Megan Elisabeth Sanders
13 November 2006
The General Theological Seminary
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
We wear a lot of robes around here. And not just here…Two weekends ago, we, The Episcopal Church, installed and seated the Most Reverend Katherine Jefferts Schori as our Presiding Bishop and Primate, and if you didn’t catch it live, you can still catch it online at the national website. You click the link and it shows up on your screen as a little tiny box, but if you look in really closely, you will see what Mark and Matthew were talking about – long robes, broad phylacteries, and unbelievable fringes. Just an observation. I’m mostly kidding about this…because I think I understand why we as Episcopalians vest as we do…we believe in God’s beauty and majesty and power… And we like to look good. For Jesus.
So here we are. Gathered for worship. Right in the middle of every parish’s stewardship drive…and this gospel comes around once again…so I submit to you something I think the Gospel of Mark wants to tell us: the conflict between scarcity and abundance has been around a long time, and it still lives in our midst.
Here’s what I mean.
Today we hear Jesus teaching his disciples about the dangers of living our lives like the scribes in the Temple. And every characteristic he describes about them boils down to one point, as far as I can see it. These people seem to think they’re entitled to something. Whether it’s respect, fine things, favor with God…who knows. But whatever it is, they deserve it. They deserve it, and they’d better get it. Jesus makes his point to his friends, and then the Gospel of Mark comes in and fills in the silence with a play-by-play of the change in energy that follows. The focus shifts to the widow and her two small copper coins. In an instant, Jesus moves the spotlight from wealth to poverty. The scribes contributed out of their abundance, he says, but she gave out of her poverty. Now, I get what he’s saying, and I would say it this way: she gave out of an attitude of abundance, and the scribes gave out of an attitude of scarcity.
But we don’t really know anything about this woman. This particular widow. Was she alone? You can’t tell from the story. She has two coins. We know this. I was talking about this gospel with a friend of mine who’s a priest in my diocese, Bob Graves, and he commented that she really shouldn’t have had any money at all. Not if she was alone, with no family to support her. No, the only way she could’ve had two coins is if she was a domestic servant, a beggar, or a prostitute. And she put everything she had in to the treasury. Right in front of the scribes who were withholding their hearts from the treasury, only giving what was required and hoarding the rest for their own wealth. Have you ever done what I know I’ve done…you’re at a street fair on 9th on a sunny Saturday afternoon and you see something cool and start talking to the vendor about how much it costs and how much you’ve got. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bargained with folks and then realize, right when I go to reach in to my pocket, that I can’t remember which bills are where, and I would have to take out all my money and sort it to give them the right amount. And then they’ve seen all I have, and I just bargained with them about the worth of their product. Unless I’m in love with whatever it is I’m buying, I usually just thank them and walk away, ashamed of having enough and not being willing to part with it. Now, I’m not telling you to go out and pay top dollar for sunglasses that may fall apart in an hour, but I am saying that I bet the widow didn’t open her purse with one hand over it to make sure no one saw if she was keeping anything for herself. Scarcity is rooted in fear, and can blossom into anger and greed. Abundance makes its roots in generosity and trust.
Who and what are we missing in the profound generosity and deep deep passion of god when we avoid the needs of another? Who among us are left without alms or community or grace to enfold them, when there is clearly enough of God’s abundance to go around?
I’ve tried to place myself in the gospel scene today. How would it have felt to have been a disciple on that day with Jesus? To hear him turn my world upside down again by criticizing my desire to have a seat of privilege, even though all I would try to do with it was show my loyalty to him. Still, he says something completely unexpected and all of a sudden I’m feeling guilty and ashamed of myself for not being like this widow. For being someone who has more in common with the scribes than with the outcasts. Jesus is talking as if I’m part of the problem, as if I’m living in an attitude of scarcity and greed. My belly is full and my clothes are clean and I’m hovering over the extra food as if I have not already been fed...as if the nourishment of that drink had not already been poured out and over me. I am so focused on myself that I completely miss the others around me. The people with less. The people with debilitating grief and pain. Anyone but me and my own pain. As long as I’m okay, my little world will stay intact. Scarcity. Fear. Greed.
