Beyond compare
Commentary
Much of the rest of our culture is unapologetic about sacrifice. In fact, much of the world around us is proud of it. Sports drink makers and sneaker manufacturers prominently feature images of personal sacrifice and discipline in their television commercials. The armed forces promote their opportunities with strong boasts about what it takes to be one of them. Competitive graduate schools make it clear to would-be applicants that prohibitive sacrifice will be essential. Likewise, so many big companies and major firms unapologetically preach sacrifice to their junior executives as an essential component of success.
We preach sacrifice, too, but ours is different.
Most proponents of popular sacrifice in our culture sell sacrifice for self's sake. I'm invited to make sacrifices in order to benefit myself in the end. My employer or my school or my health club promise me that my sacrifices will lead to my success, to my fitness, to my self-improvement, to my promotion. Sacrifice in popular culture is a calculated investment, and the return is all about self.
The kind of sacrifice described -- for that matter, demanded -- in scripture, however, is not about self. Quite the contrary: scriptural sacrifice is selfless. Forgetting your self (Matthew 16:24ff) may be the quintessential sacrifice required of the person who would be a disciple of Jesus Christ. It may yield a reward in the end, but that is God's grace and providence, not human manipulation.
In the three passages we consider this week, sacrifice is a recurring theme. Ruth's selfless sacrifice for the sake of her mother-in-law is the backdrop for the Old Testament passage. The widow's sacrificial giving is at the heart of the gospel lection. And Jesus' atoning sacrifice is the centerpiece of the gospel message explicated in Hebrews.
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
The sweet story of Ruth is a refreshing change from the rough-and-tumble period from which it comes. The book of Judges portrays a lawless time, place, and people. It was an era when "all the people did what was right in their own eyes" (Judges 21:25). That is the final verdict of the biblical author on that period in Israel's history.
But then we turn the page, and the scene brightens considerably. We find ourselves face-to-face with two women whose love and devotion to one another cut across the grain of the prevailing selfishness.
The story, whose happy ending is part of our lection for this Sunday, does not have a happy beginning. Naomi, her husband, and their two sons are forced by famine to leave their home in Bethlehem and seek refuge in Moab. Before the family's sojourn in Moab is over, Naomi's husband dies. No explanation or cause of death is given. From the terse reporting, one senses that the death was sudden and unexpected. Naomi is a widow now, but not desolate, for she has two grown sons to provide for her.
The two sons marry Moabite women, but within a few years the young men die. Again, no explanation is given, but the rapid-fire tragedies and unrelenting troubles make Naomi's story reminiscent of Job's.
Now Naomi's situation is desperate. She is in a foreign land, a widow, and without any sons, sons-in-law, or grandsons to provide for her. A widow in that culture was nearly helpless, and so she had to depend upon the remaining males in her family for her sustenance. The plight of widows in that world is implicit in the Old Testament Law (Deuteronomy 10:17-18; 24:19), in Jesus' teachings (Mark 12:40; Luke 18:2-8), and in the efforts in the early church to care for the widows in their midst (Acts 6:1; 1 Timothy 5:3-16; James 1:27). The potential for widows to become destitute is also graphically illustrated by the gospel reading for this Sunday.
Naomi begins to return to Judah, where the famine is now past. It seems she will return home in a very different condition than she was when she left -- a solitary, tragic figure who lost her whole family in a foreign land.
Naomi urges her two daughters-in-law to return to their homes, for they are young enough to have hopes of remarrying and bearing children. The one daughter-in-law says a tearful goodbye, and returns to her home and family. The other daughter-in-law, Ruth, however, refuses to leave Naomi.
This is Ruth's first great sacrifice of love. Naomi is no doubt correct -- at least in terms of probability -- that Ruth's future looks brighter if she stays in her homeland and returns to her family. But Ruth dismisses what is in her own best interest in order to stay with her mother-in-law.
Here is where biblical sacrifice and popular sacrifice part company. Popular sacrifice is doing precisely that which is in my own best long-term interest. Biblical sacrifice, however, challenges me to swim upstream against the current of my fallenness and dismiss what is in my own best interest for the sake of someone else. That was Ruth's brand of sacrifice, and it is the background for the Old Testament lection.
