The Cost

Propers: The Twenty-Fifth Sunday After Pentecost (Lectionary 32), AD 2024 B

Homily:

Lord, we pray for the preacher, for You know his sins are great.

Grace mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Temple in Jerusalem was a wonder, one of the grandest religious edifices across the eastern Roman Empire. It had been constructed on a 36-acre artificial mountain, with single stone blocks weighing well over 600 tons. Columns of smoke continually rose from the sacrifices of the faithful. Priests, scribes, animal inspectors, even a cadre of quasi-nuns labored daily in the administration of the sacred. And all of this cost money.

Large containers collected the Temple tax, half of which went immediately to sacrificial purchases, all of the beasts and grain and incense necessary for ritual Law. A second portion of the proceeds paid the Temple staff, those women weavers, pious priests, and scholarly scribes. Surplus funds then served to cover property repairs and miscellaneous expenses. Sometimes the treasury funded towers, bridges, paving stones, and even the water supply. People in danger of losing their lands to debt might be eligible to obtain a treasury loan.

Yet what, we might ask, of the poor, amidst all of this massive machine? Certainly Jewish Law provided for the impoverished. Much responsibility fell on the extended family and clan. Gleaning laws mandated that food be left for the hungry. Beggars sat around the Temple gates, and there were offerings collected for the poor, both by private charities and also by the Temple staff. These funds, however, were not part of the treasury, not part of the operating budget.

Jesus, on the one hand, takes the Temple seriously. As a child, He calls it His Father’s house. When in Jerusalem, He teaches in the courtyard of the Temple. John tells us that Jesus attends the festival of the Temple’s rededication, which we call Hanukkah. Yet He has no illusions regarding it. He drives out the moneychangers who make of the Temple a market—on more than one occasion, it would seem. When His Apostles, who are by and large rustic country folk from upstate, marvel at the size of the Temple buildings, Jesus retorts that soon the day shall come when not one stone will be left upon another.

“Tear down this Temple, and I’ll rebuild it in three days,” He proclaims. But that of which He spoke was His own Body.

Let us keep all of this in mind as we read from Mark’s Gospel this morning. Jesus sits down to watch the people giving to the treasury. They’re putting in sums for the upkeep of the Temple, some wealthy patrons quite a bit. All that frankincense and livestock isn’t cheap. Along then comes a woman, a poor widow, who puts in two λεπτὰ, two thin copper coins. At this Jesus calls over His disciples and declares:

“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, all she had to live on”—or more literally, she has put in “her whole life.”

When the Bible speaks of widows and orphans, it means people who have no support, women and children with no male head of household to provide and protect; destitute, in other words. And just to drive this home, two λεπτὰ are a sum so small that we have no modern equivalent for it. “Haypenny” is about the best that we can do, or “farthing” perhaps. Two λεπτὰ together make for one κοδράντης, the smallest denomination of Roman coin, which in turn equates to one sixty-fourth of a δηνάριον, that being payment for one day’s labor.

A little scratch-pad math comes up with three to four minutes of our hourly minimum wage. That’s how much she puts into the treasury. She has nothing. And she gives it to the Temple.

Now, I am acutely aware that at this moment, all over the country, all over the world, preachers are using this pericope to twist your arm to meet their budget. It’s a fundraising text. You don’t think all those flatscreens pay for themselves. They want you to put a dollar in the box. After all, if she could do it—this widow so poor she gave her whole life to the Temple—then surely you can too. The less you have, the more it’s worth within the eyes of God, right? Alas, such preachers have utterly missed the bus.

“Beware of the scribes,” Jesus taught in a verse just before this, “who like to walk around in long robes and to be greeted with respect … They devour widows’ houses … They will receive the greater condemnation.” As soon as He says that, He then points out to His disciples exactly what He’s talking about: a poor woman, a destitute widow, losing her last λεπτὰ to the treasury of the scribes. She’s not an example to be followed. Her plight is the embodiment of all that has gone wrong.

In a healthy society, a godly society, the rich uphold the poor, not the other way around. Biblical Law both condemns greed and commands charity. The Temple should exist to help the widow, not to devour her house, not to take from her all that she has. Just a few chapters earlier, in this same Gospel, Jesus rebuked certain Pharisees for the practice of κορβᾶν; that is, dedicating funds to the Temple, so as to avoid having to support their elderly parents financially. “Honor your father and mother,” Jesus says. Don’t be putting money into the treasury while your mom and dad are destitute. That’s using God as an excuse to break the Law.

First care for the poor; then give to the Temple. It’s not an either/or situation. It’s both/and. Religion requires morality. When people twist religion as an excuse for immorality, Jesus denounces them as hypocrites, as play-actors, white-washed tombs full of bones inside. Christ here is not anti-establishment, in the sense of organized religion being bad. Rather, He is a radical, returning to the root: calling people back to the core of the Law and commandment of God, which He sums up simply as: love the Lord your God with all you are, and also love your neighbor as yourself. In so doing, don’t let fancy trappings fool you.

Religion without right is fraud. And those using God as an excuse to exploit the vulnerable and the poor, the widow and the orphan, will receive the greater condemnation. Full stop.

Obviously I say this as a scribe. I don’t know what else you’d call me. I’m up here in a robe, albeit the cheapest we could find. It took me eight years and three degrees in order to get this job. I turned away from a very lucrative profession in genetic engineering, which seemed like a good idea at the time. And I live now solely on your largess. I feed my kids with what you put into the plate. Thus have I a vested interest in your offering, if we’re being honest.

That’s why I don’t like to talk about money. In part because America produces so many huckster preachers, getting rich off of the gullible and the poor. We do love a good con, don’t we? But also in part because I find it very stressful. The less people care about community, the closer I come to becoming unemployed. That’s why I’ve never looked at anybody’s offering. I don’t want to treat people differently based on what they give, nor if they choose to stop. Had I my druthers, we would never mention money here at all. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Of course, Jesus also was an educated scribe. He too made His living off the kindness of strangers. And He never shied away from economics. He mentions money more than hell and heaven put together. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Because loving your neighbor will cost you something. Loving community costs you something. Loving God will cost you something. Not just money but vulnerability, sacrifice, risk.

Love hurts. You give away a piece of yourself for your beloved, and that always hurts. That’s why our symbol is a Cross; not because God is some sadist, but because doing the right thing, speaking truth to power, giving voice to the voiceless, comes with a price. It takes a toll. The Cross is not about seeking out pain. The Cross is standing up for love, regardless of the cost. And in this world that cost comes due. If we live like Jesus, they’ll treat us like Him too.

I will not sell you salvation. Salvation is forever free, poured out freely from the Cross, poured out here in bread and wine, oil and water, Law and Gospel, poured out all for you. Christ will always be for you. The only price His grace exacts is that you must let it go, let it flow, give it as gratuitously as it has been given to you; for the salvation of your neighbor is your own. Such is both the cost of the Cross and the reward of Resurrection.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pertinent Links

RDG Stout

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St Peter’s Lutheran

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Nidaros Lutheran

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