2 Copper Coins

2 Copper Coins      Isaiah 65:17-25 Mark 12:38-44

          We’re now in the Thanksgiving season, and we are bombarded with calls to give thanks.  But have you noticed that the message is almost all about stuff?   Thanksgiving Day is about stuffing our faces with turkey, gravy and stuffing.   The day after Thanksgiving is Black Friday – a day to rush out to buy more stuff (at 20% off!) to give to our relatives and friends who already have tons of stuff.   We’re told we should give thanks for all the stuff we own, the way we are so much better off than others because of all the stuff we have. To be honest I am really pretty sick and tired of all this stuff.

         The comedian George Carlin had a riff about stuff that goes like this:

“That’s all you need in life, a little place for your stuff.  That’s all your house  is – a place to keep your stuff.  If you didn’t have so much stuff, you wouldn’t need a house.  You could just walk around all the time.   A house is just a pile of your stuff with a cover on it.  You can se that when you’re taking off in an airplane.  You look down, you see everybody’s got a little pile of stuff.  All the little piles of stuff.  And when you leave your house, you gotta lock it up.  Wouldn’t want somebody to come by and take some of your stuff.  They always take the good stuff.  They never bother with that crap you’re saving.  All they want is the shiny stuff. That’s what your house is, a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get…more stuff!  Sometimes you gotta move, getter a bigger house.  Why?  No room for your stuff anymore!”

 Have you ever noticed that when people give thanks in the New Testament, when Jesus is teaching, it is hardly ever about giving thanks for ‘stuff.’   Yes, people give thanks for daily bread, for food.  But mostly, people are giving thanks for ways that God has changed their lives.  They praise God for being healed – for having sight restored, for a child born, or for being able to walk again, or for being released from demons or despair.   Thanks to God is given when good news that is preached, beggars are welcomed as disciples, women are treated as equals, lepers are cleansed, slaves are freed.   Thanks is shouted when Jesus shows the way to living water, to the bread of life, to hope.  And thanks are offered when we see our Savior, God incarnate, with arms stretched out upon a cross, offering his life poured out for our salvation, for our fulfillment.  Thanksgiving in faith is not just about more stuff; it is about discovering the fullness of life, the holy joy found in loving community, in wisdom gained, in life restored, and in God’s presence.

Thanksgiving comes at the end of a faith journey. It is found after the darkness of sin, after being healed of a debilitating illness or constriction, after walking through the valley of grief or death.   And out of thanksgiving comes an outpouring of generosity and self-giving. 

Let me share with a story that illustrates this; a story of a widow whom Jesus admired, an older woman who learns how to let go of her worries and fears through thanksgiving – allowing her to give all of herself as Jesus did….

         Under the arch near the Temple Treasury, the widow has her spot.  It’s in the shade.  Sometimes, especially in late afternoon as the sun slips behind the portico, a breeze wends its way through the high columns and cools the air.  Enough pilgrims pass so that eventually, someone will drop a coin or two onto her cloth spread on the stones.   She sits motionless, wrapped in her black shawl, only her eyes visible, pleading, intent, urging the sandals and robes that pass to give to a poor widow who has lost everything.

         Hers is a story of loss after loss.  She has fading memories of a clay home in the Kidron valley, below the Temple Mount, with gray-green olive leaves clacking in the wind, and sunshine filtered through grape vines on the arbor over the terrace, that she and her husband built.  Her two children would run and play around their table and sing near the well.  They would climb in the trees at harvest time to shake the branches making olives fall onto the sheets stretched out in the grass.  They would then turn the press to make olive oil, that they would then sell in the market in the old city.  

         That was before the Romans decided to take over that part of the valley for a garrison of troops, forcing them to leave their ancestral home.   With tears and rage they moved their belongings into a room in the city owned by her husband’s sister.  Then they watched with horror as their home was torn down by Roman slaves.  Her husband grew sullen and furious in the darkness of that room, mulling over the injustice of Roman oppression, planning his revenge.  He would sneak out to join Zealots at their night meetings.  On one midnight raid they succeeded in killing two Roman soldiers with their silent knives. 

But, Romans were not fools, and eventually he was caught with his compatriots, and was killed on the spot.  He was lucky not to have been crucified along the road, as other Zealots were later that year.  

