You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Many a lyric in a U2 song alludes to a verse of Scripture or a theological idea. Their 2004 song Crumbs From Your Table references the parable we’re exploring this week, especially the second sentence: “And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table…”
Bono has said the song was in part a reaction to his attempts to get American evangelicals to take action on the AIDS crisis in Africa – an effort he likened to "getting blood from a stone.” As dwellers in one of the wealthiest countries on earth, and as representatives of Jesus Christ, our churches might be expected to be at the forefront of efforts to address poverty. Many church budgets, though, allocate less than 1 percent to such efforts. Would a more visible and generous engagement with the poor invite more interest in our churches and our faith? It worked for Jesus…
As that song’s chorus goes,
"You speak of signs and wonders /I need something other /
I would believe if I was able /
But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table." (lyrics here)
What about us? Are we cozy with a culture of wealth that leaves many of the world’s poor begging for survival? Some years ago I read this: According to the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization, enough food is produced globally to feed 12 billion people. Global population now stands at 6.3 billion. So why is it that 800 million people suffer from malnutrition and 1.8 billion from obesity, and diabetes and cardiovascular disease are on the rise worldwide?
That’s a lot of “not seeing” the hungry. That's a lot of hanging on to way more than we need. How long will we tolerate that kind of disparity? We know that some efforts yield results. Way back in the 1990s, the U.N.’s Millennium Development Goals made significant progress toward reducing preventable disease and poverty. (Read about it in Bono’s 2010 New York Times editorial.)
Jesus depicts Lazarus as sick, hungry, homeless, forgotten, having no power whatsoever over his circumstances. People who suffer often need not only our resources – they need us to share power and control, a transfusion of life and hope – and yes, food. The rich man in Jesus’ parable didn’t see the beggar at his gate. Who are we missing?
Here’s a prayer experiment for today: “God, show me someone I’m not seeing.” Hold your imagination open for a few minutes – see what words or images take shape. If you get a response, ask the next question: “What shall I do with that person?” Not “for,” “with.” The Lazaruses of our world are not “beggars.” That’s not their identity. They are people with gifts and hopes and dreams and families and histories – and futures. Sometimes we can help shape what kind.
A line from Crumbs From Your Table goes, “Where you live should not decide whether you live or whether you die.” As winners in the birth lottery, and beloved of God, how are we being invited to spread the grace around?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Showing posts with label poverty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poverty. Show all posts
9-23-25 - Coming Close
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Usually when I consider Jesus’ parable about the rich man and Lazarus, I focus on the wealth disparity, Lazarus’ hunger, the crumbs from the rich man’s table. But here's another angle: twice in a very short tale Jesus refers to the man’s sores, and the fact that the dogs would come and lick them. Despite the “ick” factor, let’s look at this aspect of the story: "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.”
Was it comforting to Lazarus to have the dogs lick his sores, or disgusting and frightening, intensifying his sense of helplessness? Did the sores become even more infected, or were they cleansed? Did the dogs exacerbate his isolation from human company, or make him feel more connected to life? Does Jesus mention the sores to indicate just how wretched this poor man was, so close to wealth and yet completely deprived of life’s necessities?
It’s just a story, Kate! A parable Jesus told to make a point. Well, yes. But every element in a parable is fair game as we try to get inside Jesus’ stories. And this detail makes Lazarus so real for us. We can see him outside a gate in Calcutta or Port-au-Prince or Toronto. The rich man who came and went by that gate did not see him, or chose to ignore him. The dogs came close, close enough to lick his sores.
I don’t know why Jesus included this detail about the dogs; likely it wasn’t meant as a positive, dogs not being regarded as precious in his day as they are in ours. But it conveys coming close – close to a hurting person and his wounds, as Jesus came close to those who were overlooked or rejected. He touched lepers whom others were afraid to come near. He sat with party girls and extortioners cast out of polite society. He even had tete-a-tetes with the rich and powerful. Jesus did not hold himself away. And when Jesus died and rose from the dead, he invited his followers to come so close as to put their hands inside his wounds.
This God whom we worship in the person of his Son, Jesus Christ, this is the God who does not hold himself away. Wherever pain and loss and illness and despair are, there is Jesus, the gentle hound of heaven, saying, “You can ignore me, as though I were a dog, but I am here, and I will be here. I am not going away. My closeness might make you uncomfortable, but I am here to heal your wounds and restore you to wholeness.”
