Pentecost 23, Proper 27
Psalm 127, Mark 12:38-44
I’ve been wondering this week whether John intentionally chose the pinnacle of stewardship season to head off on vacation. We’ve been hearing from parishioners about their pledging decisions, reading articles in the e-news and receiving letters at home. Next week you’ll get a pledge card. And the Gospel for this morning is clearly intended in our lectionary cycle as a vehicle for a fall stewardship sermon. The widow who gave all she had left to live on to the Temple treasury and was praised by Jesus for her faithfulness.
Preachers everywhere are using this story for all it’s worth this morning. A friend forwarded me the letter her church had sent seeking pledges last week that quoted this gospel story. The letter talked about how the widow gave her best and how many of the people of that church clearly were not giving their best because their average pledge amounts were too low. Playing up the guilt factor to the hilt. The problem with going in that direction is that if we talk about it in the context of giving our money to the Church, none of us are ever going to live up to the high standard set by that widow, who gave everything she had, all that she had to live on to the Temple. We are all guilty under that standard. I’m not about to espouse leaving people destitute for the sake of the Church.
It’s clear from this story that it wasn’t about the amount of the widow’s gift. Rich people had been coming in and throwing large sums into the treasury, but Jesus didn’t praise them. I’d go so far as to argue that this story isn’t really even about money. I think it’s about how we give our selves – not to the Church, but to God. Our whole lives from Monday to Sunday and back again. Our relationships, our work, our minds, our hearts. Even our broken places. Getting to the point, slowly but surely, where we trust God and hand everything over. Where we can unclench our fists that hold so tight to whatever the copper coins represent in our own lives.
For me personally, the story of the copper coins isn’t about money as much as it is control. I’m so busy trying to control all the details of life that I often forget to take in the moment and remember it is a gift from God.
I look at my calendar and I get overwhelmed and know that I am doomed to forget something. The days are so full I have circles and arrows pointing to other places. Then there’s the work calendar and Holden’s calendar and the calendars from each kid’s school. There are the lists of things which I know I need to do but can’t seem to get around to, that grow longer and longer until I finally lose them and then feel horrible about all the things that will now never get done. By the end of each day I’m usually so exhausted that when those few rare moments of peace do arrive I misspend them and then I feel guilty about that. And even when the day is finally done and it’s time to sleep, that too is full of anxiety. I wake up in the middle of the night with this realization that I need to do x and then I can’t sleep because I’m already worrying about tomorrow.
Most of you probably experience your own version of that. It’s hard to catch your breath, much less appreciate life. It’s so easy to become so busy and anxious that we can’t even open our hands to see and appreciate the copper coins God has given us, much less share them with others.
And so, to talk about stewardship in this larger sense – about how we give our lives to God, I’m going to turn instead of the Gospel to this morning’s psalm for inspiration. It’s written just for me – and just for all of us who find ourselves a little too frantic a little too often. “It is in vain that you rise so early and go to bed so late; vain, too, to eat the bread of toil, for God gives to his beloved sleep.” This same passage is part of the New Zealand Night Prayer, only it sounds even more poetic. “It is but lost labor that we haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, and eat the bread of anxiety. For those beloved of God are given gifts even while they sleep.” Our gifts come even while we sleep!
We say this prayer often on Monday nights as a closing for the contemplative prayer group. As a general rule, that’s when I am at my most peaceful and relaxed. It’s the one time during the week when my lists and calendars fade away. I’ve just spent 25 minutes or so quieting down, breathing deeply, asking the holy spirit to fill me, trying to be aware of God’s presence. So when I hear these words at the end of that time, I actually believe them. And I steel myself, once again, to try to maintain that feeling of peace, that feeling that I can forgive myself and those around me, that knowledge that all that I have is a gift from God, for the rest of the week.
Of course it doesn’t last that long. By the next morning I forget all about my best intentions and fall right back into the same old patterns. What is it that is keeping us so busy? What is it that so often keeps us from stopping to enjoy, really enjoy, any of it? What is it that keeps us from noticing and truly appreciating the gifts we receive from God? And then being able to share them joyfully with others? What is it that keeps our hand so tightly clenched to those copper coins?
A few weeks ago we had our annual clergy retreat to Shrine Mont. It was quite an undertaking getting there at all. I probably spent 10 hours trying to organize a conglomeration of folks to be with the kids during all of the hours when I am normally in charge. I left three pages worth of notes about where and when to drop off and pick up, what each day entails, all the commitments and appointments. But it was so worth the effort.
