Just then he looked up and saw the rich people dropping offerings in the collection plate. Then he saw a poor widow put in two pennies. He said, “The plain truth is that this widow has given by far the largest offering today. All these others made offerings that they’ll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn’t afford—she gave her all!”
Luke 21:1-4 (MSG)
My family sat together in worship yesterday but we didn’t sit in our normal spot. We didn’t even sit in our normal building. We, like so many from Harpeth Hills and Ethos, participated in a “Serve Our City” project. So we found ourselves sitting in the Nashville Rescue Mission worshipping among a scattering of familiar and unfamiliar faces before the same groups pilled out into the parking lot for a block party together. The anticipation (and the aroma) of grilled cheeseburgers and popcorn and music and basketball and friendly faces filled the worship center. So too did the sound of singing and praying and preaching. What happened inside those walls and what happened in the parking lot afterward…it was all worship. It was all holy. It was all about ONE far greater.
But in the midst of the “appointed time” a moment caught me off guard. There was a pause between a time of singing and the preaching that would follow. And in that “in between time” something happened that I did not expect. And the fact that it caught me off guard exposed a prejudice in me.
“We understand that at this point in your service you traditionally take time for an offering. Give freely. God doesn’t need your money. Giving is a gift God gives to us. Does anyone from the program here want to help pass the plates?”
And then familiar golden plates began circulating.
The first to give was an elderly man who had been sitting and standing and walking around in the front, dressed far more formally than most of the rest of the crowd. His wrinkled and worn hands had been outstretched to the ceiling when we worshipped. Now they were outstretched toward an offering plate. The sound that coins make when they are dropped into a metal tray seemed to ring like an accompanying instrument as we continued to sing.
We were near the back of the room. When the plate finally got to our row it was literally overflowing with smaller bills. So much so that each person that passed it on to the next placed one hand underneath and one overtop to try to keep money from falling out into their laps. Person by person the plate made its way in my direction. When I reached out to grab it my son offered a warning, “It’s heavy dad.” He was right. It was far heavier than the plates that I have been used to passing in church and I suspect that has little to do with the fact that we typically sit more toward the front.
People at my church don’t give the way the people in the rescue mission did that day. Don’t get me wrong. People give. They give generously. They give incredibly generously. They just do it by check, or maybe online. You rarely hear the rattle of coins. Bills of any kind are the minority. Just words and numbers and zeroes and scribbled signatures. If coins hit the plate it usually comes from the hand of a small child and is accompanied by the embarrassed look of a nearby parent.
Several things dawned on me all at once…
I didn’t expect an offering. “Why would you ask these poor people to give when many of them are struggling to secure basic necessities?”
I didn’t expect the plate to be heavy or overflowing. I saw these hands mostly as outstretched to receive, not to give.
It had been a long time since I noticed the absence of coins or bills in my normal worship routine.
And there she was, as if sitting right beside me. The widow whispered into my ear. “This is what it really looks like to give recklessly and trustingly.”
Somehow my regular experience of the appointed time of giving had been far too quiet for me to hear her. And with her, there was Jesus.
“I tell you the truth…”
He always does when we are willing to listen.
“…this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”
When the Rescue Mission counted the money that was spilling out of those collection plates I don’t have any idea what they found to be the total amount in dollars and cents. But according to Jesus’ economy, whatever it was, I am confident that they out gave me, and the church that I call home.
“Our life of poverty is as necessary as the work itself. Only in heaven will we see how much we owe to the poor for helping us to love God better because of them.” – Mother Teresa
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