Another fundamental component of biblical sacrifice is obedience. Abraham was being obedient when he took Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice his only son. Christ was "obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross" (Philippians 2:8). And the quality of Ruth's obedience to Naomi is evident in our selected passage for this week.
The end of the passage -- the end of the story -- is all exclamation points. Naomi and Ruth, whose futures looked so very bleak in chapter 1, are now secure. The son born to Boaz and Ruth is reckoned by Naomi's friends as her son. And the providential hand of God is beautifully apparent as the story of Ruth anticipates the reign of David.
A later descendant of Ruth said, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (John 12:24). So it is that Ruth's sacrifices, in the end, bore much fruit.
Hebrews 9:24-28
Any passage from Hebrews needs to be read with an understanding of the hermeneutic approach to scripture that lies behind the whole letter. The letter to the Hebrews explains the Gospel to those steeped in the Jewish Law. It is not a refutation or setting aside of the Law. Rather, Hebrews understands the Law as a kind of connect-the-dots puzzle, and the coming of Christ has connected those dots. In Christ, the Law is completed. In him, we are able to see clearly the whole picture contained in the Law.
While we do not know who wrote the epistle to the Hebrews, many scholars assume that the author was a product of Alexandrian Judaism, such as Apollos (Acts 18:24). Alexandria, at once both the home of so many Jews in the Diaspora and a stronghold of Hellenism, produced a distinctively Greek method of interpreting the Jewish scriptures. Reminiscent of the Platonic notion of a heavenly plane, of which all earthly realities are merely shadows, the writer of Hebrews understood the Old Testament law and all its component parts as shadows of a heavenly reality. Our more commonplace term, foreshadowing, is a picturesque way of understanding the Hebrews hermeneutic.
High school and college English teachers often give "compare and contrast" essay assignments. That is essentially the approach of the letter to the Hebrews. The author compares and contrasts the person and work of Christ to elements of the Old Testament. Christ compares to those, for they foreshadowed him. Christ also stands in contrast to those, however, for he is what they were not and achieves what they could not.
Several comparisons are suggested in our brief passage, all springing from one basic premise: the work of Christ stands in contrast to the work of the high priest. While the high priest entered a man-made sanctuary, Christ entered heaven. The high priest performed his duty again and again, while Christ's offering was once and for all. The high priest made an offering that was unrelated to himself, while Christ made an offering of himself. And then, moving beyond the Old Testament comparisons, the author of Hebrews contrasts Christ's first coming with his second: two comings, two purposes.
Obedient self-sacrifice is once again the underlying theme of the passage, but this sacrifice is different. Ruth's sacrifice bears much fruit, to be sure. And the widow (in the gospel lection) is exemplary for her sacrificial giving. But Christ's sacrifice is more than just one in a series of examples, more than just another illustration of sacrifice. This is a sacrifice with implications that are both universal and eternal. It is not a sacrifice, the writer of Hebrews might say. It is the sacrifice.
Mark 12:38-44
We don't live in a culture where an ostentatious religiosity would be much admired, and so we are perhaps immune from some of the temptations that afflicted the religious folks of Jesus' day. It may be, however, that in the smaller context of a given church or fellowship group there does exist a temptation to make a spectacle of one's spirituality.
In mainline American Christianity today, perhaps the temptation is a different one. The underlying issue -- an unwholesome preoccupation with what others see and think -- is the same, even if the manifestation is different. I think of the respectable facade that so often covers us in church. It is not so much driven by a desire for admiration of one's spirituality, but rather a fear of judgment of one's shortcomings. And so the show we put on is not the "long robes" and the "best seats." Our show is the pretense that we have our act together, and an unwillingness to "confess your sins" (or "faults") "to one another" (James 5:16).
