Tag: Pentecost

Homily for the Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost: “A Tale of Two Widows”

This sermon was preached at Saint Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Sherman, Texas, on Sunday, November 10, 2024.

Texts: 1 Kings 17:8-16, Mark 12:38-44

Sometimes a story from the New Testament can only be truly understood when it’s viewed alongside a story from the Old Testament.

Our Gospel reading today is the story of the poor widow’s offering. At this point in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus has entered Jerusalem for the final week of his earthly life. He is daily teaching and healing the sick in the Temple. On one afternoon, Jesus is sitting opposite the Temple treasury, and he observes people from the crowd putting money into it. He saw that there were many rich people putting in large sums. But one woman, a poor widow, puts into two copper coins, which together make a very small amount, a mite or a penny. Barely anything.

And Jesus is so affected by this act that he calls his disciples to himself and says to them, “Truly I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, her whole livelihood.”

And that’s the story. It’s brief and leaves out many details we might like to know.

Why was the widow putting into the treasury the last bit of money she had? How did she feel about this?

And what does Jesus really think of this? Does he approve of this act? Does he want his disciples to imitate this?

Because on the face of it, this is not advisable. If you are poor, if you are a widow in the ancient world and therefore without the ability to support yourself, and if all you have is two coins, you should not be obligated to give to the Temple. You’re clearly in need and shouldn’t feel you have to be responsible for giving your money away— if anything, people should be helping you out.

This passage is sometimes used in stewardship seasons to encourage generous giving, even when people are in real financial need. The message goes, “She didn’t have much but she gave all she had. So we should give generously too, even if we don’t have a lot, even if we’re struggling.”

This is, I believe, a flawed reading of the story and ironically the very sort of thing Our Lord was criticizing just a few verses before this episode.

The Lord warns against the scribes, the scholars of the Law, who like to be honored with salutations and the best seats in the synagogues and at feasts… and who do what? Who devour widows’ houses. They encourage the faithful to give large donations to the Temple or the synagogue— what we would call the church— even if they are in a financially precarious situation. And some widows will do it because they want to be faithful, and after all, these are holy men who are encouraging them to do this.

So the leaders of God’s people have a great responsibility when it comes to the financial counsel they give, because people listen. We just concluded our stewardship season, and I was clear about my belief in the benefits of tithing– probably more so than most Episcopal priests. But a tithe is 10%, it’s not 100%! It’s good to give to the church, but we have to do it in a way that’s responsible. We give generously within our ability, in a way that’s not reckless.

So this story is a commentary on the greed of religious leaders, but it’s also a story about faith… about trust in the face of despair. Its counterpart is the Old Testament story of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath.

In those days, there was a drought in Israel. There was no water, and because of course there’s no rain, the crops can’t grow, so there’s no food either. The LORD commands the prophet Elijah to go to this young widow who lives across the way in Sidon. The widow and her son have run out of food. They’re starving, and she has enough meal to make one more small loaf of bread. She’s gathering sticks to make a fire to bake one last piece of bread to feed herself and her young son. This is a woman who is resigned to her fate. Unless a miracle occurs, they’ll soon be dead. She’s accepted that this will be their last meal.

And here comes this man of God, asking for some water and a piece of bread. And she tells him, “I don’t have any bread, just a little bit of meal. And if I make any for you, I won’t have any for me and my son.” But he assures her to trust him, and to make him a little cake and afterward there will be enough for them too.

Though she had good reason to deny his request for hospitality, something in her told her to do this generous act. She could have denied him his request. She could have said, No there’s only enough for me and my son, get lost! But she was generous and gave Elijah what was meant for her and her son.

And the miracle she had been hoping for, but didn’t expect, occurs. The handful of meal is not spent, nor the little bit of oil, but both last many days. They’re able to subsist on the bread the meal and oil make until the drought ended, the crops returned, and the people were able to eat again. Elijah saved the life of this widow through her generous act.

This story gives us the key to the story of the poor widow’s mite. The poor widow may have also reached the end of her rope. She was in poverty. Maybe she had been hungry and malnourished and poorly clad for a long time. Maybe she had been poor for such a long time that it all was starting to take its toll on her health, and she was nearing the end. Unless a miracle occurs, she’s not going to be able to live much longer.

All she had left was these two copper coins. And those added up to something like a penny— not even enough to buy one meal or even a loaf of bread. So if that’s really all she has left, maybe she thinks to herself, “This isn’t enough to sustain me. If I have to spend it, at least I’ll give it back to God.” So she places it in the Temple treasury as an act of faith, as one last act of generosity in the face of the abyss. Like the widow of Zarephath, she gives away what little she has to someone else, because if she’s going to be dead soon anyway, she might as well do one last act of kindness.

And Jesus notes that this offering, given in the face of despair, is more generous than every other offering that day, because the wealthy give out of their abundance, and their offering is just a small percentage of their livelihood… but she gave the last bit of money she had— she gave everything.

We don’t know what happened to the poor widow. Perhaps she did find a benefactor and was able to get the food and necessities she needed. I like to think so. But even if she didn’t, her act of generosity is immortalized in the Gospels, and she takes her place on that noble list of people whom Jesus praises.

