Mark 12:38-44
In the name of God: the giver of every good gift. Amen.
It’s probably no accident that the story of “the widow’s
mite” shows up in the lectionary cycle in the fall - when most parishes are
either engaged in, or are about to begin their annual stewardship
campaigns. This time of year the story
of the widow and her exemplary generosity reaches us with an accompaniment of
barely inaudible groans.
The chorus is rather predictable: look at this poor old
woman, she gave everything she had, can’t you give at least a little more?
But there are at least two problems with this
all-too-familiar refrain. First, it
doesn’t tend to work. Manipulation and
guilt may, in some cases, lead to short-term results, but they’re essentially
useless if the goal is to build stronger relationships in a community or to
cultivate deeper expressions and understandings of the Christian faith.
But, perhaps more significantly, I’m not sure that’s even
what the story is about.
If we look at the bigger picture, it seems pretty clear that
Jesus wasn’t particularly interested in supporting the stewardship campaign for
any institution. Institutional
advancement was simply never his goal.
Institutional revolution: sure.
But supporting an institution for the sake of having it survive through
another fiscal cycle? Not so much. That’s not the Jesus I follow.
Moreover, that’s just not the kind of compelling narrative
that could ever spur a people through centuries of persecution, or lure the
people of the farthest reaches of the earth into any faith.
So forget everything you ever thought about the widow’s
mite. Shake it off.
We can do better.
We can give more of ourselves to this story than just the
same old things we’ve always thought.
While it’s true that money is important for the continued
functioning of the church, I think this story is about something more -
something deeper: it’s about the spiritual discipline of generosity.
Too often we equate the idea of generosity with financial
giving. Some of that is out of
necessity, but some of it is about laziness.
It’s easier to write a check than it is to search your soul. It’s often easier to find some cash than it
is to find that point of connection with the community and with the wider world
that causes your heart to sing.
But real generosity isn’t about the giving, so much, as it
is about that heart-sing moment. It’s
not about checking a box or fulfilling an obligation, but about giving so
completely of yourself that you can’t imagine anything else that you might do
instead. It’s about letting the spirit
of generosity define you.
Over the past week or so I’ve been moved by the expressions
of generosity I’ve seen following in the wake of the hurricane. Some of the most striking images I’ve seen
have come from the Episcopal Church of St. Luke and St. Matthew in Brooklyn,New York, where my friend Michael Sniffen is the Rector. You may remember Michael as the preacher at
our Celebration of New Ministry in September.
His parish is set in this grand, old 19th century building
in the once-wealthy Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn. The church will seat 1700 people, and
while they’re growing, they’re still about 1500 people shy of needing all
that space.
In the days just after the hurricane had passed, they began
collecting essential supplies to aid the relief efforts so desperately needed
by their more aversely affected neighbors not too terribly far away. Through Michael’s recent connections with the
Occupy Wall Street movement, the community organized to form Occupy Sandy - an
organic relief effort defined by neighbors helping neighbors.
The church became a distribution point for both supplies and thousands of volunteers. Somewhere along
the way, one of the volunteers setup an Amazon.com wedding registry for needed supplies, and donations began pouring in from all over the country. In the past few days, that cavernous old
church has been stacked with the things people need - from food and blankets to
diapers and cleanup equipment. The
stacks reach higher than your head and stretch out all across the church. More than $100,000 worth of supplies has been
donated and the items are constantly being distributed to the surrounding communities
where they’re most needed.
St. Luke and St. Matthew isn’t a wealthy parish. They don’t have a huge endowment. They don’t have thousands of people showing
up every Sunday. But what they do have
is space. And that’s what they
gave. And it’s changing the world.
I’m imagining what worship must be like for them there this
morning: the opening procession snaking around stacks of supplies, the
congregation huddled in the first several pews as most of their space is
otherwise occupied. It’s bound to be a
bit of an inconvenience, but at the same time, it must be deeply moving to be
so literally surrounded by expressions of generosity.
As I think about that parish and the risks they’ve taken to
be so generous to those in need, I wonder what expressions of generosity we
might find if we were willing to risk being open to the needs of our neighbors.
Whatever inconveniences the people of St. Luke and St.
Matthew may find, I guarantee you that they will also find that this commitment
to generosity will change them. It will
define them. It will open them up in
ways that they didn’t even know were possible.
That’s what happens when you are generous with yourself.
Generosity isn’t about writing a bigger check to maintain
the status quo. It’s about giving of
yourself in whatever ways that you can.
It’s about making your heart sing.
It’s true that we need bigger checks. In the upcoming pledging season you’ll hear
all about that. We need those checks to
meet rising costs, and to supply the kinds of programs that will help us to
reach our community.
But even more than that, we need our hearts to sing. We need to find that explosive, viral strain
of generosity that can infect us. We
need to find that mission that will define us.
We need to find that path to the needs of our neighbors.
When we do, it won’t be about our needs anymore. It won’t be about these long robes, or the
respect we get. It won’t be about the
best seats in the synagogues or the places of honor at the banquets.
It will be about generosity.
Let that be the spirit that defines us.
Amen.
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