The other prominent issue, beyond the ostentatious religiosity, is the hypocrisy that accompanies it. The hypocrisy of the scribes is reflected in the juxtaposition of their "long prayers" with their cruel and unjust treatment of the weakest in that society (v. 40). The notion of the scribes devouring widows' houses becomes especially poignant a few verses later when we see the destitute widow bringing her tiny contribution to the temple. Could it be that her condition is so desperate because of the greed and injustice of the religious leaders? If so, she managed to keep clear a distinction in her own mind between God, on the one hand, and his ministers and representatives, on the other.
Jesus offers a lengthier, more detailed, and more passionate commentary on the hypocrisy of the religious leaders in his six "woe" statements (Luke 11:39-52).
The other issue of hypocrisy in this passage is the implicit hypocrisy of those who make a show of offering large gifts at the temple when, in Jesus' view, their gifts are actually quite small. Anything we pretend to do for God that is, in reality, for our own glory, praise, or applause, is hypocrisy, for it indicates a lack of integrity between what goes on at the surface and what goes on in the heart. The "surface," of course, is the constant preoccupation of the world in which we live, but we are challenged to live for a God who looks on the heart (see 1 Samuel 16:7; Matthew 6:4).
Those of us who are in professional ministry may be especially susceptible to this brand of hypocrisy -- not just the commonplace hypocrisy of actions that don't square with words, but rather the more subtle and invisible form of hypocrisy mentioned above. For in professional ministry, it is easy for us to lose clarity about our motivation. Exactly for whom do I do what I do each day? In terms of my original sense of calling, it is all for God. And in terms of people's assumptions, it is all for God. But the reality is that I can fall into the trap of doing what I do for my church or my people or my supervisor or reputation, success, or survival, fear of criticism, or what have you.
Jesus "sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury" (v. 41a). The image is a compelling one. Clearly some of the giving that day was animated by the presence of an audience. The image of Jesus sitting and watching, however, reminds us that the only audience that matters in our giving -- or in any other act of worship -- is the Lord.
Other teachings of Jesus (e.g., Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18) remind us of this fundamental truth. All of our piety has an audience of One. And if we do what we do for anyone's approval but his, we leave ourselves open to a double risk: first, that our Christianity will not really be for Christ's sake; and, second, that when our human audience begins to disapprove of our Christianity, we will betray or deny our Lord.
As we ponder the image of Christ watching our giving, we are also reminded of the much-neglected theme in scripture of unacceptable worship. It is a foreign concept to most folks in the pews, for if worship is to be judged as pleasing or displeasing in our culture, that judgment is the prerogative of the worshipers. We have largely lost sight of the biblical truth that God is or is not pleased by our worship. And, at the extreme, that God does or does not accept our worship. When we imagine Christ watching our giving -- and all our acts of worship -- we are forced to face the question of whether our worship is pleasing and acceptable in his sight or not.
It is worth noting in this episode to whom Jesus addresses himself. He does not make his point to any of the givers there at the temple: neither as a corrective to the majority, nor as a commendation to the widow. Rather, he uses it simply as a teaching point for his disciples. That approach may be instructive for us as we preach this passage.
Application
Just as Hebrews compares and contrasts Christ with Old Testament figures and events, so we may embark this week on a little comparing and contrasting of our own.
The first level of consideration, as mentioned above, is popular sacrifice versus biblical sacrifice. We must be aware, though, that both kinds of sacrifice are present in every generation. There are examples of the phenomenon we are calling "popular sacrifice" -- that is, sacrifice for the sake of self -- in the pages of scripture. Likewise, there are surely examples of biblical sacrifice in the world around us -- very probably in the pews around us.
The ostentatious public giving of those who "contributed out of their abundance" may be a biblical example of popular sacrifice. It was likely a sacrifice motivated mostly by the attention and applause it enjoyed. Or the public display of affliction, as it were, that Jesus warned about when fasting (Matthew 6:16-18) is another.
Meanwhile, the biblical models of sacrifice seen in Ruth and the poor widow are duplicated in our generation. The person who so quietly and generously serves his or her church without anyone's notice. The day-in-day-out faithfulness of an individual who cares for an ill or disabled loved one. The heroic sacrifice of those who live out their witness for Christ in an antagonistic environment.
Then there is the second level of compare-and-contrast: Christ's sacrifice compared to all others.