The Cathedral Church of All Saints in Halifax, where I now serve, has a statue on its front steps depicting a person in need, begging. It is a constant reminder of what we have and what we can share. Maybe as we let Jesus come close to us, we might more often choose to draw near to those who suffer, and then there will fewer people like Lazarus dying of hunger and preventable diseases.
Oh wait, I forgot again.. it’s only a story... or is it?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Usually when I consider Jesus’ parable about the rich man and Lazarus, I focus on the wealth disparity, Lazarus’ hunger, the crumbs from the rich man’s table. But here's another angle: twice in a very short tale Jesus refers to the man’s sores, and the fact that the dogs would come and lick them. Despite the “ick” factor, let’s look at this aspect of the story: "There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.”
Was it comforting to Lazarus to have the dogs lick his sores, or disgusting and frightening, intensifying his sense of helplessness? Did the sores become even more infected, or were they cleansed? Did the dogs exacerbate his isolation from human company, or make him feel more connected to life? Does Jesus mention the sores to indicate just how wretched this poor man was, so close to wealth and yet completely deprived of life’s necessities?
It’s just a story, Kate! A parable Jesus told to make a point. Well, yes. But every element in a parable is fair game as we try to get inside Jesus’ stories. And this detail makes Lazarus so real for us. We can see him outside a gate in Calcutta or Port-au-Prince or Toronto. The rich man who came and went by that gate did not see him, or chose to ignore him. The dogs came close, close enough to lick his sores.
I don’t know why Jesus included this detail about the dogs; likely it wasn’t meant as a positive, dogs not being regarded as precious in his day as they are in ours. But it conveys coming close – close to a hurting person and his wounds, as Jesus came close to those who were overlooked or rejected. He touched lepers whom others were afraid to come near. He sat with party girls and extortioners cast out of polite society. He even had tete-a-tetes with the rich and powerful. Jesus did not hold himself away. And when Jesus died and rose from the dead, he invited his followers to come so close as to put their hands inside his wounds.
This God whom we worship in the person of his Son, Jesus Christ, this is the God who does not hold himself away. Wherever pain and loss and illness and despair are, there is Jesus, the gentle hound of heaven, saying, “You can ignore me, as though I were a dog, but I am here, and I will be here. I am not going away. My closeness might make you uncomfortable, but I am here to heal your wounds and restore you to wholeness.”
The Cathedral Church of All Saints in Halifax, where I now serve, has a statue on its front steps depicting a person in need, begging. It is a constant reminder of what we have and what we can share. Maybe as we let Jesus come close to us, we might more often choose to draw near to those who suffer, and then there will fewer people like Lazarus dying of hunger and preventable diseases.
Oh wait, I forgot again.. it’s only a story... or is it?
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
9-22-25 - The Feasts Around Us
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
I was part of a group that helped start a residential school in Western Kenya called the Nambale Magnet School. Initially designed as a place that would provide home and education for children orphaned by AIDS in a region that provided no services for thousands such children, it also includes fee-paying students who have family support. The need-based calculus for how the indigent, “supported learners" are chosen is heart-breaking. The many candidates for limited places at the school are vetted by the social worker, who visits each village and assesses the needs. Many of the students come from “child-headed” families. If a child has one parent living, shelter at night, and/or gets at least two meals a day, the place will go to someone with even less.*
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores…
We may sometimes feel like that beggar, aware of what we do not have. In terms of global poverty, though, we are the rich man, feasting sumptuously every day. In fact, many feast so much that we cannot consume it all – some 25 percent of food in American households is thrown out, uneaten. (Add in commercial foods, and as a nation the U.S. wastes 40 percent of the food bought, while millions go hungry. And rates of composting are low, so that waste doesn’t even recycle into other food.)
I do not wish us to begin the week feeling sad and ashamed. We can rejoice in our good fortune. I suggest, though, that we acknowledge how wealthy we are and take the time and mindful presence to truly enjoy the feasts we have each day.
