A Sermon
Presented by Rev. Merlin T. Batt,
Pastor of St. Matthew’s UCC
At Maiden, North Carolina,
On the 32^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time,
November 12, 2006 

Scripture Lessons: I Kings 17:8-16; Mark 12:38-44
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I heard about a fellow who was out shopping for a motorcycle. He stopped at the local Harley-Davidson showroom to look around. A salesman came up to him immediately as he walked in the door. You know what that’s like. The salesman pointed to one of those big muscle-cycles on display, and said, “This machine will go from 0 to 90 in twenty seconds! And, what’s more, it’ll hug the road at 95!” Then after a pause he added, “This baby will outrun anything on wheels!”

Without comment, the customer looked at the impressive machine, climbed onto the seat, fiddled with the controls. After a few minutes, the salesman asked him, “And what do you do for a living?”

The man replied, “I’m a pastor.”

 “Well, Reverend,” the salesman said, “this machine you’re looking at is also very, very, very safe.”

Why is it that Christians are often stereotyped as cautious, moderate, and unwilling to take risks? Surely we don’t get that way from following Jesus. After all, the Gospels are unanimous in portraying Jesus as bold, extreme, and ready to give his life for what he believed.

I’m reminded of the time Jesus and his disciples were in Jerusalem, just days from the climactic events of His ministry. They were on the Temple Mount, that great, raised platform on which the Jewish Temple stood, surrounded by a vast open space which was ringed by a pillared, shaded portico. Jesus was sitting across from the Temple treasury, the place where Jewish pilgrims came to make an offering to God.

The Temple Mount was crowded that day. It was, after all, during the Passover season when Jerusalem was overflowing with pilgrims and visitors from near and far who had come to the holiest place on earth, in their view, to worship the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Jesus watched closely as people filed past the thirteen trumpet-shaped receptacles in which the coin offerings were dropped. There was no paper money in those days, you see, no checks, no credit cards, no debit cards. Setting right out in the open like that, the receptacles provided a sort of stage for some of the wealthier people to show off their piety or to evoke envy from others. They would bring bags of coins and dump them ceremoniously in the metal containers, making quite a racket, the clinking and clanking of coins calling attention to their generous act of devotion.

For some time Jesus watched these ego-driven dramas unfold as the rich brought their offerings and obviously relished the attention that the noise of their offering attracted. Just then he noticed a poorly dressed woman approach the treasury. Her manner of dress indicated that she was not only poor, but also a widow. These two facts – poor and widow - typically went together. Widows were the most vulnerable of all people in those days. Jesus watched her as she reached into her bag and pulled out two small copper coins, the coins of smallest value in that day. Together they amounted to  roughly enough to buy a modest meal.

She dropped the two coins into the offering box and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Her offering made no audible sound above the noise made by the Passover crowd; and, unlike the dramatic behavior of the wealthy, her small offering surely attracted no attention, except that Jesus noticed her. It probably reminded him of that old Jewish story about the widow of Zarephath who gave the last of her food to the prophet Elijah, and who was rewarded by God with a jar of meal that was not emptied and a jug of oil that did not fail.

Jesus immediately called to his disciples who were nearby. He yelled above the noise of the crowd, “Hey, did you guys see what that poor widow just did?” When they had gathered around Jesus, but before they had a chance to answer, Jesus went on to say, Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.

The disciples who had seen her drop only the two small coins in the offering box must have looked puzzled, so Jesus explained, All of them (the obviously wealthy contributors, he meant) have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on. It was obvious that others had given far more money than she, but hers was the greatest gift, claimed Jesus, because she gave what she couldn’t afford while the others gave what they’ll never miss! She gave from her substance while they gave from their excess. Compared to what they had left, the gift of the wealthy was little more than a “tip”, but the widow had given everything she had. Everything!

The question naturally arises, if those two measly coins she put in the offering box were all she had to live on, all that kept her from going hungry, then why on earth did she put them in the offering box in the first place? The text does not give us an answer. No explanation is provided. Jesus simply points out to his disciples the exuberant nature of her act of devotion. He praises her for the extravagant gift she gave to God!

Now, you’ve probably either read or heard this story a thousand times, and usually you hear it from some preacher who is trying to get you to increase your giving to the church. Am I right? “If that poor widow could give all she had to God,” says the preacher, “then surely you can give a little more.” Well, the preacher does have a point, but I don’t think the story of this poor widow and her gift is intended to be used for preacher-ly manipulation. There’s something bigger at stake here than any preacher’s efforts to raise more money or any church’s stewardship campaign.