This story is not really about how much we should give to the church. It’s certainly not a justification for encouraging giving that’s reckless. This is a story about choosing to act with kindness in the face of despair.

You may feel defeated in some aspects of your life. You may feel that you’ve come to the end of your rope, that your resources have run out, and you don’t know how you can go on.

Some of you may be disappointed by the outcome of last week’s election and concerned about the direction our country is heading. Or perhaps something else is weighing on your mind.

All of us can have seasons in life where we feel defeated. When it’s hard to imagine a better future. It’s hard to envision a solution to our problems. We feel hopeless. And maybe we’ve even resigned ourselves to the idea that things won’t get better. And if we get to that point, we can become despondent, give up, or maybe even lash out at the people around us. Despairing people are rarely good company.

Or… even if we feel defeated, even if we feel like things are hopeless, we can refuse to give in to despair. We can keep living, and when the opportunity presents itself, we can be kind. We can give to others, even if we feel that we should only have to be concerned with ourselves. Because after all, the widow of Zarephath and the widow in Jerusalem would be justified in saying that they shouldn’t have to look after anyone but themselves. “Hey, I’m starving. Hey, I’ve only got a penny to my name. I shouldn’t have to do anything for anyone.” And yet, they both chose to perform an act of kindness for another.

This is especially relevant when we’re going through a time of crisis— a medical crisis, marriage problems or family problems, financial hardship, depression. We may think, “I shouldn’t have to do anything, I’m going through this or that. I shouldn’t have to deal with other people’s problems.” And it is good to not overextend ourselves when we’re stretched thin. But when the opportunity presents itself, we can still do a kind act— even as something as small as a smile or a kind word.

So if you are in a hard place, if you feel defeated or depressed, if you don’t know how to move forward… just keep trusting. Keep on living, and be kind to others every opportunity you have. And who knows? Maybe God will provide a miracle for you too. And you will find a way out of the drought, out of the mire, out of the seemingly hopeless situation you find yourself in. And the acts of kindness you did along the way, in the face of despair, will remain unto the ages. Amen.

Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

A Sermon on the Healing of the Woman with the Flow of Blood and the Raising of Jairus’ Daughter

Text: Mark 5:21-43

June 30, 2024

“Crossing the Boundaries”

Over the past several weeks, we have journeyed through Mark’s Gospel, and we have seen Jesus as the Man of Authority. He has authority over demons, over the forces of nature… and now, over disease and death.

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus brings new life to two women: one a grown woman and the other a young woman, a twelve-year old girl. And he gives them new life in different ways.

For the woman with the flow of blood, Jesus heals her and so gives her a new life— a new existence, unfettered from the restrictions of her condition. For Jairus’ daughter, Jesus literally gives her new life— he brings her back from the dead.

What connects these two women is the figure of twelve years. The woman has been suffering a flow of blood for twelve years, and the dying girl is twelve years old. Both these events (the beginning of the woman’s bleeding and the birth of Jairus’ daughter) occurred at about the same time. They probably didn’t know each other. And yet, in the providence of God, both women would be healed by Christ on the same day.

St. Mark writes that Jairus, a leader in the local synagogue, approaches Jesus and asks to heal his daughter, who is ill and on the brink of death. Jesus agrees and he and the disciples follow Jairus to the house. But the story is interrupted: There’s a woman who has a flow of blood who approaches Jesus as he’s on the way. In the Greek she’s called literally the bleeding woman, but this is variously translated. Some translations say she’s suffering from hemorrhages, others say that she has a flow of blood or an issue of blood. But the problem is that she is continually bleeding.

She’s not named in the Gospel, but there is an early church tradition that her name was Berenice, or in the Greek, Veronica. And this condition, this perpetual bleeding, was something that obviously was very distressing to her, and not just for medical reasons.

This flow of blood rendered her ritually unclean. In the Torah, a person became ritually unclean if they had contact with things that had to do with life and death. So anything involving giving birth: after a woman gave birth she was ritually unclean. Menstruation made one unclean. If you touch a dead body, you become unclean. And if you’re unclean and you touch others, they become unclean. It’s not a sin to become ritually unclean, but to become clean again you had to undergo a ritual immersion, what they call the mikveh. You must bathe your whole body and then stay clean for seven days. And until you’re ritually clean again, you cannot enter the Temple.

Of course, the problem for Veronica was that because this flow of blood was constant, no matter how much she washed, she could never stay ritually pure for seven straight days. She had this condition for 12 years. What this meant was that she could not enter the temple and partake in the worship for 12 years. That would be like if you couldn’t come to church, if you couldn’t enter the sanctuary and worship and receive the sacraments, for 12 years. That’s what it was like for her.

She must have felt profoundly isolated. Isolated from other people, because if they touched her, then they would become unclean and they’d have to do all this cleansing. She must have felt isolated from her religion and its sacred rites. Maybe she even felt isolated from God.