In terms of comparisons, there are these great similarities between his sacrifice and our best sacrifices: it was selfless, it was on others' behalf, and it was fundamentally motivated by love.
In terms of contrast, meanwhile, these observations:
First, there is the element of fault. Ruth's sacrifice was on behalf of an innocent Naomi. Christ's sacrifice, by contrast, was on behalf of a guilty humankind. Paul makes the point that a rare individual would die for a righteous person, but Christ died for sinners (Romans 5:6-8).
Second, there was love's great gamble. It was in his love for us -- and his desire for us to freely love him -- that God created humankind with free will. In our freedom, however, we distanced ourselves from his love. Then, at the cross, his love gambled on us again -- gambled in the sense that he risked everything with no certain return.
And, finally, we must confess that there is no adequate human comparison for what God did. The incomprehensible condescension of the Incarnation (see Philippians 2:6-8), followed by the inconceivable death of the Son of God. None of our sacrifices can approach that. As Charles Wesley said, " 'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies! Who can explore his strange design? In vain the firstborn seraph tries to sound the depths of love divine. 'Tis mystery all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more."
An Alternative Application
Mark 12:38-44. If your congregation is made up of people who have been in church most of their lives, then they have no doubt heard the story of the widow's mite. And, truth be told, the story may have become an unwelcome one, for it can so easily be used by a preacher to wag a finger at the congregation. After all, most of our people, like the majority of givers in the gospel episode, give out of their abundance.
It might be a refreshing approach, therefore, for your congregation to hear you preach this story to yourself rather to them. That is to say, rather than overtly challenging them to give differently, invite them into your struggle to think differently. For surely the shock value of what Jesus said to his disciples was in how differently he thought of giving than everyone else did.
The budgetary pressures in the average church make us rather more favorably disposed toward the "big givers." We need them. We need their support. And for the purposes of the annual budget, the building program, the special needs, those folks who give out of their abundance are, in fact, the big givers.
In the kingdom of heaven, however, it seems that those folks are not the big givers. While we are tempted to view giving always in terms of the church's budget, Jesus seems to view giving in terms of the giver's budget.
And so the preacher -- and the congregation he or she leads -- is left with a quandary. Shall we think in terms of the world in which we live, or in terms of the kingdom for which we live and the Lord for whom we live? Which is the greater reality? And which reality will animate and motivate us -- as preachers, as committees, as congregations, and as worshipers?
Psalm 127
It is not possible in a single sermon or even psalm to answer the question, "What is the meaning of life?" That is one of those complicated and complex questions that require a lifetime of reflection, prayer, study, and some trial and error. However, it is possible to ask and answer a different question that may be just as important. The writer of Psalm 127 seems to be trying to answer such a question. "How do we find a life that is really worth living?"
In order to answer this question the psalmist draws on the imagery of a "house." He identifies several necessary activities that are essential to successfully building a house: building, protective care, and meaningful work. While these are important, there is a central component that is absolutely essential: "Unless the Lord builds the house those who build it labor in vain" (v. 1).
But what does that mean -- that the Lord must build the house? If the Lord builds the house does that mean we are called to a life of passive and idle waiting? Are we merely the raw materials of an actual house? Are we the boards, bricks, and mortar, which lie inanimate until the builder comes for them? Is that what the psalmist means by "the Lord builds the house"?
It seems not. There are "builders" who are seemingly at work with the Lord in doing the building. The Lord builds with the builders. What are we to make of that?
Several years ago, my wife and I built our first home. We hired a general contractor who in turn hired sub-contractors -- carpenters, brick masons, painters, electricians, plumbers, and so on. All of these workers were employed to "build" our house. However, it was the general contractor who supervised their work. Everything the builders did had to first meet his approval. Any work that did not measure up to what the general contractor was looking for was not accepted and had to be re-done.
That is what the psalmist is trying to say. God is the general contractor and we are the sub-contractors. We are the builders of our own lives using the raw material provided to us by God. We are free to build any sort of life we want. We can take our time and build something lasting and beautiful. We can create a lasting structure of faithfulness, wisdom, and integrity. Or we can take shortcuts and end up with something less than what God has in mind for us.