The Bishop had invited two brothers from Society of St. John the Evangelist to speak with us – Brothers Curtis and Geoffrey. These guys are full of joy, so kind, so forgiving, so wise, so incredibly spiritual. During one of our meditations, Brother Geoffrey was talking about how to get back in touch with God, how to order our busy lives. He offered three priorities for us to use: First, mark out time for our relationship with God. Time for prayer and renewal. Second, mark out time and space for family, rest and relaxation. And third, mark out time for our work, whatever that means for each us. The order itself was crucial – we had to get in better touch with God so that we could be refreshed and at peace; only then would we have the strength and energy and patience for the rest of it. Only then does the rest of life feel like a gift, rather than a chore. It seemed so simple, so why is it so hard to do?
We had the opportunity to meet individually with the Brothers for spiritual direction. I met with Brother Curtis and told him how much trouble I was having finding time or energy for God. He suggested, in his gracious, gentle way, that I was looking at it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t about finding the right block of time to give God on a given day, but about learning how to make my entire life my prayer – including all those details that tend to bog me down.
Of course there is no right way to do it, but he made some practical suggestions for me. He proposed bookending my day with short prayers. In the morning, to thank God for the new day with its possibilities and asking God to help keep me open to God’s presence in all that I do. And then at night, thanking God for the day with all it’s blessings and for God being with me through it. And throughout the day, finding short moments to breathe in God and breathe out the things troubling me. And then to go about the rest, trying to keep in mind that all of it has been dedicated to God.
It’s only been a few weeks, and some days are better than others. But this simple pattern has let me find some space to let God into every part of my day, every part of my life. And the rest – the gratitude and the relaxing of my hold on those copper coins – seems to follow, slowly but surely.
Yesterday Holden was raking leaves in the backyard and I took the kids out in the beautiful crisp air to check out the piles. It started with the kids, but soon we were all jumping in, covering ourselves with leaves, doing leaf-angels. We didn’t go anywhere new or accomplish anything. I didn’t cross anything off my lists. And yet it was a remarkable interlude. It was peaceful and fun and utterly devoid of anxiety. And in the midst of it, I was present enough to be grateful. I actually took the time to look around me and thank God for the beautiful leaves, the time with my family, how well the kids were playing together. Just by being present in that moment and by inviting God into it too, that time turned into prayer. Brother Curtis would have been proud!
Psalm 127, Mark 12:38-44
I’ve been wondering this week whether John intentionally chose the pinnacle of stewardship season to head off on vacation. We’ve been hearing from parishioners about their pledging decisions, reading articles in the e-news and receiving letters at home. Next week you’ll get a pledge card. And the Gospel for this morning is clearly intended in our lectionary cycle as a vehicle for a fall stewardship sermon. The widow who gave all she had left to live on to the Temple treasury and was praised by Jesus for her faithfulness.
Preachers everywhere are using this story for all it’s worth this morning. A friend forwarded me the letter her church had sent seeking pledges last week that quoted this gospel story. The letter talked about how the widow gave her best and how many of the people of that church clearly were not giving their best because their average pledge amounts were too low. Playing up the guilt factor to the hilt. The problem with going in that direction is that if we talk about it in the context of giving our money to the Church, none of us are ever going to live up to the high standard set by that widow, who gave everything she had, all that she had to live on to the Temple. We are all guilty under that standard. I’m not about to espouse leaving people destitute for the sake of the Church.
It’s clear from this story that it wasn’t about the amount of the widow’s gift. Rich people had been coming in and throwing large sums into the treasury, but Jesus didn’t praise them. I’d go so far as to argue that this story isn’t really even about money. I think it’s about how we give our selves – not to the Church, but to God. Our whole lives from Monday to Sunday and back again. Our relationships, our work, our minds, our hearts. Even our broken places. Getting to the point, slowly but surely, where we trust God and hand everything over. Where we can unclench our fists that hold so tight to whatever the copper coins represent in our own lives.
For me personally, the story of the copper coins isn’t about money as much as it is control. I’m so busy trying to control all the details of life that I often forget to take in the moment and remember it is a gift from God.
I look at my calendar and I get overwhelmed and know that I am doomed to forget something. The days are so full I have circles and arrows pointing to other places. Then there’s the work calendar and Holden’s calendar and the calendars from each kid’s school. There are the lists of things which I know I need to do but can’t seem to get around to, that grow longer and longer until I finally lose them and then feel horrible about all the things that will now never get done. By the end of each day I’m usually so exhausted that when those few rare moments of peace do arrive I misspend them and then I feel guilty about that. And even when the day is finally done and it’s time to sleep, that too is full of anxiety. I wake up in the middle of the night with this realization that I need to do x and then I can’t sleep because I’m already worrying about tomorrow.