         Her children helped with chores and to bring in coins from selling sweets and toys in the bazaar.  She worked hard in her relative’s house.  But little by little she realized that without her husband, she was no longer welcome in her sister-in-law’s home.  Without her husband she had no income and no way to get it.   One morning she was told she must leave that afternoon, though her children would be allowed stay on as servants of the house.  She had no choice.  But where could she go?  She had no living relatives.  She could not work as a laborer. She would not become a whore. 

         She found herself sleeping under a portico beside the great Temple.  Laying in a heap, sometimes people would toss coins onto the clump of cloth.   She found that if she begged, she could survive… barely.  Nights were terrifying, filled with strangers stalking the courtyard, threats of violence or worse.  She protected herself with a sharp knife and loud cries to startle attackers.  She made friends with other beggars in the square.  They shared stories of their own losses, the terrors that had brought them to a patch of stone that was now their home.   They warned each other about thieves or those who enjoyed abusing the weak and lame.   Her children were not allowed to visit.   She lived in shame.

         In the wintertime, she fought to survive frigid nights and blasting desert winds. But in other seasons, she savored the warmth of the stones, the smell of blossoms in the air, the fruit and flowers in the stalls.  Sunshine stole in, and lifted her despair.  She enjoyed sung prayers coming from the temple, psalms with sweet melody, crystalline voices rising above the roar of the crowds. On pilgrimage days like Pentecost or Passover, crowds would converge on the square; and she would have plenty to eat and even to share.  She loved to see families streaming across the square, often with children in tow, for holidays or feast days or dedications.  Doves cooed softly above in the rafters, pilgrims were generous enough to allow her to live, some even smiled as they tossed a coin.   She caught glimpses of her own children rarely as they walked with heads bowed behind their family.  They are so beautiful, strong, so grown up, she would cry to herself, as tears streamed down her cheeks, as her heart longs to run, greet, and embrace them.   Little by little she found her heart lifting the veil of sorrow cloaking it in darkness. 

         She realizes that the faith of the Temple, of her God, is grounded in holy compassion, justice and care for others.   It is not just rote, ritual sacrifice and the mechanics of legalistic observance.   In fact, she realizes to her surprise that her place by the Temple as a beggar was a holy vocation. She reminds those who passed by to give thanks, to remember that their abundance was due to grace and chance, and not only their own skills.   She participates with the priests and prophets and scribes in her own humble way, offering a teaching about God’s provision, love and grace.  Just as the Israelites in the 40 years of wandering in the desert were fed by manna from heaven; so she survives day by day by the bread given by the kind hearted.  Just as the poor widow in Elijah’s story was given a jar of flour and oil that did not run out, so she as a poor widow is provided for by God’s holy love.  Just as Ruth and Naomi, after being widowed in a foreign land were led by God to reclaim their lives as aliens in Israel, so she is creating a new life, a new way of being, trusting God’s grace.

On good days, her joy in living, her thanksgiving, lifted her heart to dance in blue of the sky and among the towers of the Temple.  She had to express her thanksgiving, and so she threw copper coins she was given, manna from heaven, into the Temple treasury.  When she gave what little she could, in return for the wonders she experienced, she felt glad to be able to give extravagantly, with abandon. As long as she had a meal and could find her rest after the heat of the day, she rejoiced in giving: copper coins tossed to God.   It was something satisfying, making her feel free and so happy for all that God had done for her.     

         The teacher, Jesus, saw her do this, and used her in a teaching story – about how she gave all of what she had to the treasury – all she had to live on. Jesus understood what that meant, as he looked up to Golgotha, and to the place that would ask him to give all of himself on the cross.  She was a guide for the self-giving love he would be asked to offer: his life offered to God.

Like her, his life would be a sacrifice of thanksgiving, a tribute of love, a gift tossed to God in grateful abandon.   Like her, his life was one of deep spiritual satisfaction and happiness, of abiding thankfulness, even though his life would be short, lived in poverty, hardship, and simplicity.   Each walk through the green valleys of Galilee, each loaf of bread given to him, each trip on a fishing boat or journey from city to city, was fulfilling, was enough.  Even in his dying he found meaning, offering his life with complete abandon, offering healing and salvation by surrendering himself to God.    That is what real Thanksgiving and happiness are all about, not more stuff, not more for ourselves, but love given freely: copper coins tossed to God. Amen.