This is exactly the kind of behavior that Jesus loathes, and at the beginning of today’s gospel reading, he launches into a tirade against the status quo, which is embodied in the pharisaic leaders of the Temple. By the way, if you think that Pharisees are a relic of the past, I invite you to spend some time in the ordination process, but I digress. Jesus scorns these supposedly holy men who gladly receive honors in public and who scramble for the best seats in the synagogue and at banquets. This, too, is not just a scene from a dusty painted pot uncovered by an archaeologist, but a vivid depiction of life today. The scribes love their social prominence, their fine outward appearances and their glittering accolades. To the world, all of these things are sure indicators of one’s position far above the crowd.
We need not go far to witness this kind of vainglory all around us today. Gated communities, exclusive clubs, prestigious schools and yes, even “the right sort of churches” exist as much in our world as in Jesus’ world. The scribes set their hope on comfort and esteem, but Jesus warns us against falling into that trap. He goes on to say that the scribes “devour widows’ houses”. They unscrupulously accept hospitality and support, squandering money and skimming from the collection boxes. This empty consumption by the scribes mirrors the rampant consumerism of today.
Throughout history, resources have been in short supply. In Jesus’ time, the scribes spent lavishly and consumed ravenously, leaving little of the finite resources of food and fuel for the poor and those on society’s margins. Similarly, we in the United States consume the earth’s resources in vast amounts, far out of proportion with our actual needs. And as in first-century Palestine, the poor and those on society’s margins are the ones who suffer. Abundance, comfort, convenience and luxury have become gods, those things which we clamor after with such abandon that we forget the gospel of Christ, and Jesus’ command to love our neighbors as ourselves. And I am just as guilty of this sin as anyone. In worshipping these false gods and neglecting our social conscience, we, like the scribes, are devouring the widows’ houses. Like the scribes, we just don’t get it.
So Jesus, in typical fashion, finds the least likely person to teach us all a lesson. He looks around the Temple treasury and sees many people putting money onto the coffers. Around the courtyard, there were a number (12) of chests with trumpet-shaped tubes into which money was cast. It must have made quite a sound. The rich were conspicuously placing a great deal of money into these receptacles, and like the scribes, they were overtly enjoying the admiration of the people as they did so. But then someone else comes quietly to one of the chests and deposits two small coins. She was a widow who had nothing more than the clothes on her back and the two coins which she freely gave. Jesus uses her to make his point abundantly clear: the gift which counts is the gift which costs. (In this, we can see a foreshadowing of his gift of himself on the cross.) And the person who gives this precious gift to the Temple is a widow.
Here is another example of Jesus pointing out to the world that the kingdom of God will be ushered in by the least and the last: the poor, the lepers, the tax collectors, the widows. You might ask yourself, “Why are widows among this group?” Widows were among the lowest members of Hebrew society. In that world, a woman’s worth was based solely upon her husband’s status (some may say that things have not changed much). But under Hebrew law, the widow could inherit nothing. Death before old age was considered a curse, and the judgment of sin on her late husband would be passed upon the widow. It was considered a disgrace to be a widow, as if the woman had any choice in the matter. If she was poor and had no family, the widow had no recourse. Widows could remarry, but the elderly, whose prospects of remarriage were slim, were often left to fend for themselves.
Like the materialism of the scribes, the mistreatment of the elderly is not just relegated to the pages of history—would that it were. Many modern widows and widowers are left with next to nothing after the industrial economy which they helped to power and which promised to care for them with well-earned pensions slowly disappeared, and the pensions with them. The injustice faced by the ancient widows did not go completely unnoticed, however, and the prophets Isaiah and Job both speak out against such unjust practices. In today’s psalm, we heard, “The Lord loves the righteous; the Lord cares for the stranger; he sustains the orphan and widow, but frustrates the way of the wicked.” There is a sense that it is not right to let the helpless fend for themselves. Jesus takes up this cause and throws it in our faces. If this destitute woman can give so much from so little, why can’t we?
