How Do I Love Thee?

Mark 12: 3844

How much do we love God? How do we show it? These are questions that emerge from our scripture passages this morning. And because of the outrageous behavior of a poor, obscure widow, we are forced to include money as part of our answer.

Peter Gomes is the Plummer Professor of Christian Morals at Harvard University and the Preacher to the University's Memorial Church. He is also the author of the bestseller The Good Book—a bold and fresh attempt to interpret the Bible in contemporary terms. In his discussion about wealth, Gomes writes: "Money among Christians is a bit like sex. We know we need it, but we don't like to make too much of it in public." With this comment the author is referring to affluent, upper middle class Protestants—like us. But a closer look shows that this exaggerated privacy about money is not the norm for all Christians.

When I worshipped with Indian peasants in Ecuador, I was deeply touched by the joy and the exuberance with which they offered their gifts to God. They would pass an open Bible among themselves, heaping their meager gifts upon the written word, and then falling to their knees, they would turn toward heaven and offer fervent sung praises. Ten years ago I participated in the first worship service of a Korean American new church development. After the first offering that was assumed to be a tithe—or ten percent of income—the congregation immediately received a second offering. As the money for this second offering was physically carried forward, the pastor read the name of the giver and the amount of the second mile gift—and with each name the congregation would break out in enthusiastic applause.

But lest we think such abundant stewardship is only an ethnic or foreign phenomenon, let us focus on more American examples. In the Midwest, there is a Mennonite church that mandates participation in a small spiritual group once a week as a requirement for membership. At least once a year these small groups talk about money and its connection to God—and they begin their discussion of financial stewardship by passing around copies of their 1040 tax form to each member in the group. Years ago, Father Divine, the famous Harlem preacher—would with great thunder, encourage his congregation to "tangibilitate"—to make their faith tangible with the size of their financial gifts—and the parishioners would respond by coming forward and laying their money at his feet. Yes, indeed, some of you may be uncomfortable every October when I climb up into this pulpit and start talking about money—but for a vast number of Christians such talk is not only acceptable, it is expected. Biblical wisdom is painfully clear. Where our treasure is, there, too, is our heart. We are all called to "tangibilitate."(Peter Gomes)

So, the questions remains: How much do we love God? How do we show it—with our treasure as well as our time and talent? And to these we can add a third question. How much is enough? One election year, the press disclosed the generosity of all the candidates in a presidential campaign. In the year before the campaign, Gary Hart gave a total of $140 to all charitable causes. Jesse Jackson, an advocate for the poor, gave a total of $500 to charity, even though his taxable income was well over $100,000. Ronald Reagan, who advocated that private citizens should pick up the slack of slashed welfare programs, gave only $2000 a year—less than 1% of an income of several hundred thousand dollars. The highest giver was Walter Mondale, who gave around $13,500 to benevolences, just about 3% of his $500,000 income. (William Willimon) I wonder. Do these politicians adequately answer the question "How much is enough?"

Well, not according to our scripture passages for today. Job, having just carried out a protracted and exhausting dialogue with God about the meaning of suffering in his life, ends his struggle in a fascinating and truly astounding way. God has just finished speaking to Job out of the whirlwind—out of the chaos, out of the mystery, out of the conundrum and complexity of creation. In this wild and wonderful speech, the Holy One doesn't answer Job's question "why?" Instead God asks a different set of questions: "Do you know how? Are you able? Can you do what I—the Creator—can do?" In other words, are you God? If not, why are you trying to fathom the ways of God? Job is immediately humbled by this exchange by the immensity, the enormity, the exquisite complexity of life. So Job does an interesting thing. He yields—he submits—he who has had everything taken away, gives the only thing he has left—himself—body and soul—in willing surrender to God. Yes, Job comes to the stunning conclusion that when God is truly present, both abundance and affliction can be counted as a blessing. So, in answer to the question "How much?" Job gives everything—all that he is—generously from his heart.