We are invited to share out of our abundance, not out of guilt or a teeth-gritted sense of justice. Our tables are a place to begin to cultivate that awareness of abundance that is real for most of us. We might move from giving thanks for each item on our plates and where it came from, to naming other areas of abundance in our lives. Do you have time for a break at work? Can you exercise? Do you have friends? Leisure activities? Memories and dreams? All of these are kinds of abundance to be celebrated.
It’s easy to approach this parable with a sense of guilt. But that often shuts us down and prevents us from opening ourselves to participating in God’s reign of justice. If we can approach it in gratitude for what we have, we just might be able to see how to better share our feasts so that everyone has one. There is enough. As we are released in grace, we release our resources in love.
*We estimate it costs about $1400 a year to support the indigent students, including tuition, clothes, school and medical supplies and food. If you’d like to join me in providing annually for one such student, please email me or click here.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
I was part of a group that helped start a residential school in Western Kenya called the Nambale Magnet School. Initially designed as a place that would provide home and education for children orphaned by AIDS in a region that provided no services for thousands such children, it also includes fee-paying students who have family support. The need-based calculus for how the indigent, “supported learners" are chosen is heart-breaking. The many candidates for limited places at the school are vetted by the social worker, who visits each village and assesses the needs. Many of the students come from “child-headed” families. If a child has one parent living, shelter at night, and/or gets at least two meals a day, the place will go to someone with even less.*
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores…
We may sometimes feel like that beggar, aware of what we do not have. In terms of global poverty, though, we are the rich man, feasting sumptuously every day. In fact, many feast so much that we cannot consume it all – some 25 percent of food in American households is thrown out, uneaten. (Add in commercial foods, and as a nation the U.S. wastes 40 percent of the food bought, while millions go hungry. And rates of composting are low, so that waste doesn’t even recycle into other food.)
I do not wish us to begin the week feeling sad and ashamed. We can rejoice in our good fortune. I suggest, though, that we acknowledge how wealthy we are and take the time and mindful presence to truly enjoy the feasts we have each day.
We are invited to share out of our abundance, not out of guilt or a teeth-gritted sense of justice. Our tables are a place to begin to cultivate that awareness of abundance that is real for most of us. We might move from giving thanks for each item on our plates and where it came from, to naming other areas of abundance in our lives. Do you have time for a break at work? Can you exercise? Do you have friends? Leisure activities? Memories and dreams? All of these are kinds of abundance to be celebrated.
It’s easy to approach this parable with a sense of guilt. But that often shuts us down and prevents us from opening ourselves to participating in God’s reign of justice. If we can approach it in gratitude for what we have, we just might be able to see how to better share our feasts so that everyone has one. There is enough. As we are released in grace, we release our resources in love.
*We estimate it costs about $1400 a year to support the indigent students, including tuition, clothes, school and medical supplies and food. If you’d like to join me in providing annually for one such student, please email me or click here.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
4-4-25 - It's About Jesus
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Was ever a saying of Jesus' more often misconstrued, with such devastating consequences? When Judas protests that the cost of the ointment Mary “wasted” on Jesus could have fed the poor, Jesus defends Mary: “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
That one reference to the persistence of poverty has led some to a “so, why bother?” stance about remedying economic inequality. Others have gone so far as to see in those seven words a mandate for poverty, despite the full record of Jesus’ pronouncements about justice and giving. I actually heard someone quote these words and say Jesus does not want us to help the poor.
Such an interpretation makes a mockery of the Good News, which Jesus said he came to proclaim to the poor, as well as to other marginalized groups. The imperative to share our resources so that no one is in need, an ideal oft proclaimed by the prophets of Israel (and briefly achieved in the early church, according to Acts 4…) should be a driving force for Christians engaged in God’s mission to reclaim, restore, and renew all people to wholeness in Christ. In God’s realm no one is defined by how much or how little she has, but by his belovedness.
An even deeper distortion of the first seven words of that sentence can result when the second seven get ignored. That was the main point Jesus was trying to make – that his presence in human, embodied form was finite and soon to end. Those who emphasize the “social gospel” and Jesus’ love for the poor, as though he did not equally value the humanity in those with resources and privilege, can be in as great a danger of misinterpretation. It is Jesus who matters, more than his teaching and example and ministry and power. When we reduce him to “teacher” or “moral example,” "social worker” or even “healer,” we miss the most important part of his identity: Son of God, Redeemer, right here in your living room.
