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Growing up in my family, if you
asked what’s for dinner, the answer was always the same. No matter what smells were coming from
the kitchen, Dad would always gear up and sing, “We’re having Beefaroni, it’s
beef and macaroni, Beefaroni’s fun to eat, Beefaroni’s really neat, Hooray! for
Beefaroni!” As a kid, it drove me
up the wall that I could never get a straight answer. But as a camp counselor,
I began to understand why Dad never answered that question.
It was my first week as a camp
counselor, and already I was tired of answering the same questions over and
over. What are we doing next? When are we leaving? Why do we have to leave now?
What are we going to do when we get there? Are we there yet? What are we doing
next? One by one every camper would go through the same questions, almost like
they’d gotten together and formed a plan to drive me bananas. I had suddenly
developed a real appreciation for the beefaroni song
On the second day, my patience
cracked. After breakfast, we were walking from our cabins to the main building
to make our lunches for the day, and one of the kids asked me, “Are we going to
have lunch?” and I gave him a smart alec answer. “Nope, I said. “Not Today.
Lunch and Dinner only happen on Wednesdays and Fridays. All we get for the rest
of the day is half a cookie and a little bit of water.” While I thought my
little joke was funny, the campers took it with deadly seriousness. They
wondered how they were going to survive. They were already feeling the
beginning pangs of hunger, and half a cookie would never be enough.
One girl was so upset at the
thought that she began to hold her stomach and moan that she could never
survive. And something incredibly sweet happened. Another girl saw her in
distress, and offered what little she had. “You can have half of my half of the
cookie.” It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. She didn’t worry
about what she would have to eat, she saw that someone was in need and moved to
fill it. Even with as little as she thought she had, she shared it, without
concern that she might not have enough. Rarely do you get to observe such
kindness in nature, and when you do, it warms your heart.
On the surface, the story of the
widow’s mite is another example of genuine generosity found in nature. A widow gives two tiny coins to the
treasury, and Jesus, who is standing by watching says that she gave more than
any of those who dropped big pouches of gold, because she gave all that she had
to live on. If we focus on this part of the story, like my little camper who
would share her last meal with a stranger, it’s beautiful and romantic, a tale
of self-sacrifice and devotion.
Students of the Bible will note
that widows are often standbys for the weakest and most vulnerable in society.
They have no one to care for them, and no means to care for themselves. But
this woman, in spite of how little she had, was willing to give everything to
the Temple treasury. She didn’t hold anything back for tomorrow. She saved
nothing for a rainy day. Maybe she had heard Jesus’ teaching that we should
consider the lilies of the field, and trust that God will clothe us as
beautifully as God clothes all of Creation. Or maybe she just held on to God’s
promise that any who call out to God will be cared for. In any case, she gave
her everything, and put her trust in God to provide.
When we talk about faith, we are
often talking about what we believe. But saying that we believe that God will
care for us is a very different thing from putting our last two coins in the
offering plate. That is faith. Faith is belief put into action. There is no
doubt that had she tried, this woman, with her faith, could have moved
mountains. She didn’t worry about herself, she knew that God would care for her
and that would be enough. She just wanted to care for others. I hope that each
of us can find this kind of faith.
That we can find the faith to say, God, I don’t know what tomorrow will
look like, but I will give my everything to you today. I hope each of us can
give, even when we feel like we don’t have enough, and put our trust in the
promises that God will provide.
As much as this narrative is
beautiful, if we pan out for a moment, the tone of the story changes. Our
passage begins today with a warning about the scribes, men of the cloth who
enjoy great respect and honor. Jesus says they devour widow’s houses and say
long prayers for the sake of appearance. It’s unclear what Jesus means by devouring
widow’s houses. Scholars suggest that it may have been encouraging widows to
give beyond their means, paying themselves lavish salaries while mismanaging
property donated by widows to support the Temple, or sponging off the
hospitality of those who have so little to give.[1]
We don’t really know. What we do know is this: On one hand we have religious
leaders who devour widow’s houses. And on the other hand, we have a widow whose
house has been devoured. And in this moment, the widow is giving her very last
coins to the Temple.
When I think about my generous
camper, who would share her last piece of food with someone she’d only met, the
taste in my mouth isn’t sweet, but bitter. I’m amazed at the genuine kindness
of this girl, but I’m also reminded that it was my pettiness and impatience
that made that sort of sacrifice necessary. Here was a little girl willing to share what little she had
for the needs of a girl she’d only met the day before, all because I thought it
would be funny to tell them they wouldn’t’ have anything to eat. I was put in
charge of my campers, who were powerless to control what their day would look
like. How could I have abused that responsibility? How could I make cruel jokes
instead of reassuring them that everything would be alright.
Traditionally preachers have zoomed
in on the widow and the amazing faith that she shows. But if we pan out, Jesus
comment moves from praise to lament.[2]
It is suddenly a shame that these men, who wear long robes and have an
appreciation for the finer things in life would ask this poor woman to give up
everything for their support. They have devoured her house and still they ask
for more. How could they ask so much from someone who has so little? How could
one praise her devotion without lamenting the need that she experiences? Over and over again God’s prophets tell
us to care for the widow and the orphan, to protect the weakest and most
vulnerable. But these scribes had turned it on its head! Instead of supporting
the widow, they have asked her to support them!
The funny part about my story, is
that it all happened just a few feet from the camp dining hall. And sitting in
the dining hall, a feast had been prepared. Bread and meat and cheese and
peanut butter and jelly were laid out for sandwiches. Apples and oranges and
bananas, and little bags of chips and cookies were all laid out for us to make
our lunches from.
The shameful thing about the
reality of the scribes’ world, the reality of our world, is that there is a
banquet prepared for us. There is enough for all. No one needs to go hungry
because of our selfishness or fear. No one needs put their last two cents in
the offering plate so that we can wear long robes and read long prayers. The
widow’s story is a story of a woman who had faith that we should all envy, but
need we should never allow.
[1] See Smith,
Geoffrey. “A Closer Look at the Widow’s Offering: Mark 12:41-44” Journal of the
Evangelical Theological Society vol. 40 no. 1 (March 1997): 27-36. for a
rundown of the various scholarly hypotheses concerning Jesus meaning in that
phrase.
[2] for the
scholarship behind this interpretation of Mk 13:38-44, look to Wright, Addison
G. "The Widow's Mites: Praise or Lament? A matter of Context." Catholic
Biblical Quarterly Washington, DC 44, no. 2
(1982): 256-265.
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