But what about the beauty and majesty and abundance of God I mentioned at the beginning? Can’t there be some sort of balance between the greedy scribes and the destitute woman? A middle way, if you will? I don’t want to be completely vulnerable and in need, but I also don’t want to be so caught up in looking out for myself that I miss the point of being alive…because the point of being alive is being in relationship. Missing the other is missing out on the best stuff of life. So I will share with y’all an image that you’re already familiar with…whether it’s your first time visiting as a prospective student or as my oldest friend in the world who took the day off to be here (that’s you, Nick)…this image is one that you can’t miss. The Good Shepherd. There’s Jesus, up in front, modeling to us what it means to be thirsty and what it means to be quenched. Showing us how to rest, and showing us how to seek. Ever since my first visit to General, I’ve been drawn to this image. Not just the shepherd, though…my favorite part of this image is the sheep. There’s not a day in my life when I can’t relate to at least one of those sheep. Sometimes both, but most of the time, just one. When I’m feeling the breadth and depth of God’s love for me and for the world, I feel like the tiny sheep cradled gently and safely in the Shepherd’s arms. I love those days. And then there are the other days. Days when I feel like I’m hanging by a thread and I can’t see anything that doesn’t look like fear. Days for me which may be lifetimes for others. Days when I am thirsty. Both sheep are good sheep. Both sheep are beloved. None are entitled. One is cradled in abundance. One is gently nudging Jesus, reminding him of its presence and need for love and care. Maybe it’s afraid, maybe it’s malnourished. For me, the more I need God the more I feel God, and the more I feel God the more I need God. The reason I’m here today is because I caught a glimpse of God’s abundant love for me and for you and I ran chasing after it as hard as I could. I ran all the way to New York. And so did you. And however we’re here, I’ve got good news. Others have run before us. More will run after us. And no matter how equipped we may or may not feel for this journey, our Lord puts things in good order for us…there is much to do, but before we get caught up in the doing, we must understand our being, and our connection to those who have been gone before us. Jesus doesn’t ask Peter to do anything for him until he first asks him, “Do you love me?” Let us pay attention to our responses to that question. Let our yes’ take flight and let us feed the sheep God entrusts to us. In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.
13 November 2006
The General Theological Seminary
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
We wear a lot of robes around here. And not just here…Two weekends ago, we, The Episcopal Church, installed and seated the Most Reverend Katherine Jefferts Schori as our Presiding Bishop and Primate, and if you didn’t catch it live, you can still catch it online at the national website. You click the link and it shows up on your screen as a little tiny box, but if you look in really closely, you will see what Mark and Matthew were talking about – long robes, broad phylacteries, and unbelievable fringes. Just an observation. I’m mostly kidding about this…because I think I understand why we as Episcopalians vest as we do…we believe in God’s beauty and majesty and power… And we like to look good. For Jesus.
So here we are. Gathered for worship. Right in the middle of every parish’s stewardship drive…and this gospel comes around once again…so I submit to you something I think the Gospel of Mark wants to tell us: the conflict between scarcity and abundance has been around a long time, and it still lives in our midst.
Here’s what I mean.
Today we hear Jesus teaching his disciples about the dangers of living our lives like the scribes in the Temple. And every characteristic he describes about them boils down to one point, as far as I can see it. These people seem to think they’re entitled to something. Whether it’s respect, fine things, favor with God…who knows. But whatever it is, they deserve it. They deserve it, and they’d better get it. Jesus makes his point to his friends, and then the Gospel of Mark comes in and fills in the silence with a play-by-play of the change in energy that follows. The focus shifts to the widow and her two small copper coins. In an instant, Jesus moves the spotlight from wealth to poverty. The scribes contributed out of their abundance, he says, but she gave out of her poverty. Now, I get what he’s saying, and I would say it this way: she gave out of an attitude of abundance, and the scribes gave out of an attitude of scarcity.