God remains the critical standard. If what we build does not measure up to the blueprint God has in mind for us, our lives will be less than satisfying. Building a life without resort to God's goodness and wisdom is a monumental waste of time.
We preach sacrifice, too, but ours is different.
Most proponents of popular sacrifice in our culture sell sacrifice for self's sake. I'm invited to make sacrifices in order to benefit myself in the end. My employer or my school or my health club promise me that my sacrifices will lead to my success, to my fitness, to my self-improvement, to my promotion. Sacrifice in popular culture is a calculated investment, and the return is all about self.
The kind of sacrifice described -- for that matter, demanded -- in scripture, however, is not about self. Quite the contrary: scriptural sacrifice is selfless. Forgetting your self (Matthew 16:24ff) may be the quintessential sacrifice required of the person who would be a disciple of Jesus Christ. It may yield a reward in the end, but that is God's grace and providence, not human manipulation.
In the three passages we consider this week, sacrifice is a recurring theme. Ruth's selfless sacrifice for the sake of her mother-in-law is the backdrop for the Old Testament passage. The widow's sacrificial giving is at the heart of the gospel lection. And Jesus' atoning sacrifice is the centerpiece of the gospel message explicated in Hebrews.
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
The sweet story of Ruth is a refreshing change from the rough-and-tumble period from which it comes. The book of Judges portrays a lawless time, place, and people. It was an era when "all the people did what was right in their own eyes" (Judges 21:25). That is the final verdict of the biblical author on that period in Israel's history.
But then we turn the page, and the scene brightens considerably. We find ourselves face-to-face with two women whose love and devotion to one another cut across the grain of the prevailing selfishness.
The story, whose happy ending is part of our lection for this Sunday, does not have a happy beginning. Naomi, her husband, and their two sons are forced by famine to leave their home in Bethlehem and seek refuge in Moab. Before the family's sojourn in Moab is over, Naomi's husband dies. No explanation or cause of death is given. From the terse reporting, one senses that the death was sudden and unexpected. Naomi is a widow now, but not desolate, for she has two grown sons to provide for her.
The two sons marry Moabite women, but within a few years the young men die. Again, no explanation is given, but the rapid-fire tragedies and unrelenting troubles make Naomi's story reminiscent of Job's.
Now Naomi's situation is desperate. She is in a foreign land, a widow, and without any sons, sons-in-law, or grandsons to provide for her. A widow in that culture was nearly helpless, and so she had to depend upon the remaining males in her family for her sustenance. The plight of widows in that world is implicit in the Old Testament Law (Deuteronomy 10:17-18; 24:19), in Jesus' teachings (Mark 12:40; Luke 18:2-8), and in the efforts in the early church to care for the widows in their midst (Acts 6:1; 1 Timothy 5:3-16; James 1:27). The potential for widows to become destitute is also graphically illustrated by the gospel reading for this Sunday.
Naomi begins to return to Judah, where the famine is now past. It seems she will return home in a very different condition than she was when she left -- a solitary, tragic figure who lost her whole family in a foreign land.
Naomi urges her two daughters-in-law to return to their homes, for they are young enough to have hopes of remarrying and bearing children. The one daughter-in-law says a tearful goodbye, and returns to her home and family. The other daughter-in-law, Ruth, however, refuses to leave Naomi.
This is Ruth's first great sacrifice of love. Naomi is no doubt correct -- at least in terms of probability -- that Ruth's future looks brighter if she stays in her homeland and returns to her family. But Ruth dismisses what is in her own best interest in order to stay with her mother-in-law.
Here is where biblical sacrifice and popular sacrifice part company. Popular sacrifice is doing precisely that which is in my own best long-term interest. Biblical sacrifice, however, challenges me to swim upstream against the current of my fallenness and dismiss what is in my own best interest for the sake of someone else. That was Ruth's brand of sacrifice, and it is the background for the Old Testament lection.
Another fundamental component of biblical sacrifice is obedience. Abraham was being obedient when he took Isaac up the mountain to sacrifice his only son. Christ was "obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross" (Philippians 2:8). And the quality of Ruth's obedience to Naomi is evident in our selected passage for this week.