Let me explain. Do you know the name C.S. Lewis? You may have heard his name in relation to last year’s motion picture, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  Did any of you see the movie? Lewis was the author of the book on which the movie was based. In addition to being a writer and a professor in England, Lewis was a Christian, and a rather famous one at that. He died at the age of 65, on the day President John Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. Yet his influence as a Christian theologian has continued to grow through the years.

One of his most famous works of theology was an imaginative little book published in 1942, entitled The Screwtape Letters. The story takes the form of a series of letters from a senior devil named Screwtape to a subordinate devil named Wormwood. Screwtape’s letters advised the junior devil on ways of undermining faith and promoting sin in the life of a man known only as “the Patient.”

In one of the letters, Screwtape advises Wormwood that moderation is one of the keys to avoiding the Christian faith. He instructs Wormwood this way: “Talk to (the Patient) about ‘moderation in all things.’ If you can get him to the point of thinking that ‘religion is all very well up to a point,’ you can feel happy about his soul. A moderated religion is as good for us as no religion at all – and more amusing.”

This idea of “moderation in all things” is woven into the fabric of our culture, of our assumptions about life. If you trace this notion of moderation  to its origin, you find that it comes straight down the centuries to us from the Greek philosophers. Socrates and his student Plato often warned their students not to be carried away by emotion. Moderation is always the best way, they said. And Plato’s student, Aristotle, continued the theme. He stressed that the good life is the life of moderation. In all things, Aristotle taught, strive for the “golden mean,” the middle way, neither too far to one side or the other.

The problem comes when we try to apply this philosophical advice to living the Christian life. Frankly, there’s something about being a Christian that flies in the face of the popular notion of “moderation in all things.” Jesus could never be accused of living or counseling moderation. As I said earlier in this sermon, Jesus was passionate, bold, extreme, and ready to give his life for what he believed. In fact, he did…so we might have Life! It’s no wonder He praised the widow for her extravagant gift, and it’s no wonder He wants us to live exuberantly for His sake. The life of discipleship according to Jesus is a life marked by extravagant love for God and other people.

Some years ago there was a wonderful story in the newspaper. It told of a woman named Joann Jones who lived in Paris, Arkansas. She was a poor woman, a single mother trying to raise three children by herself. A tragic fire had destroyed her home and most all of her belongings. She moved her children into an old trailer and got a job as a waitress in a diner.

One day Joann came across four Mexican migrant workers trying to sleep under a cypress tree on a bitterly cold day. Only one of them had a blanket. None of them had coats. When she saw their plight, Joann went home and took two blankets from her bed and a coat that belonged to her son, and gave them to the migrant workers so each one could have some protection against the cold.

Somehow, columnist Jack Anderson heard of her generosity, and he tried to track her down. It wasn’t easy as she didn’t have a phone, but finally Anderson located her and called her at the diner where she worked. She really didn’t want to talk about her act of generosity. She said to him, “Anyway, it was no big deal.”

But the columnist wrote about her story anyway, and wonderful things began to happen. People all over the country read the story and sent in money for her - a dollar here, five dollars there. Many couldn’t afford much, but they sent what they could to help Joann and her sons. And the small donations added up, so much so that she was able to buy a little house for herself and her children.

What a happy ending to this story! Not every act of generosity is rewarded like that, but it’s wonderful when it happens. It makes me wonder about the poor widow in Jerusalem who gave all she had. We’re not told anything more about her life, but what we do know is that Jesus saw her quiet act of extravagant generosity, and from that alone we know that she was blessed by God.

So what do we do with her story today, other than merely observe it and, perhaps, praise her generous, faithful spirit? Well, maybe the best thing is to let her story lead each one of us to measure our faith against hers.

For example, how about your giving to the Lord? Do you give grudgingly or joyfully? Do you give from your substance, or only from what’s left over? Do you give extravagantly or do you merely “tip” God? And how about your participation in the life of God’s church? Is it sporadic, superficial, merely out of duty? Or is there an exuberance about it, a depth of commitment to the life of this church? And how about your use of the gifts the Spirit has entrusted to you? Do you employ them for God’s glory or keep them hidden, or use them merely for your own purposes? And your response to your neighbors’ needs – would you say they are marked by extravagant love?

Brothers and sisters, here’s a story which gives each of us an opportunity to pray that something of this poor widow’s extravagant faith will rub off on us, and make us more like our Lord Jesus Christ.  

Let us pray:

Lord Jesus Christ, we want to follow your way, but we confess that we hold back. You call us to be your disciples, but we don’t want to risk all and walk with you. We are cautious, fearful, and timid in our affections. You are bold, decisive, and exuberant in your love for us. Lord, give us a spirit of boldness! Make us reckless, wild, and brash in our determination to have more abundant life. Inflame our desire for you: to walk with you, to serve you completely, and to love you extravagantly with all that we are and all that we have. Amen.