The Widow was "All-in." Are you?

I expect Jesus is not much interested, but since competitive poker and reality shows are the only thing left on television, I suspect some of you know that the most dramatic moment in these poker games happens when a player, thinking that he has a chance to eliminate another player, pushes her or his pile of chips onto the center of the table, declaring boldly, “I’m ‘all-in.’” To go “all-in” is the only way to win. When asked how he had been so successful, as a novice, at getting all the way to the final of the World Series of Poker, Darvin Moon told an interviewer, “I seem to know when to go ‘all-in.’”

Jesus might appreciate this “all-in” idea. He believed people had to be “all-in” with him to be a disciple and to follow him. A rich man who has lived an exemplary life comes to Jesus, we heard a few weeks back, and asks what he must do to inherit eternal life.Jesus tells him, “You must go ‘all-in;’ sell your possessions and give them to the poor, and follow me.” He can’t do it; he can’t go “all-in.”

The disciples James and John ask for positions of power and prestige when Jesus inherits his kingdom. Jesus asks them, essentially, are you willing to do “all-in:” “Can you drink the cup that I must drink?” For Jesus, “all-in” means willing to sacrifice, including sacrificing one’s life. “All-in” means giving up worldly desires for power, money and prestige. If you go “all-in” at the poker table, you can’t take your chips back when you see your opponents’ better cards. Jesus wants to know if James and John are “all-in” no matter what happens when they arrive in Jerusalem and confront the principalities and powers.

A blind beggar sits on the dirty cloak that is his livelihood, and he hears Jesus call to him. He leaps up, leaving everything behind. He is “all-in” and he follows Jesus. He was lost, and now is found, is blind, and now he sees.

The blind beggar had very few chips on his poker table of life to push “all-in.” It is easier, Jesus is aware, for the poor to go “all-in”for the sake of the kingdom; the poor are the blessed not because they have less, but because they have less to give up. They are not possessed by their possessions; they don’t go to war to protect them. Over the centuries, Jesus strikes a modern political and environmental note: consume less, share more, love your neighbor as yourself when it comes to food, medicine and shelter.

In the Gospel reading today, Jesus watches a poor woman—a widow—go “all-in.” She is at the treasury of the temple—sort of the equivalent of the offering plate—and she puts in her last two coins. Around her, long-robed, pious scribes, who have taken all of her money, put large sums into the temple treasury, all the while drawing attention to themselves. The lawyers have left her with nearly nothing, yet she still makes the offering. “Out of her poverty,” Jesus remarks, “she has put in everything she had.” Or, to translate more starkly:“She in her destitution gave everything she had—her whole life.” (Myers)

We can’t see or hear Jesus’ outrage through the text, but outraged he is.[i] The widow may be “all-in,” but is so because the scribes have plundered the little she had to live on. Then the scribes, to quote a commentator, “conditioned her” still to contribute to the religious system they construct. To end this economic injustice, Jesus is “all-in” with his very life. For her, he is willing to die. In his next breath, which we’ll hear in the reading next week, Jesus says, “This temple is coming down.” We know that he means his resurrection will “rent twain” the curtain that is the center of the temple’s power.

Are there modern day equivalents to these scribes and widow? Last February, Time magazine ran the article, “25 People to Blame for the Financial Crisis.” Almost all were the CEO of the mortgage companies that pedaled sub prime mortgages, or heads of investment companies that traded the “credit-debit swaps” and the “collateralized debt obligations,” or the politicians and regulators who allowed it all to happen. I suspect that not one of the 25 has lost their home, missed a meal or felt the pinch of tough economic times in the same way that the people who had their homes repossessed and who are still lost economically.

Many of the victims of the crisis have barely two coins left, and some of those CEOs are back on the charity circuit. This analysis may be too simple for the “real world,” but I am reminded that Jesus didn’t live in the real world, but called us toward the kingdom of God.

Part of the mission of Jesus is to confront economic injustice. Jesus has come to Jerusalem to confront the corruption of the temple—of a brokered religion that puts barriers between God and God’s people, barriers that are removed, the purveyors claimed, by paying money to the treasury of the temple. On his first visit to the temple, Jesus drives out the buyers and the sellers of God’s grace, and kicks out the moneychangers who exploit the poor as well. “And when the chief priests and the scribes heard it,” Mark records, “they kept looking for a way to kill him.” Jesus threatened their economic well-being, a well-being built on the pennies of the poor.

To appropriate the story of the widow into our life is to absorb the same righteous anger that Jesus has at the economic exploitation of the poor.

And, lest we forget it is stewardship season, when we are each asked what our financial pledges to the church—not that far removed from the temple treasury—are to be, there is some wisdom to be garnered from this passage.

Clearly, Jesus is not impressed with what the scribes are giving, because they are giving “out of their abundance.” In other words, they don’t feel the impact of their gift like the widow does. A sacrifice for her, but not a sacrifice for the scribes; she’s “all-in” and they are not.

Charity is from the Latin word caritas, meaning “love,” specifically the highest form of love: love that is sacrificial, transformational, and expects nothing in return. This love is freely given, and not concerned if the recipient is worthy of that love.

Charity is not about giving money away, though I admit our language has corrupted the meaning of the word to this vulgar understanding.

Charity is about giving love away. Or, charity is about turning one substance—in most cases money—into love. Still, lest we forget, the charitable act is an act of charity as much as giving money can be.

But, the charitable act usually has much more risk associated with it, and so I wonder if the acts of charity aren’t closer to what Jesus called us to. For instance, it takes far more risk to engage a homeless person, to feed them, to clothe them and bathe them than it does to send a check to the shelter of your choice.

We should take note that in the drama of the last judgement found at the conclusion of Matthew’s Gospel, the righteous person has seen Christ naked and clothed him, not seen him naked and sent a check to the clothing ministry.

Charity is not an act of convenience transferred from abundance; charity requires risk and sacrifice.

How does this translate into money, specifically the money we might pledge to the church’s ministry, and the other good and powerful institutions that do God’s work in the world?

Our giving should not be an amount, or even a percentage. Our giving should be a sacrifice. To honor the widow, who gave all that she had, our own giving might be best measured in what we have to give up to make the gift. Our charity should not be safe, but risky.

You may remember that earlier this year, we asked pledgers to increase their pledges $500 to help balance the budget. I said that I was going to forego my frequent $3.75 lattes, and opt for the $1.50 cup of joe. The savings would cover the $500 in no time.

In reality, I haven’t missed a latte yet. While Lynn and I are pleased (I hope not proud) to be tithers of our income back to the places that do God’s work, I don’t think we are really sacrificing much. We are not taking any real risks to give that money away. If fact, I think I use the rationalization that because we are tithers, we need not do more. Honestly, that sounds like the scribes’ defense to me.

I am not going to tell you what to do, because I don’t know what I am going to do yet. I can honestly say, though, that I feel that widow’s eyes boring into me, and Jesus’ screed about the scribes ringing in my ears. My love, be it measured in money or in actions, must be a true sacrifice. I must feel it.

I may not be able to go “all-in” like the widow, but I know I must go “more-in” than I am now. I am not taking enough risk. Darvin Moon says he knows when to go "all-in." I hope God gives me the grace to know when to do the same.