Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost
“Wealth”
Rev. Brent Gundlah
First Reading (Deuteronomy 8:11-18 / NRSVUE)
Gospel Reading (Mark 12:38-44 / NRSVUE)
Last Sunday, during the first of this month’s Stewardship Moments, Dennis stood here and told you all that I’d be sharing a reflection on that topic today. And while I suppose that I will kinda do that (because Dennis is an honest person and I really wouldn’t want you to think any differently about him), it’s definitely not the one that I envisioned just a few days ago, which is now in the recycle bin.
You see, the events of this week have caused me to rethink a whole lot of things, including, but certainly not limited to this reflection. But I, like many of you, am finding that words are hard to come by right now, though I’m hopeful that this won’t always be the case — either for you or for me.
A few thousand years ago the writer of Ecclesiastes — you know, the guy who reminded us that “for everything there is a season” (which is kind of reassuring), also mused that “there is nothing new under the sun” (which is not necessarily all that reassuring). But, maybe there’s more comfort — and dare I say, even inspiration — to be found in all of these ancient words than there might seem at first glance. At the very least, perhaps we can consider them an invitation to look to the wisdom of those who came before us as we seek to navigate our present reality.
Which brings me to our Gospel reading for today. I shudder to think how many straight down-the-middle stewardship sermons have been preached using today’s text over the years — and are probably being preached even today. At some level I suppose this makes sense; it’s really easy to read this story of the poor widow who surrenders her entire life savings to the temple treasury and to walk away thinking that Mark is simply providing us with a case study in generosity, a pure example of self-sacrifice that we might choose to emulate in our own lives. This woman gave everything she had to God, so you ought to go and do likewise.
But, like I said earlier, the events of this week have caused me to think and feel differently about lots of things, and I would definitely put this text on that list of things. You see, in November of 2024 this story reads to me not as a tale of generosity, but rather as one about the failure and complicity of the institutions we thought we might be able to count on amidst the ongoing struggles of life in this world. What a difference a day makes.
It’s really not too hard to see what’s really going on in this story, if one has the eyes and the willingness to see such things. The scribes of whom Jesus tells his students to beware have all the power and the wealth (those two things always seem to go together, don’t they?).
They strut around in their long robes, are greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at the banquets. And they came by all of this power and wealth and privilege by deceiving and stealing from vulnerable people like the one we’ll soon meet. The powers-that-be have managed to convince ordinary folks that they’re looking out for them and their best interests while they’re actually lying to them and taking them for all they’ve got. It wasn’t the first time in world history that this happened and, as we all know, it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
And so up to the temple treasury walks this poor widow with her two small copper coins, worth only a penny; and while it’s not much, it’s all that she has to give. She hands it over because that’s what she’s be told she should do — having also been told that it’s going to be used to take care of people living on society’s margins — people like her — because that’s what God said is supposed to happen; but that’s clearly not what’s happening.
When Jesus sees this poor widow there amongst the crowd of both the rich and the poor giving away their money, he calls his disciples over to witness the scene. As they watch together he says to them:
“Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
Is Jesus praising her generosity? I have to be honest — in another place and time I myself might have been inclined to read it that way. But not here and not now. No, today it sounds to me like Jesus is calling out a failed institution that was supposed to care for widows and orphans — not rob them blind; that was supposed to ensure that justice and righteousness were a reality for all people — not just a select and privileged few; that was supposed to welcome the stranger, the outcast, the marginalized — not abuse them and exploit them.
And the institution was supposed to do these things because God called the people who created and sustained the institution to do them. Jesus laments that this isn’t what’s happening; and we’re right to lament when we see it not happening too. And what does Jesus do next? He gathers his disciples and gets back to the work preaching and teaching and living the gospel, because that’s what God called him to do — as God calls all of us to do, really.
As the saying penned back in the 19th century by Lord Acton goes, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” and that certainly seems to be the case in today’s Gospel story. We probably ought to keep that in mind during these days in which we currently find ourselves. Like the writer of Ecclesiastes previously reminded us, there really is nothing new under the sun; the corruption and undependability of society’s institutions — ones that are meant to look out for everyone but don’t, ones that promise to look out for everyone but don’t — is a reality that has always been hard for people of faith to bear.
But there’s another essential and enduring truth that’s just as important for us to remember — especially now: In every seemingly hopeless age, there have been people (and groups of people) who are willing to stand up to and scream at power when its abused, to embody in what they do and say the life that God is calling us towards, to be the light in the darkness, to embody hope amidst the ashes. And as we undertake the work of doing these things in our place and time we should also be inspired by the fact that history shows us that big change often begins and takes root in small movements comprised of people who give a damn about something other than their own self-interest. We see this in the time of the Gospels with Jesus and his disciples, and we see it today right here with us.
Sure, there’s always been evil in the world, but there’s always been good in the world too. Look, I understand that it might not seem like it today, but there will always be people — a lot of them, in fact — who care about one another and the world. I know it’s difficult to see that at this moment, and I know it’s difficult to know what to do next, as we’re still reeling from the sudden and violent realization that many of the virtues we thought we as a nation held in common might not be held in common after all. But, I assure you that people who care about one another and the world are sitting all around you in this sanctuary.
The work we need to do bring about meaningful change, to hasten the turn that everything undergoes eventually, will become clearer with time. It will not be easy work or quick work, and I definitely can’t promise you that it will be work without peril or cost. And so we need to be here for one another — supporting each other through all the pain and the fear and the uncertainty, and discerning our path forward in a world that’s always changing. Because that’s what communities who are committed to love come together and do at times such as these.
And if we say and truly believe that communities like ours are necessary, then there probably hasn’t been a more important moment in recent history for us to put our time and talent and treasure and everything else we’ve got where our mouth is in order to ensure that we’re always here for any and all people who come here seeking the comfort and solace and safety and support and care and welcome and affirmation that we know God is calling us to provide — and that vulnerable people are counting on us to provide — right here and right now.
Here endeth the stewardship sermon.