Habits Of The Heart

Mark 12:38-44

One of the names that appears on every list of the most significant people of the twentieth century is Mother Teresa. Years after her death, we still witness the world's admiration for her. The images of the tiny, white-robed woman stroking the head of a dying AIDS patient, or pouring water into the mouth of a child emaciated by hunger, or clasping the hand of an old man left to die on the street are images forever etched in our minds. It's no wonder there continue to be calls from across the Roman Catholic Church to speed up the usual process of sainthood for this remarkable woman.

For years before her death, Mother Teresa was perhaps the first living person who came to mind whenever we preachers were trying to think of an example of Christian discipleship in its truest sense. Few people in Christian history—and even fewer in our own day—have given themselves so completely for the sake of the gospel. And I must admit to a twinge of guilt for pointing to her as an example for the rest of us to follow. For I know there is no way most of us mere mortals could ever come near to being such faithful disciples. Her goodness was so overwhelming that it might cause the rest of us to wonder if it is even worth trying.

The strange thing is Mother Teresa never seemed to understand the big deal that was made about her work. Reaching out to those who had been marginalized by societies across the world was second nature to her. That realization struck me as I read one of the many comments by Mother Teresa recounted in the media following her death. An interviewer once asked her what compelled her to go into the streets of Calcutta's most desperate slums to care for the sick and starving. She responded, "What else could I do? These are God's children, and I promised to serve him." What else, indeed? There were poor people to be fed, sick people to be healed, homeless people to be sheltered—and at one point in her life, she had said "Yes" to following Jesus. What else could she do? The remarkable work that captured our attention for decades was simply the result of a faithful life.

Our gospel text today tells the story of another faithful life. Here once again Jesus proved himself to be a keen observer of human nature. He had just finished denouncing the hypocrisy of the scribes before what Mark refers to as "a large crowd" in the temple. As if to confirm the truth of his words, a poor widow came along—one of the widows Jesus had just accused the scribes of abusing—offering her penny amidst the grand displays of generosity from the rest of the temple crowd. The irony of the scene did not escape Jesus, and he called his disciples closer for a "teachable moment" about the spirit of giving.

As with most scripture texts, scholars have debated the precise meaning of the action portrayed in this story. Is Jesus holding the widow forth as an example of sacrificial giving? Is she meant to embody the humility and rejection of self-interest that comes from ultimate union with God? Does the "mite" offered by the widow serve to remind us that it is not the quantity of our gift but the spirit in which it is given that matters? I suspect Jesus wants us to learn all of these things from the poor widow.

But there is something else here, another lesson rarely mentioned in the interpretation of the story. We know nothing about this woman other than that she is a widow, one among that poor and vulnerable class of society. But we cannot help reading this story without asking what in the world would possess a poor widow to give away what little she had to the temple? One answer might echo the sentiments of Mother Teresa: what else could she do? She had promised to live a faithful life. And that promise included the offering of what little she had to give. I suspect that giving from her meager resources had become a habit cultivated throughout her life, a sincere act that she carried out faithfully with little thought and no fanfare.

In the 1830s, a Frenchman named Alexis de Tocqueville traveled through the young United States. He kept a journal of reflections during his travels, a journal we now know as the book, Democracy in America. In it, Tocqueville commented on the particular—sometimes peculiar—ways in which Americans distinguished themselves from other peoples of the world. There were unique attitudes, unique behaviors, he said, that made Americans—well, Americans. Among those unique behaviors were what he called "habits of the heart," actions already rooted so deeply in the American psyche that they just came naturally. Things like dedication to family life, adherence to religious traditions, and participation in government were the "habits of the heart" that helped define America.

It's a wonderful phrase: "habits of the heart." Unfortunately, the word "habits" often first brings to mind negative habits: those everyday little annoyances that our parents or spouses try to erase from our behavior—things like biting our fingernails, or dropping our clothes in the middle of the bedroom floor—you can fill in your own peculiar habits. But habits can also be good things. We are reminded constantly that we should be in the "habit" of exercising regularly and eating tofu (or whatever the super food of the week is). It can become a habit to say "I love you" to your spouse or to hug your children. It can become a habit to be in church on Sunday mornings or to set aside time each week for prayer. Habits form us; they help to shape the kind of people we are. They provide something to hold us up when everything else is falling apart.

An article in Christian Century magazine some time ago recounted the experience of Noah Adams, the National Public Radio announcer, as he learned to play the piano as an adult. At age 51, he got the urge to buy a piano, and, of course, once he had the piano, he had to justify it by taking piano lessons. Well, being a bit "long in the tooth," as the saying goes, Adams decided he could skip the teachers and practice and go right to the fun part of making music. So he tried something called the "Miracle Piano Teaching System" on the computer. As you might imagine, the "Miracle Piano Teaching System" turned out to be no miracle at all. As a friend reminded him, "You might be learning music, but you're not learning how to play." So Adams eventually enrolled in an intensive music camp, which led him to search out teachers who taught him the value of mentors and disciplined practice if he was to become a musician in the truest sense.

The writer who reflected on Adams's experience compared it to those who look for shortcuts to a faithful Christian life. Shortcuts can be attractive, he noted. They can bring people into the church: you know, just show up on Sundays, give some money, and don't do anything illegal. But in reality, he observed, "There is no substitute for the slow, sometimes painful growth that comes through disciplined habits of practice shaped by the grace of the crucified and risen Christ."¹

Every so often, we hear on news that some well-known billionaire has been moved to give away a portion of his or her considerable wealth. We learn of the generosity of Ted Turner in giving a billion dollars to United Nations programs, or Bill Gates endowing scholarships, or Oprah Winfrey supporting programs for women and minority youth. Their generosity is met by the admiration and thanks of the world. But there is another kind of philanthropist represented by many whose names, like the poor widow, we will never know: the faithful folks who keep the churches and shelters and community centers going, who send deserving teenagers to college and help to provide food and medicine for children halfway across the world. The name of one of that faithful cast of thousands, a hero of the city of Richmond, VA, has finally become known to the rest of the nation through media attention and, ironically, an appearance on "Oprah." Thomas Cannon is a resident of Richmond who worked for the postal service for 30 years. During that time, his income never rose above $30,000. Yet over the past 25 years, he has given away more than $100,000 to neighbors and community groups and anyone he perceives to be in need. Cannon's philanthropy began early in his life, he says. It's just second nature to him. And he doesn't understand what all the fuss over him is about. You see, for him doing good has become a habit of the heart.

"(Jesus) called his disciples and said 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."' Habits of the heart: those "disciplined habits of practice shaped by the grace of the crucified and risen Christ." Let us cultivate such "habits of the heart"—habits that might make us look as odd in our world as the poor widow did in hers—so that all will come to know and welcome God's gracious gift of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Beverly Zink-Sawyer Union Theological Seminary-PSCE Richmond, VA

NOTES

1. L. Gregory Jones, "Apprenticeship," Christian Century 114 [July 16-23, 1997], p. 669.