Now, what Job does in an abstract way, the poor widow does in a very concrete way. Unlike the important people in the Temple—you know, the ones who strut around in fancy robes and pray long, drippy prayers, unlike the rich people who absent mindedly put their left-overs in the Temple treasury, this woman acts differently. She slips unobtrusively through the shadows to gently place two pennies in the box. In so doing, she gives everything that she has. And, she captures the attention and the affection of Jesus.

A congregation in Gary, Indiana tells the story of a strange woman who showed up in church one Sunday with her two small sons. After the service she asked to speak to the pastor. When he sat down with her she handed him $30.56, and explained that this was her tithe. She had been staying in a battered women's shelter for several days, and had just decided to move south—away from her family, her friends, and her abusive husband. But before she went, she wanted to ask for the church to pray for her, and she wanted to give her tithe. The pastor protested and said she should keep the money for herself and her sons. Her response was clear, "You don't understand. Even if I kept that ten percent, I wouldn't have enough money to provide for me and my sons. So I want to give it to God. I trust that God will give me a new life. To show him I trust him, I want to give my money." (William Willimon)

Trust. That is what Job, the widow, the young mother all have in common. That is a major lesson for us today. How are we to love God? With trust, instead of fear, With gratitude, instead of demands. With hope instead of despair. The Lord's Prayer—the model prayer—the pattern for all prayer—begins with praise and thanksgiving, moves to active yielding, and ends with petition. But the requests in the Lord's Prayer are very basic and very simple. Forgiveness. Protection from evil. And bread—just enough bread for today. Tomorrow will take care of itself.

In the great saga of the Exodus, the wandering people begin to complain, afraid that they will not have enough provisions for the journey ahead of them. God responds by sending them manna—white flakes of bread falling from heaven—just enough manna for today. Yet, unwilling to trust that God will provide, the people try to hoard their food for tomorrow. Except that when they wake up the next morning, they find that the left over manna has rotted over night. My friends, mistrust and hoarding deny the daily providence, the predictable and faithful grace of God.

The only way to begin to fathom the poor widow's absurd offering in the Temple is to understand it as the ultimate statement of trust. She chooses not to play it safe. Instead she gives her love gift first—and then, secondarily, figures out how she will live. She is left with nothing, and yet she feels that she has everything—for she has allowed herself to experience life as a blessing and God as the one who blesses—abundantly, predictably, faithfully. More importantly, she has discovered a special secret about the ultimate meaning of life. It is when we are charitable, that we are most like God. It is when we are lavish and gracious and generous, that we are most like our lavish and gracious and generous God. And so, wealth is not about having or getting. It is about receiving and giving. Wealth is not what we have; wealth is what we have been given that enables us to give to others. (Peter Gomes)

God, oh God, how do we love Thee? How do we count the ways? How do we show our love? And when we are giving our money and ourselves to you, how much is enough? My friends, these are ongoing queries that emerge on any adult journey of faith. No one can answer these questions for you. But, not to ask the questions is to lock God out of the most intimate details of your living.

I have shared with you before how important financial stewardship is in my own life. Since I was a small child, tithing has been as normal for me as brushing my teeth. Though I also enjoy supporting educational, social and political causes, my main charitable giving has always focused on the church. There is something about putting a check into an offering plate as a part of worship that gives focus to my life and to my faith. For me the ease of giving has grown with the years, so that today I choose to give 12% of my gross income to the church—nowhere near the generosity of the poor widow—but enough to give me quiet joy. With tuition bills looming in January and August, the step up in my pledge is smaller than it has been in the past. But I remain committed to tithing—and more—even during these college tuition years. I don't say any of this to boast or to insinuate that I am better than anyone else. Rather I want to witness to the gratitude I have for life—and the genuine joy that I experience when I give my money away.

When you receive your pledge card in the mail this week, I hope you will put it someplace special in your house. I hope you will hold it, study it, pray with it and fill it out with joy and gratitude. Then, I hope you will offer it with delight during worship.

How do we love Thee? Let us count the ways. Let us "tangibilitate."

And let us respond with the offering of our lives.

May it be so. Amen.

Susan R. Andrews