The end of the passage -- the end of the story -- is all exclamation points. Naomi and Ruth, whose futures looked so very bleak in chapter 1, are now secure. The son born to Boaz and Ruth is reckoned by Naomi's friends as her son. And the providential hand of God is beautifully apparent as the story of Ruth anticipates the reign of David.
A later descendant of Ruth said, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit" (John 12:24). So it is that Ruth's sacrifices, in the end, bore much fruit.
Hebrews 9:24-28
Any passage from Hebrews needs to be read with an understanding of the hermeneutic approach to scripture that lies behind the whole letter. The letter to the Hebrews explains the Gospel to those steeped in the Jewish Law. It is not a refutation or setting aside of the Law. Rather, Hebrews understands the Law as a kind of connect-the-dots puzzle, and the coming of Christ has connected those dots. In Christ, the Law is completed. In him, we are able to see clearly the whole picture contained in the Law.
While we do not know who wrote the epistle to the Hebrews, many scholars assume that the author was a product of Alexandrian Judaism, such as Apollos (Acts 18:24). Alexandria, at once both the home of so many Jews in the Diaspora and a stronghold of Hellenism, produced a distinctively Greek method of interpreting the Jewish scriptures. Reminiscent of the Platonic notion of a heavenly plane, of which all earthly realities are merely shadows, the writer of Hebrews understood the Old Testament law and all its component parts as shadows of a heavenly reality. Our more commonplace term, foreshadowing, is a picturesque way of understanding the Hebrews hermeneutic.
High school and college English teachers often give "compare and contrast" essay assignments. That is essentially the approach of the letter to the Hebrews. The author compares and contrasts the person and work of Christ to elements of the Old Testament. Christ compares to those, for they foreshadowed him. Christ also stands in contrast to those, however, for he is what they were not and achieves what they could not.
Several comparisons are suggested in our brief passage, all springing from one basic premise: the work of Christ stands in contrast to the work of the high priest. While the high priest entered a man-made sanctuary, Christ entered heaven. The high priest performed his duty again and again, while Christ's offering was once and for all. The high priest made an offering that was unrelated to himself, while Christ made an offering of himself. And then, moving beyond the Old Testament comparisons, the author of Hebrews contrasts Christ's first coming with his second: two comings, two purposes.
Obedient self-sacrifice is once again the underlying theme of the passage, but this sacrifice is different. Ruth's sacrifice bears much fruit, to be sure. And the widow (in the gospel lection) is exemplary for her sacrificial giving. But Christ's sacrifice is more than just one in a series of examples, more than just another illustration of sacrifice. This is a sacrifice with implications that are both universal and eternal. It is not a sacrifice, the writer of Hebrews might say. It is the sacrifice.
Mark 12:38-44
We don't live in a culture where an ostentatious religiosity would be much admired, and so we are perhaps immune from some of the temptations that afflicted the religious folks of Jesus' day. It may be, however, that in the smaller context of a given church or fellowship group there does exist a temptation to make a spectacle of one's spirituality.
In mainline American Christianity today, perhaps the temptation is a different one. The underlying issue -- an unwholesome preoccupation with what others see and think -- is the same, even if the manifestation is different. I think of the respectable facade that so often covers us in church. It is not so much driven by a desire for admiration of one's spirituality, but rather a fear of judgment of one's shortcomings. And so the show we put on is not the "long robes" and the "best seats." Our show is the pretense that we have our act together, and an unwillingness to "confess your sins" (or "faults") "to one another" (James 5:16).
The other prominent issue, beyond the ostentatious religiosity, is the hypocrisy that accompanies it. The hypocrisy of the scribes is reflected in the juxtaposition of their "long prayers" with their cruel and unjust treatment of the weakest in that society (v. 40). The notion of the scribes devouring widows' houses becomes especially poignant a few verses later when we see the destitute widow bringing her tiny contribution to the temple. Could it be that her condition is so desperate because of the greed and injustice of the religious leaders? If so, she managed to keep clear a distinction in her own mind between God, on the one hand, and his ministers and representatives, on the other.
