Here she is again: the widow who goes up to the temple treasury to put in her two cents. Every year she shows up at stewardship time. Teachers and preachers love to point and say, "Look at her! Truly I tell you, she has put in more than all the others."
That is not literally true, of course. In terms of quantity, many people in that line put a lot more money in the temple offering. Certainly she has earned a reputation through the centuries as a good example of sacrificial giving. Yet I have a hunch this anonymous woman would be embarrassed by the recognition she has received in thousands of stewardship sermons.
The fact is, this woman is one of the nameless saints in the Gospel of Mark. She stands in the same company with two other anonymous women. The first had a hemorrhage, and touched the cloak of Jesus to get well. The other anointed Jesus for death by breaking open a costly bottle of perfume. Like them, this woman comes out of the shadows for a moment and then disappears just as suddenly. We don't know much about her. Was she old or young? Did she have a house full of children or did she rock an empty cradle? We don't know where she lived, what she did with her days, or what kind of support she received from the extended family. Mark suggests only three details about her. First, she was a widow. Second, she was poor. And third, she gave everything she had as a gift to support her place of worship.
Ever since, the question before the church is whether or not we will keep her on our list of saints. Is she really the kind of role model we wish to hold up?
What does she give? Two lepta, or two copper coins. The total value in today's currency is about a penny. That is not much. Once in a while, some treasury department official spreads a rumor about removing pennies from United States currency. Apparently pennies are too small and insignificant to matter much.
In a hungry, hurting world, small donations cannot make much of an impact. Ever see those fund-raising boxes by the cash registers of supermarkets and pizza shops? They are always full of pennies and nickels. How can any charitable organization address the great problems of the world if all it receives is small change? How can the church afford to reach out in mission if it nods to an impoverished woman and says, "Give like her!"
At least, that's what I was told a few years ago at a fund-raising seminar for non-profit organizations. The flyer promised churches a new approach to stewardship. Instead it offered savvy wisdom on fund-raising. The instructor said, "Forget about the two-penny widows or the fixed-income people. Don't give them a pledge card. Don't include them in your fund drive. They cannot give much, so it's a waste of time to go chasing after them for money. What they might give will hardly cover the time and effort you expend in chasing after them."
The instructor said, "If you want to raise funds for your non-profit organization, go after the bigger fish in your sea. Develop a relationship with the wealthiest people you know. Invite them to serve on your board. Cultivate their interest. After all, those who give the most have the greatest capacity to increase their gifts." It was sound fund-raising advice, especially in a world that values wealth, status, and prestige.
Then I went back to the church I served. I looked around the table where our official board met. Four widows served as elders that year. None of them had deep pockets or great resources, but each made sacrificial gifts to the congregation. So much for advice from fund-raisers in the world outside the church. In here, in the church, we have different values. We believe every person has infinite worth. Everybody counts, regardless of who they are or how much money they have. We can point to the poor widow and say, "Her gift matters, because she herself matters."
Nevertheless, that does not mean we want to look at the woman in this story as our good example for generous giving. Her presence is a troubling presence. By giving her two tarnished coins, she gives proportionally more than the rest of us.
One election year, the press disclosed the generosity of all the candidates in a presidential campaign. In the year before the campaign, Gary Hart gave a total of $140 to all charitable causes. Jesse Jackson, an advocate for the poor, gave a total of $500 to charity, even though his taxable income was well over $100,000. Ronald Reagan, who advocated that private citizens should pick up the slack of slashed welfare programs, gave only $2000 to all charitable causes, this on an income of several hundred thousand dollars. The highest giver was Walter Mondale, who gave around $13,500 to benevolences, out of an income of $500,000.[1]
Some people were outraged that misers and hypocrites were running for public office. Perhaps they shouldn't have been surprised. The giving patterns of these politicians are typical for most Americans. Many of us calculate what it takes to live each week and then donate a little piece of what's left. We give a portion of what we think we can afford. Then we want the IRS to take note of every cent.
But this nameless woman in the Gospel of Mark sees her contribution differently. She gives her money, but not in order to receive some service in return. Her contribution has nothing to do with getting a tax break. She does not calculate the monthly budget and then decide what she can afford to give out of what's left. Rather she gives it all, and then she has to figure out how she is going to live. She is committed beyond all calculation. That is troubling, for it reveals a faith so sacrificial that it scares us to death. Anybody here want to give your money like she gave hers? It would be like giving away your very life!
A minister in Gary, Indiana, tells about a woman who came out of the shadows on a Sunday morning just as the worship service was coming to an end. She had two little boys in tow, and told the usher that she wanted to talk to the pastor. Not only that, she wanted to pay her tithe.
