Proper 27B

                                          November 10, 2024

I’ve got to confess something to you all. I was feeling a bit guilty earlier this week. A couple of months ago, I had asked Margaret to preach and preside at services today. Corrie and I were thinking of going away for the weekend. Our plans changed and we were going to be in town, but I would still take the day off. After the election, I was feeling guilty that I wouldn’t be with you all today, to share in your fears, anxiety, and hopes, to pray with you and to celebrate the sacrament of Christ’s body and blood.

But then Margaret called me on Thursday morning to tell me that she wasn’t feeling well and didn’t think she would be able to serve today, so here I am. 

How many times over the last fifteen years have we gathered together after some natural disaster, or national trauma, elections, gun violence, outbreaks of war, or terrorist attacks? How often have we come together, our hearts broken, our spirits crushed, not knowing how we’ll survive, whether we have the strength and courage to carry on? How often have we been in despair, beaten down, full of rage and sorrow? And how often have my words seemed wholly inadequate to speak to the moment, to connect us with the divine life that can sustain us in times like these?

Carry on we must, and carry on we will in the face of whatever comes and for however long we must. We must persevere for our God is one who perseveres. In Christ, we see one who responds to God’s call and follows that call to the bitter end, to the cross and to death. But that is not the end of the story. Even in Christ’s death, even in the tomb, God is working God’s purpose out, vindicating Christ, raising the dead, bringing new life and hope in the midst of death and despair.

There are ironies that we heard this particular gospel reading on this day. I know that if you’ve ever heard a sermon about this passage, it’s been a stewardship sermon—holding up the widow as one who gave her last penny, everything to God, and urging you to do likewise. Now, we’re in our stewardship campaign, we are asking you to consider how you might support Grace’s ministry and mission in the coming year, and hoping that you will contribute generously. We are also about to embark on a capital campaign to fund our new slate roof. You’ll be hearing more about that at our annual meeting next week. And I hope you will give generously to that as well.

But this story is not about financial stewardship. It’s about something quite different. Jesus is in the temple. Remember, it’s the last week of Jesus’ life on earth. The gospel of Mark for all of its brevity and urgency, suddenly slows down in these last chapters and goes into great detail about these days leading up to Good Friday. This is the third day that Jesus has come into the temple. The first day, the day of the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, Mark says he came to the temple, looked around, and left. The second day, he went to the temple and staged what is called the “cleansing of the temple” overturning the tables of the moneychangers.

The third day Jesus teaches in the temple. Keep in mind, it’s just a couple of days before his arrest—to put it in the chronology of Holy Week: this is Tuesday after Palm Sunday. Jesus will be arrested on Thursday, crucified on Friday. On this day, he is confronted by a series of opponents or questioners, and this comes at the very end of that day.

It’s hardly surprising that these last days of Jesus’ life are centered on the temple. It was the religious center of first-century Judaism. It was also a key element in the projection of Rome’s imperial power. Judaea, unlike Galilee, was under direct imperial control and Rome used the temple and its bureaucracy to control the populace. The temple leadership were deeply implicated in the Roman occupation, and they profited from it.

As a class, the scribes were entrusted with the interpretation and implementation of Jewish law. Jesus’ condemnation of them is consistent and pointed throughout the synoptic gospels: They: “like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the market-places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honour at banquets! They devour widows’ houses …”

Among the responsibilities of scribes in that period was to act as trustees of widows’ estates, since women could not act on their own legally. As compensation, they would get a percentage of assets; a situation ripe for embezzlement. The Torah repeatedly demanded the protection of “widows and orphans.” In today’s Psalm (146:8), w heard: “The Lord cares for the stranger; he sustains the orphan and widow.” Iinstead these most vulnerable in society were exploited by the scribes. The ones entrusted with the interpretation and adherence to the law were the lawbreakers. 

One way of reading this story is to see the widow as a victim of both the scribes and of the temple system. Down to her last two pennies, she gives them to the Temple treasury, in meek obedience to the system that has exploited her to the bone. And the contrast couldn’t be greater. The treasury was something like a bank. According to the Jewish historian Josephus, the temple treasury “was the repository of all Jewish wealth.” 

A victim, but perhaps not powerless. As all the wealthy people, clad in their finery, ostentatiously deposited their vast sums of money into the treasury, for all to see; this destitute woman comes and gives her last two pennies. A demonstration? An act of defiance? Drawing attention to her plight, to the vast inequities in the system? And Jesus commending her even as he laments: “she did what she could.” Remember, Jesus had entered Jerusalem on a donkey, a staged demonstration of royal power in the face of overwhelming imperial force. Rather similar to the widow’s act, both impotent and demonstrative. 

There are dark days ahead, difficult times. We don’t know what’s coming. We do know that the election has laid bare the deep fissures in our society and the fragility of our democracy. The myths that have sustained many of us for decades have been shattered in an instant; the shining beacon we thought we were revealed as something quite different.

As I said in my sermon last Sunday, the Church has been in situations like this before—perhaps not in the US, but often in its history. And it has often succumbed to the seduction of power, influence, and wealth. At the same time, it has also nurtured resistance and hope.

 We may feel powerless; we may be in despair. It may feel like it’s Good  Friday as we  hope and love being crucified by the forces of evil. It may like there’s nothing we can do that will matter; that all of our efforts are futile. But in the midst of our fear and despair, God in Christ is present with us. Good Friday is not the end of the story. There is hope; there is resurrection. And in the meantime, there are small acts of defiance and faithfulness: building community; being the body of Christ across division; sowing love against hate; binding the wounds of the suffering; feeding the hungry; witnessing to the grace and mercy of God. It may all seem like nothing, like little more than two pennies in an offering plate but I pray Jesus will say of us, “They did what they could.”