Jesus offers a lengthier, more detailed, and more passionate commentary on the hypocrisy of the religious leaders in his six "woe" statements (Luke 11:39-52).
The other issue of hypocrisy in this passage is the implicit hypocrisy of those who make a show of offering large gifts at the temple when, in Jesus' view, their gifts are actually quite small. Anything we pretend to do for God that is, in reality, for our own glory, praise, or applause, is hypocrisy, for it indicates a lack of integrity between what goes on at the surface and what goes on in the heart. The "surface," of course, is the constant preoccupation of the world in which we live, but we are challenged to live for a God who looks on the heart (see 1 Samuel 16:7; Matthew 6:4).
Those of us who are in professional ministry may be especially susceptible to this brand of hypocrisy -- not just the commonplace hypocrisy of actions that don't square with words, but rather the more subtle and invisible form of hypocrisy mentioned above. For in professional ministry, it is easy for us to lose clarity about our motivation. Exactly for whom do I do what I do each day? In terms of my original sense of calling, it is all for God. And in terms of people's assumptions, it is all for God. But the reality is that I can fall into the trap of doing what I do for my church or my people or my supervisor or reputation, success, or survival, fear of criticism, or what have you.
Jesus "sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury" (v. 41a). The image is a compelling one. Clearly some of the giving that day was animated by the presence of an audience. The image of Jesus sitting and watching, however, reminds us that the only audience that matters in our giving -- or in any other act of worship -- is the Lord.
Other teachings of Jesus (e.g., Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18) remind us of this fundamental truth. All of our piety has an audience of One. And if we do what we do for anyone's approval but his, we leave ourselves open to a double risk: first, that our Christianity will not really be for Christ's sake; and, second, that when our human audience begins to disapprove of our Christianity, we will betray or deny our Lord.
As we ponder the image of Christ watching our giving, we are also reminded of the much-neglected theme in scripture of unacceptable worship. It is a foreign concept to most folks in the pews, for if worship is to be judged as pleasing or displeasing in our culture, that judgment is the prerogative of the worshipers. We have largely lost sight of the biblical truth that God is or is not pleased by our worship. And, at the extreme, that God does or does not accept our worship. When we imagine Christ watching our giving -- and all our acts of worship -- we are forced to face the question of whether our worship is pleasing and acceptable in his sight or not.
It is worth noting in this episode to whom Jesus addresses himself. He does not make his point to any of the givers there at the temple: neither as a corrective to the majority, nor as a commendation to the widow. Rather, he uses it simply as a teaching point for his disciples. That approach may be instructive for us as we preach this passage.
Application
Just as Hebrews compares and contrasts Christ with Old Testament figures and events, so we may embark this week on a little comparing and contrasting of our own.
The first level of consideration, as mentioned above, is popular sacrifice versus biblical sacrifice. We must be aware, though, that both kinds of sacrifice are present in every generation. There are examples of the phenomenon we are calling "popular sacrifice" -- that is, sacrifice for the sake of self -- in the pages of scripture. Likewise, there are surely examples of biblical sacrifice in the world around us -- very probably in the pews around us.
The ostentatious public giving of those who "contributed out of their abundance" may be a biblical example of popular sacrifice. It was likely a sacrifice motivated mostly by the attention and applause it enjoyed. Or the public display of affliction, as it were, that Jesus warned about when fasting (Matthew 6:16-18) is another.
Meanwhile, the biblical models of sacrifice seen in Ruth and the poor widow are duplicated in our generation. The person who so quietly and generously serves his or her church without anyone's notice. The day-in-day-out faithfulness of an individual who cares for an ill or disabled loved one. The heroic sacrifice of those who live out their witness for Christ in an antagonistic environment.
Then there is the second level of compare-and-contrast: Christ's sacrifice compared to all others.
In terms of comparisons, there are these great similarities between his sacrifice and our best sacrifices: it was selfless, it was on others' behalf, and it was fundamentally motivated by love.