But we don’t really know anything about this woman. This particular widow. Was she alone? You can’t tell from the story. She has two coins. We know this. I was talking about this gospel with a friend of mine who’s a priest in my diocese, Bob Graves, and he commented that she really shouldn’t have had any money at all. Not if she was alone, with no family to support her. No, the only way she could’ve had two coins is if she was a domestic servant, a beggar, or a prostitute. And she put everything she had in to the treasury. Right in front of the scribes who were withholding their hearts from the treasury, only giving what was required and hoarding the rest for their own wealth. Have you ever done what I know I’ve done…you’re at a street fair on 9th on a sunny Saturday afternoon and you see something cool and start talking to the vendor about how much it costs and how much you’ve got. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bargained with folks and then realize, right when I go to reach in to my pocket, that I can’t remember which bills are where, and I would have to take out all my money and sort it to give them the right amount. And then they’ve seen all I have, and I just bargained with them about the worth of their product. Unless I’m in love with whatever it is I’m buying, I usually just thank them and walk away, ashamed of having enough and not being willing to part with it. Now, I’m not telling you to go out and pay top dollar for sunglasses that may fall apart in an hour, but I am saying that I bet the widow didn’t open her purse with one hand over it to make sure no one saw if she was keeping anything for herself. Scarcity is rooted in fear, and can blossom into anger and greed. Abundance makes its roots in generosity and trust.
Who and what are we missing in the profound generosity and deep deep passion of god when we avoid the needs of another? Who among us are left without alms or community or grace to enfold them, when there is clearly enough of God’s abundance to go around?
I’ve tried to place myself in the gospel scene today. How would it have felt to have been a disciple on that day with Jesus? To hear him turn my world upside down again by criticizing my desire to have a seat of privilege, even though all I would try to do with it was show my loyalty to him. Still, he says something completely unexpected and all of a sudden I’m feeling guilty and ashamed of myself for not being like this widow. For being someone who has more in common with the scribes than with the outcasts. Jesus is talking as if I’m part of the problem, as if I’m living in an attitude of scarcity and greed. My belly is full and my clothes are clean and I’m hovering over the extra food as if I have not already been fed...as if the nourishment of that drink had not already been poured out and over me. I am so focused on myself that I completely miss the others around me. The people with less. The people with debilitating grief and pain. Anyone but me and my own pain. As long as I’m okay, my little world will stay intact. Scarcity. Fear. Greed.
But what about the beauty and majesty and abundance of God I mentioned at the beginning? Can’t there be some sort of balance between the greedy scribes and the destitute woman? A middle way, if you will? I don’t want to be completely vulnerable and in need, but I also don’t want to be so caught up in looking out for myself that I miss the point of being alive…because the point of being alive is being in relationship. Missing the other is missing out on the best stuff of life. So I will share with y’all an image that you’re already familiar with…whether it’s your first time visiting as a prospective student or as my oldest friend in the world who took the day off to be here (that’s you, Nick)…this image is one that you can’t miss. The Good Shepherd. There’s Jesus, up in front, modeling to us what it means to be thirsty and what it means to be quenched. Showing us how to rest, and showing us how to seek. Ever since my first visit to General, I’ve been drawn to this image. Not just the shepherd, though…my favorite part of this image is the sheep. There’s not a day in my life when I can’t relate to at least one of those sheep. Sometimes both, but most of the time, just one. When I’m feeling the breadth and depth of God’s love for me and for the world, I feel like the tiny sheep cradled gently and safely in the Shepherd’s arms. I love those days. And then there are the other days. Days when I feel like I’m hanging by a thread and I can’t see anything that doesn’t look like fear. Days for me which may be lifetimes for others. Days when I am thirsty. Both sheep are good sheep. Both sheep are beloved. None are entitled. One is cradled in abundance. One is gently nudging Jesus, reminding him of its presence and need for love and care. Maybe it’s afraid, maybe it’s malnourished. For me, the more I need God the more I feel God, and the more I feel God the more I need God. The reason I’m here today is because I caught a glimpse of God’s abundant love for me and for you and I ran chasing after it as hard as I could. I ran all the way to New York. And so did you. And however we’re here, I’ve got good news. Others have run before us. More will run after us. And no matter how equipped we may or may not feel for this journey, our Lord puts things in good order for us…there is much to do, but before we get caught up in the doing, we must understand our being, and our connection to those who have been gone before us. Jesus doesn’t ask Peter to do anything for him until he first asks him, “Do you love me?” Let us pay attention to our responses to that question. Let our yes’ take flight and let us feed the sheep God entrusts to us. In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.
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