bounty - to trade my accumulated goodies for a richer spirit transparent in simplicity, lovely in nakedness - - but, oh, so vulnerable!  Dare I, sister, trade my treasure for grace-soaked soul?  Or are my treasures found not so much in the coins themselves, as in the desire to hold them?  And are the riches that I must share, graces of the spirit rather than good of the earth?  Far more precious than silver or gold or stocks and shares....Dare I dig into my heart to bring forth kindness, tolerance and love beyond expectation, beyond reason, to flow like a river all around me, soothing and refreshing dry and lonely spaces kept hidden in human souls?  Ah, is that it?  Must I become as God - all emptying, all compassion, cracking open my heart to pour out who I am.  Is that it?  Is that it? Soul sister, will I be you?

This story, my friends, is a matter of discipleship.  Jesus observes this woman - and whether or not we view her as a victim of a corrupt system, or an example of total devotion, she does have something to teach us. As another online colleague put it, faithfulness in giving is not for the sake of the recipient, but it is for the life of the giver.  As followers of Jesus, a part of the life of faith is to give - in all ways - including financially.

ur pledges to this congregation ensure that week after week, day after day, 24-7, people are blessed through the worship, music, Christian formation, fellowship and mission of Church of the Western Reserve.  I know that many of you give very generously to other wonderful organizations. I know that you support good and worthy enterprises both locally and globally.  But as Presbyterian pastor, Johanna Adams has said, "The church is the only institution whose sole purpose is to share the love of God through Jesus Christ.  When we give to the church, what we give goes to serve others in his name."

This week most all of you received a letter and a pledge card inviting you to consider your financial commitment to Church of the Western Reserve for 2010.  How do you go about deciding what you will give?  Do you look at what you gave last year and give the same?  Have you ever turned the pledge card over and looked at what percentage of your income you are currently giving?  I urge you to do that and to consider one thing:  can you increase your giving by 1%?

Some of those increased gifts will go for mundane, yet necessary items like the gas bill.  Others will go to help strengthen all of the programmatic areas.  It has long been a goal - yet unrealized, to put aside some each year for major repairs.  My deepest hope is that additional giving by all of us will enable us to give more to those most in need in our community.

Why does one particular gift, any one of our individual actions matter in the great scheme of things?  Why does it matter if I recycle my cans and newspapers, when it is such a puny effort?  Because giving changes us.  Exercising that kind of faithfulness puts us in the hands of God.

I was talking with our son, Justin, a while back about money and the different ways his peers approached it.  Most of them thought nothing about stopping at Chipotles or Wendy's or Panera or Starbucks on a fairly routine basis.  Ever practical, Justin observed, "you know if you go to those places all the time, it really adds up!"  And of course, he is right.  When we add all of our gifts together - perhaps even giving up a latte here and there in order to help feed the hungry - we are able to do great things in Christ's name.

Next week we will be dedicating our pledges for 2010. May each of us give in such a way that we are drawn closer to the God whom we love and serve.