There is a second widow in today’s scripture readings, the widow who fed the prophet Elijah. Elijah came to her and requested food and drink. A bit more pragmatic than Jesus’ widow, Elijah’s widow said, “sorry, I’ve got barely enough for my son and myself.” And she was not stretching the truth, like I do sometimes when I am asked if I have some spare change by someone on the street. She had enough meal and oil to bake only one cake. But Elijah said, make me the cake that I am asking for, and God will provide for you until the drought ends and food is more plentiful. The widow followed the directions of Elijah, and she was cared for, indeed. Not lavishly, but she and her son had enough to eat until food became more bountiful.
These stories seem to have mixed-up messages about giving. One widow gives her last dime to the Temple; another gives her last scrap of food to a stranger. Shouldn’t the widows be the ones receiving aid? These faithful women mirror the sacrifice of Christ on the cross, when he gave all that he had, himself, for our sake. This relationship between produce and providence can also be seen in Matthew 6:34, when Jesus tells his disciples, “Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Jesus was not telling the disciples to overlook their needs in the coming day. He was instructing them to look over the morrow to “catch long views of the kingdom ahead.” Elijah was prepared to do great works by the humble offering of the widow. And God was mightily praised by the offering of the widow at the Temple.
These two events were truly miracles, not just in the supernatural sense of mysteriously multiplying stores of meal and oil, but in the sense that miracles represent events in which human comprehension has not yet caught up. Elijah had a destiny to fulfill, and the food which the widow supplied gave him a foundation to sustain him in his journey toward that destiny. The widow at the Temple gave out of her utter poverty at a time in which, if it were not for Jesus, she and her contribution would have gone totally unnoticed and lost to the ages. The miracle there is that she gave her all when others would not or could not understand. We know this is a miracle because our understanding has caught up to hers. We understand that she gave the greatest amount. Jesus understood that the least of all are among the most beloved of God, and that their generous hearts and spirits are a fountain of blessing. Through their actions, these two simple and holy women point us to the miracle of the incarnation, that God sent his son to come among us in lowly form to give all that he had, his life, for us.
In this season of stewardship, the examples of these two holy widows, who were among the lowliest of all in their society, are a shining example to us. Some of you may be widows or widowers in the true sense of the term, having lost a husband or wife, and without showing any disrespect for that, I will say to you that in a way, we are all widows. Most of us have probably lost something or someone who, in part, defined our lives. Maybe it was a family member, like a parent, or a sibling or a grand parent. Maybe you lost a job which you worked tirelessly to get. Maybe you have had a reversal of fortune which has radically changed your lifestyle. Or maybe you have had a life experience which has shaken your faith to the core, leaving you doubtful and questioning. Whatever you have lost, and wherever you are in your journey, Jesus is there. Like the widow at the Temple, you may feel like your contribution amounts to nothing in comparison with wealthier people’s. Maybe you feel like the humble bit of hospitality which you can extend is not enough for an honored guest like Elijah. But we all, like the holy widows of the Bible, are the vehicles through which, as unlikely as it may seem, God’s grace is poured out, overflowing and flooding the world. Your presence here today in this church is a living witness to that. And it is now that we consider what it takes to keep the grace of God flowing out of these doors and into the streets of New York. Just think of when we get a heavy rain and the water pools at the Lich Gate. The grace which comes from this place is thick and storied and rich. Like the water that pools at the Lich Gate, if you enter this church, you are going to get some of it on yourself.
Despite all of our spiritual riches however, we need money. It’s as simple as that. We could be one of those wealthy Manhattan parishes that you hear about, but we’re not, and I think that our founder, the Rev. Dr. Houghton would have it no other way. He founded The Church of the Transfiguration as a parish of and for the poor. He did not want this to be a church where people were judged by their economic status or skin color, and our comprehension has caught up with his dream. We now enjoy an economically and racially diverse parish family because of this. Today we might extend that dream to a parish where people are also not judged by their sexual orientation, marital status, or gender or any number of qualifiers which the world places upon us. And I think that while we’re not perfect, we have a community here in which we can look “over the morrow” to catch a glimpse of the coming kingdom. Let us be like those holy widows who gave all they had with no expectation of material return. Let us use the gifts which God has given to us to live into our vocations as members of the community—the miracle—which is The Little Church Around the Corner. Amen