This condition would have prevented her from getting married – or, if she was already married when the bleeding started, it would have prevented her from having relations with her husband and might have been cited by him as grounds for divorce. And this is something that commentators don’t often mention, but I think it’s significant: if she’s always bleeding in that way, she cannot become pregnant. So not only is she constantly ritually unclean, but she cannot bring forth new life.

So this is a terrible condition, from every angle. There was the constant discomfort, the feeling of uncleanness, the isolation from others and from her religion. It made it impossible for her to marry or have children. She spent all her money trying to be healed, with no success. It has impacted her bodily, mentally, emotionally, socially, religiously, financially. This condition basically wrecked her whole life.

And all this plays into how she approaches Jesus. It’s very different from the way Jairus approaches him. Jairus is a synagogue official. He’s a man of some importance in the community. He just goes straight up to him and says, My daughter at the point of death. Come lay your hand on her and she will live. He goes straight to him. But Veronica does not do this. And we can see why.

Maybe she didn’t want to be embarrassed. There’s a whole crowd around. Maybe she didn’t want to say, Hey, I have this condition. Can you please heal it? That’s a very private thing to be talking about in the midst of a crowd. And then, of course, there’s the thought that if he touched her to heal her, he would become unclean and then he’d have to go through the washing and then he’d be unclean for seven days. So maybe she just didn’t want to take the risk of him saying no.

But we see her great faith in the inner monologue Mark gives us. She thinks to herself, If I just touch his clothes, I’ll be made clean. It’s great faith. She is so convinced of Jesus’ holiness that she doesn’t even need to touch him. She’ll just touch something that’s touching him.

So she goes up behind him and she reaches out in faith and touches the hem of his robe. And immediately she feels in her body that the flow of blood dries up. She’s healed. Twelve years of suffering. Ended.

But Jesus feels the healing too. Jesus feels the inverse of what the woman feels, in that same moment. She felt power coming in to her, but he felt power going out of him.

So Jesus stops and says, Who touched me? And the disciples say, Master, there’s all this crowd around you. A lot of people are touching you. What do you mean? And he says, No, I feel that power has gone forth from me.

Veronica sort of stole a healing from him. She didn’t ask for it. She just reached for it. And she’s afraid that he’s going to find her out and then maybe rebuke her— maybe even take the healing back. But she comes forward and she tells the truth of her condition and of why she reached out in faith. And rather than rebuking her, the Lord reassures her. He says, Daughter, take heart. Your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Be cured of your affliction.

But then some people come from Jairus’ house, and we hear that his daughter has died. We hear these two statements right on top of each other:  “Daughter, your faith has made you well.” “Your daughter has died.” But Jesus reassures Jairus and encourages him to have faith.

Jesus enters the house, puts out the mourners, and invites just a few of the disciples and the girl’s parents into the room where the dead girl is. Jesus takes her by the hand— which would have made him ritually unclean— and says to her, “Little girl, I tell you: Rise.” Not just get up or wake up. “Rise.” The same word used in the Gospel for the raising of Lazarus and for Jesus’ own resurrection. And life comes back into the girl, and she is restored to the land of the living.

…

This is a story about boundaries. There are all sorts of boundaries in our world, and in this story. The boundary between men and women, between clean and unclean, between life and death. And over and over, Jesus crosses these boundaries in his love for others. He does not begrudge a healing to someone who was ritually unclean and on the margins of her world. He takes the dead girl by the hand, which technically made him unclean. And then there’s the ultimate boundary, between the living and the dead. And Jesus was willing to cross that boundary too. He goes over to the other side to snatch the young girl back from the realm of the dead.

This story, and many others in the Gospels, show that Jesus is willing to be “unclean,” willing to associate with sinners, willing to be “contaminated” by the mess of human life— by disease and isolation and death. We see Jesus moving across religious and social barriers to offer his life-giving grace.

This willingness to cross boundaries and become submerged in the messiness of human life is prefigured in Jesus’ baptism, when he is plunged into the muddy waters of the Jordan. And it culminates in his willingness to go into the depths of the ultimate uncleanness: death. Even death on a cross.

This story is a powerful reminder that we should not be discouraged by the boundaries that exist between us and Christ. It is true that he is divine, and we are human. It is true that he is sinless, and we are sinful. But it is also true that the Son of God became human and took our sins upon himself and died and rose from the dead, so that we might become the righteousness of God in him.

And we must always bear this truth within ourselves when we approach our Lord. We can approach him, and we should not be worried that we cannot be in the presence of Christ because of our unworthiness.

You will not make Jesus unclean. He will make you clean.

You will not make Jesus unholy. He will make you holy.

So approach with boldness. With repentance and faith and love, draw near. For we do not merely touch the hem of his robe. We don’t just touch the outer garment of the merciful Christ. We receive him in the most intimate way possible. We receive his very Body and Blood, his very self, so that he dwells in us and we in him. And when we receive him, we are made clean. And we are brought to life.

And like Veronica and Jairus’ daughter, we too will receive new life… and set forth his praise in gratitude. Amen.

Fr. Lorenzo Galuszka is the vicar of Saint Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Sherman (https://www.facebook.com/saintstephenssherman) and Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Bonham (https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61561060276714).