In terms of contrast, meanwhile, these observations:
First, there is the element of fault. Ruth's sacrifice was on behalf of an innocent Naomi. Christ's sacrifice, by contrast, was on behalf of a guilty humankind. Paul makes the point that a rare individual would die for a righteous person, but Christ died for sinners (Romans 5:6-8).
Second, there was love's great gamble. It was in his love for us -- and his desire for us to freely love him -- that God created humankind with free will. In our freedom, however, we distanced ourselves from his love. Then, at the cross, his love gambled on us again -- gambled in the sense that he risked everything with no certain return.
And, finally, we must confess that there is no adequate human comparison for what God did. The incomprehensible condescension of the Incarnation (see Philippians 2:6-8), followed by the inconceivable death of the Son of God. None of our sacrifices can approach that. As Charles Wesley said, " 'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies! Who can explore his strange design? In vain the firstborn seraph tries to sound the depths of love divine. 'Tis mystery all! Let earth adore; let angel minds inquire no more."
An Alternative Application
Mark 12:38-44. If your congregation is made up of people who have been in church most of their lives, then they have no doubt heard the story of the widow's mite. And, truth be told, the story may have become an unwelcome one, for it can so easily be used by a preacher to wag a finger at the congregation. After all, most of our people, like the majority of givers in the gospel episode, give out of their abundance.
It might be a refreshing approach, therefore, for your congregation to hear you preach this story to yourself rather to them. That is to say, rather than overtly challenging them to give differently, invite them into your struggle to think differently. For surely the shock value of what Jesus said to his disciples was in how differently he thought of giving than everyone else did.
The budgetary pressures in the average church make us rather more favorably disposed toward the "big givers." We need them. We need their support. And for the purposes of the annual budget, the building program, the special needs, those folks who give out of their abundance are, in fact, the big givers.
In the kingdom of heaven, however, it seems that those folks are not the big givers. While we are tempted to view giving always in terms of the church's budget, Jesus seems to view giving in terms of the giver's budget.
And so the preacher -- and the congregation he or she leads -- is left with a quandary. Shall we think in terms of the world in which we live, or in terms of the kingdom for which we live and the Lord for whom we live? Which is the greater reality? And which reality will animate and motivate us -- as preachers, as committees, as congregations, and as worshipers?
Psalm 127
It is not possible in a single sermon or even psalm to answer the question, "What is the meaning of life?" That is one of those complicated and complex questions that require a lifetime of reflection, prayer, study, and some trial and error. However, it is possible to ask and answer a different question that may be just as important. The writer of Psalm 127 seems to be trying to answer such a question. "How do we find a life that is really worth living?"
In order to answer this question the psalmist draws on the imagery of a "house." He identifies several necessary activities that are essential to successfully building a house: building, protective care, and meaningful work. While these are important, there is a central component that is absolutely essential: "Unless the Lord builds the house those who build it labor in vain" (v. 1).
But what does that mean -- that the Lord must build the house? If the Lord builds the house does that mean we are called to a life of passive and idle waiting? Are we merely the raw materials of an actual house? Are we the boards, bricks, and mortar, which lie inanimate until the builder comes for them? Is that what the psalmist means by "the Lord builds the house"?
It seems not. There are "builders" who are seemingly at work with the Lord in doing the building. The Lord builds with the builders. What are we to make of that?
Several years ago, my wife and I built our first home. We hired a general contractor who in turn hired sub-contractors -- carpenters, brick masons, painters, electricians, plumbers, and so on. All of these workers were employed to "build" our house. However, it was the general contractor who supervised their work. Everything the builders did had to first meet his approval. Any work that did not measure up to what the general contractor was looking for was not accepted and had to be re-done.
That is what the psalmist is trying to say. God is the general contractor and we are the sub-contractors. We are the builders of our own lives using the raw material provided to us by God. We are free to build any sort of life we want. We can take our time and build something lasting and beautiful. We can create a lasting structure of faithfulness, wisdom, and integrity. Or we can take shortcuts and end up with something less than what God has in mind for us.
God remains the critical standard. If what we build does not measure up to the blueprint God has in mind for us, our lives will be less than satisfying. Building a life without resort to God's goodness and wisdom is a monumental waste of time.