The usher said, "You're not a member of our church. You don't have to give us any money." The woman insisted. After the benediction, she was taken up front, where she sat in the front pew and spoke with the minister. After spending a few nights with her sons in a battered women's shelter, she was taking the bus to Atlanta the next morning to start a new life far away from her abusing husband. She was leaving behind her friends and family. She had made arrangements to live in a shelter until she could find a job, get back in school, or somehow get her life in order.
"Before I leave," she said, "I want to have you pray for me, and I want to pay my tithe." She pulled out all the money she had in the world, counted out ten percent of it, and handed it to the stunned pastor. The total was $30.56. "You can't give this to us," protested the pastor. "You need it. It can make a difference for you and your boys."
"You don't understand," said the woman. "Even if I kept that ten percent, I wouldn't have enough money to provide for me and my sons. So I want to give it to God. I trust God will give me a new life. To show him I trust him, I want to give my money."
With that, the pastor took the money. Then she found a Bible to give to the woman, and prayed with her.[2]
Calling the disciples together, Jesus pointed and said, "Look at that widow. Take a good, hard look." She was the kind of person the world ignores, because she had so little. Yet she was the kind of person Jesus noticed, because she gave so much. Perhaps he saw in her something of what he has always tried to get his followers to see. Here was a woman who refused to play it safe; and neither did Jesus ever play it safe. She did not, could not, hold anything back from God; neither would he. She gave away all she had; and according to the Gospel of Mark, within a few days of leaving that temple, Jesus himself would give everything away. "Look at her," he said. "Take a good, hard look ... because her sacrifice is a picture of what you're going to see God do in me."
As one pastor writes, Charity is not something that we wish to do, not some means toward an end. Rather, charity is an obligation laid upon us by the nature of God. We are charitable because we have learned that this is the way the world is now that God has entered the world in Jesus Christ. We are not charitable in order to rid ourselves of guilt, since we know we are guilty and that our guilt is not rid through our puny actions. Rather we are charitable because it is in being charitable that we are most like the extravagant God who has been charitable to us.[3]
Commitment beyond calculation. That's what God shows us in Jesus Christ. Whenever we celebrate the central mystery of faith, we affirm a mystery that is the essence of generosity. * Christ has died: he has given everything he had, all he had to live on. * Christ is risen: he gives us the power to stand free from all the false attachments of this age. * Christ will come again: he will complete the generous acts that he has begun.
In Jesus Christ, we have seen a God who gives his very life to us. God continues to give us this gift of life, so that we can become the kind of people who give our lives for others. In the meantime, God will do whatever he can to get our attention.
In one of his Lake Wobegon stories, Garrison Keillor tells about a Sunday morning in Lake Wobegon Lutheran Church. The sermon has been droning on far too long, and Clarence Bunsen has checked out early. He realizes it's almost time for the offering, so he quietly reaches for his wallet. Upon opening his wallet, Clarence discovers he has no cash. He takes out his pen and hides the checkbook in the middle of his Bible, next to one of the psalms. He begins to scratch out a check for thirty dollars, because he almost had a heart attack that week, and because somebody in the church will count the offering and he wants them to see he gave thirty dollars.
He tries not to be obvious, but a lady to his right sees him. Clarence can tell she thinks he's writing in the pew Bible, so he doesn't look at what he's doing. She gives him a funny stare, and turns back to the sermon. Clarence tries to quietly rip the check out of the checkbook, with limited success, still not looking at what he's doing so the lady in the pew won't know he has written out a check in church. The offering plate comes by, and Clarence proudly puts in the check, only to realize a moment too late that he has just written a check for three hundred dollars. He accidently wrote three-zero-zero on two different lines when he wasn't looking.
What could he do? On the one hand, he couldn't go downstairs after church and find the deacons counting the collection and say, "Fellows, there's been a mistake. I gave more than I really wanted to." On the other hand, he gave all he had in the checking account and a little more. Perhaps he and his family will have to eat beans and oatmeal for the rest of the month, Clarence thought, even though the contribution was going to a good place. One thing was for sure, notes Keillor. In that moment, Clarence felt fully alive for the first time all day.[4]
Commitment beyond calculation. That's what God-in-Christ is watching for. The Lord has been so generous in providing every gift we need. Every day he watches to see what we do with what he has given us. We can learn something from that nameless widow whom we hear about during every stewardship season. She did not merely give her money. Instead she first pledged her heart to God, and the money went with it.
That is easier said than done. A lot of people will say, "I don't have much to give. I can't afford to be generous. I really don't have anything to offer." Yet the promise of the gospel is sure. The Lord can do a lot with a little when he has it all.
1. William H. Willimon, "The Effusiveness of Christian Charity," Theology Today 49/1 (April 1992), p. 76.
2. Wendy Pratt, PresbyNet Sermonshop, November 3, 1994.
3. Willimon, p. 78.
4. Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home (New York: Penguin Books, 1987), pp. 90-91. "