Most of you probably experience your own version of that. It’s hard to catch your breath, much less appreciate life. It’s so easy to become so busy and anxious that we can’t even open our hands to see and appreciate the copper coins God has given us, much less share them with others.
And so, to talk about stewardship in this larger sense – about how we give our lives to God, I’m going to turn instead of the Gospel to this morning’s psalm for inspiration. It’s written just for me – and just for all of us who find ourselves a little too frantic a little too often. “It is in vain that you rise so early and go to bed so late; vain, too, to eat the bread of toil, for God gives to his beloved sleep.” This same passage is part of the New Zealand Night Prayer, only it sounds even more poetic. “It is but lost labor that we haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, and eat the bread of anxiety. For those beloved of God are given gifts even while they sleep.” Our gifts come even while we sleep!
We say this prayer often on Monday nights as a closing for the contemplative prayer group. As a general rule, that’s when I am at my most peaceful and relaxed. It’s the one time during the week when my lists and calendars fade away. I’ve just spent 25 minutes or so quieting down, breathing deeply, asking the holy spirit to fill me, trying to be aware of God’s presence. So when I hear these words at the end of that time, I actually believe them. And I steel myself, once again, to try to maintain that feeling of peace, that feeling that I can forgive myself and those around me, that knowledge that all that I have is a gift from God, for the rest of the week.
Of course it doesn’t last that long. By the next morning I forget all about my best intentions and fall right back into the same old patterns. What is it that is keeping us so busy? What is it that so often keeps us from stopping to enjoy, really enjoy, any of it? What is it that keeps us from noticing and truly appreciating the gifts we receive from God? And then being able to share them joyfully with others? What is it that keeps our hand so tightly clenched to those copper coins?
A few weeks ago we had our annual clergy retreat to Shrine Mont. It was quite an undertaking getting there at all. I probably spent 10 hours trying to organize a conglomeration of folks to be with the kids during all of the hours when I am normally in charge. I left three pages worth of notes about where and when to drop off and pick up, what each day entails, all the commitments and appointments. But it was so worth the effort.
The Bishop had invited two brothers from Society of St. John the Evangelist to speak with us – Brothers Curtis and Geoffrey. These guys are full of joy, so kind, so forgiving, so wise, so incredibly spiritual. During one of our meditations, Brother Geoffrey was talking about how to get back in touch with God, how to order our busy lives. He offered three priorities for us to use: First, mark out time for our relationship with God. Time for prayer and renewal. Second, mark out time and space for family, rest and relaxation. And third, mark out time for our work, whatever that means for each us. The order itself was crucial – we had to get in better touch with God so that we could be refreshed and at peace; only then would we have the strength and energy and patience for the rest of it. Only then does the rest of life feel like a gift, rather than a chore. It seemed so simple, so why is it so hard to do?
We had the opportunity to meet individually with the Brothers for spiritual direction. I met with Brother Curtis and told him how much trouble I was having finding time or energy for God. He suggested, in his gracious, gentle way, that I was looking at it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t about finding the right block of time to give God on a given day, but about learning how to make my entire life my prayer – including all those details that tend to bog me down.
Of course there is no right way to do it, but he made some practical suggestions for me. He proposed bookending my day with short prayers. In the morning, to thank God for the new day with its possibilities and asking God to help keep me open to God’s presence in all that I do. And then at night, thanking God for the day with all it’s blessings and for God being with me through it. And throughout the day, finding short moments to breathe in God and breathe out the things troubling me. And then to go about the rest, trying to keep in mind that all of it has been dedicated to God.
It’s only been a few weeks, and some days are better than others. But this simple pattern has let me find some space to let God into every part of my day, every part of my life. And the rest – the gratitude and the relaxing of my hold on those copper coins – seems to follow, slowly but surely.
Yesterday Holden was raking leaves in the backyard and I took the kids out in the beautiful crisp air to check out the piles. It started with the kids, but soon we were all jumping in, covering ourselves with leaves, doing leaf-angels. We didn’t go anywhere new or accomplish anything. I didn’t cross anything off my lists. And yet it was a remarkable interlude. It was peaceful and fun and utterly devoid of anxiety. And in the midst of it, I was present enough to be grateful. I actually took the time to look around me and thank God for the beautiful leaves, the time with my family, how well the kids were playing together. Just by being present in that moment and by inviting God into it too, that time turned into prayer. Brother Curtis would have been proud!
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