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Proper 27 – Year B
The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost
Preached on November 8, 2009
At St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Brookline, MA
The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello
I Kings 17:8-16
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
On my way home from school when I was about my son’s age, eight or nine, I would pass Ernie’s candy store on the corner. My friends and I would run to Ernie’s, open the door with it’s clanging bell announcing our arrival and race to the counter filled with all sorts of penny candy. To those of you in the congregation who are now eight or nine, there used to be this thing called penny candy. It was candy, and it really cost one penny. Ernie’s shop looked like the candy store in the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Shelves and shelves of brightly colored candy; there were Mary Jane’s, Squirrel Nuts, candy necklaces, candy buttons, ring pops and tootsie rolls. It was all there, in the case, as we pressed our noses against the glass in eager anticipation.
Ernie would always take his time coming over to us. But then he’d peer down, smile a wonderfully warm smile and ask, “So what’ll it be today, kids?”
To make this decision, I would begin digging in my pocket for the change left over from my lunch money, sometimes it was two or three day’s worth of change. I would scoop the change in my hand and place it on the counter. I remember the sound of the change hitting the glass. I’d look back up at Ernie and ask, “Hey, Ernie, what can I get for this much?” I was not bargain hunting. I was not looking for the best deal or the most pieces of candy for my money. I was not going to negotiate with Ernie, nor him with me for that matter. What I had on the counter was simply everything I had. I put everything I had on the counter in the hopes that it would be enough. Ernie would reach into the counter and hand me my treasure. Each time, it felt as though I had gotten far more than I ever expected, much more than my change on the counter deserved. And maybe I did. It doesn’t matter – it sure felt as though I had.
Eventually, my friends and I discovered collective bargaining. The two or three of us would, together, put our change up on that counter, and the “I” would turn to “we”. “Ernie, what can we get for this much?” Then we would take our collective treasure to the front stoop of the store and divvy it up.
How much money we had was never the issue. How much we would spend at Ernie’s on a particular walk home was never discussed. The answer was always the same – We would spend whatever we had. We would put in every penny from our pockets. We gave everything we had, whatever that was. And, now that I think of it, now matter how much we each put in, we all got an equal amount of candy on the stoop.
But times changed. Something happened. I learned something along the way that told me I shouldn’t put my all in, if I could get it for less. I learned not to let Ernie behind the counter decide what I will get, but that I should pick and choose, paying only for what I want. I learned, too, that if I put in 10 cents, and someone else only put in 5, that I should get twice as much candy as they did. I learned that if I emptied my pockets today, I might not have anything tomorrow. That there might be something better, or bigger waiting for me, and then what would I do?
The freedom and sense of abundance I enjoyed in Ernie’s is long gone. For many years of my life freedom and abundance was replaced by what the world told me was the only appropriate attitude to have toward money – fear. Fear that I wouldn’t have enough money, or enough things. Fear that there was always going to be something better, or bigger just around the corner. Fear that I might spend more money on something than I should have, or could have. Fear that I would be judged by the clothes I wore, the car I drove or the schools I attended. Fear became my starting point in my relationship with money and it’s only been recently that I have begun to fight back. I am tired of the power that money holds in my life, and I miss the freedom and sense of abundance that I felt in Ernie’s and that I believe God continues to offer us. I miss it. And I want it back.
Jesus sits opposite the treasury and sees the scribes coming in and out in their finery. The scribes are busy, desperately trying to fit in with an empire that values a person’s status, and not the content of their heart. They live in fear. They give large amounts to the treasury, true, but it is leftovers. The amount the wealthy scribes give to the treasury is large, but it is safe. They have already purchased the ‘right’ things and been seen in the ‘right’ places doing the ‘right’ things, including, I might add, dropping money in the treasury. But it isn’t their all. Their gift is not a way of seeking transformation in relationship with God, they are seeking the empire’s approval and they live in fear of its rejection.
Not the widow, though. She is not afraid – she is free. She is free to give her all because there is no chance for her to win the approval of the empire. And, frankly, she doesn’t need it. This widow seeks something else. And she seeks it not from the empire, but from God. She seeks transformation. She gives her all, asking God, “Hey, God, what can I get for this?” Freedom, God replies. Freedom from fear and abundance. An awareness of the abundance of God’s great generosity. From God, she receives gifts the world is unable to give.
It seems to me we are in a very similar place as the folks Jesus watched in the treasury that day. We, too, are courted every day by an empire that wishes to make us afraid. Its sole purpose is to get us to shrink back, to hold on tighter to what we have, to spend what we do have on things we never even knew we needed. And this never-ending pursuit only leaves wanting. There will always be more. That’s what the Empire has to offer.
And then there’s God. God, who loves us exactly the way we are. Not thinner, or younger, or better dressed, or driving a better car, but just as we are. We already have everything we need to be who God made us to be. Just as we are because that’s exactly who God created us to be.
I do believe we are meant to enjoy the blessings in our lives. We are, I am sure, supposed to enjoy them. We are not, however, to be owned by them.
I know that talking about money makes people uncomfortable. Talking about it in church might seem odd. But I have to talk about it. I want to talk about it. Not because we have a budget to reach, or programs to pay for. That’s merely the by-product. I want to talk about money because Jesus talked about it – more than any other social topic Jesus talked about money, because Jesus knew money has the power to create fear. And fear has no place in a life of faith. I want to talk about because I know when we give it back to God, it can change our life.
Whatever decision you make about your financial support of St. Paul’s this year I only ask one thing. I ask that when you consider your pledge, please don’t ask yourself how much St. Paul’s needs. Honestly, I’d be thrilled if the parish budget wasn’t in your consideration at all.
Rather, ask yourself what you need to give. Ask yourself if this might be the year when the empire loses it’s grip on you, if just a little bit. Ask yourself how much it would take. How much would it take to transform your life? Begin there.
Somewhere along the line Stewardship became about getting enough money to fund what we have always done. But that’s backwards, I think. We get in the habit of giving about the same amount we did last year so the same work can get done. That, my friends is not transformation, it’s maintenance. God calls us to be transformed, to enter more fully into relationship with God. I am much more excited to discover what it is we will do with what we have all given. If each of us gives what we need to give for our own transformation, there’s no telling what might happen in this place. But I sure would love to find out.
I’d like to stand with you all, sharing our transformative offerings to God and ask God together, “Hey, God, what can we do for this much?”
AMEN.
© 2009 The Reverend Jeffrey W. Mello |