Mary, better than anyone else there, seemed to grasp what was happening: that Jesus, in the way they had known and come to love him, would soon be dead and gone. She alone understood that it was about him, all about Jesus, and she expressed that insight in a profoundly sacramental action.
Can we value him that much? Can we make Jesus our priority? Spend time with him, seek his counsel, ask to be filled with his Spirit, make him known among the people in need whom we encounter? I’m pretty sure that if more Christians put Jesus first, our hearts would be so transformed we could not tolerate poverty or injustice, violence or warfare. As Gandhi famously observed, if Christians were more like Christ, there would be a lot more of them. (That’s a paraphrase; the actual quote and its context can be found here.) If more Christians put Jesus first, I suspect there would be a lot more of us too.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
Was ever a saying of Jesus' more often misconstrued, with such devastating consequences? When Judas protests that the cost of the ointment Mary “wasted” on Jesus could have fed the poor, Jesus defends Mary: “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
That one reference to the persistence of poverty has led some to a “so, why bother?” stance about remedying economic inequality. Others have gone so far as to see in those seven words a mandate for poverty, despite the full record of Jesus’ pronouncements about justice and giving. I actually heard someone quote these words and say Jesus does not want us to help the poor.
Such an interpretation makes a mockery of the Good News, which Jesus said he came to proclaim to the poor, as well as to other marginalized groups. The imperative to share our resources so that no one is in need, an ideal oft proclaimed by the prophets of Israel (and briefly achieved in the early church, according to Acts 4…) should be a driving force for Christians engaged in God’s mission to reclaim, restore, and renew all people to wholeness in Christ. In God’s realm no one is defined by how much or how little she has, but by his belovedness.
An even deeper distortion of the first seven words of that sentence can result when the second seven get ignored. That was the main point Jesus was trying to make – that his presence in human, embodied form was finite and soon to end. Those who emphasize the “social gospel” and Jesus’ love for the poor, as though he did not equally value the humanity in those with resources and privilege, can be in as great a danger of misinterpretation. It is Jesus who matters, more than his teaching and example and ministry and power. When we reduce him to “teacher” or “moral example,” "social worker” or even “healer,” we miss the most important part of his identity: Son of God, Redeemer, right here in your living room.
Mary, better than anyone else there, seemed to grasp what was happening: that Jesus, in the way they had known and come to love him, would soon be dead and gone. She alone understood that it was about him, all about Jesus, and she expressed that insight in a profoundly sacramental action.
Can we value him that much? Can we make Jesus our priority? Spend time with him, seek his counsel, ask to be filled with his Spirit, make him known among the people in need whom we encounter? I’m pretty sure that if more Christians put Jesus first, our hearts would be so transformed we could not tolerate poverty or injustice, violence or warfare. As Gandhi famously observed, if Christians were more like Christ, there would be a lot more of them. (That’s a paraphrase; the actual quote and its context can be found here.) If more Christians put Jesus first, I suspect there would be a lot more of us too.
© Kate Heichler, 2025. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
11-7-24 - The Poor Give More
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
What induced her to put her last few coins into the temple treasury? Was it an act of faith or of desperation? Like her ancient forebear, the widow in Zarephath in our Hebrew bible reading for Sunday, this unnamed widow in the temple is giving it all away. The widow whom Elijah encountered in Zarephath is using the last of her meal and oil to make some bread and then die. The widow being observed by Jesus in Jerusalem is putting in all she has. And though it is quantifiably less than what the wealthy are putting in, it is proportionally much, much more:
What induced her to put her last few coins into the temple treasury? Was it an act of faith or of desperation? Like her ancient forebear, the widow in Zarephath in our Hebrew bible reading for Sunday, this unnamed widow in the temple is giving it all away. The widow whom Elijah encountered in Zarephath is using the last of her meal and oil to make some bread and then die. The widow being observed by Jesus in Jerusalem is putting in all she has. And though it is quantifiably less than what the wealthy are putting in, it is proportionally much, much more:
He... watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. All of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
The bible and Christian tradition invite us to think proportionally about giving. The biblical standard is the tithe, or ten percent of income (net or gross, you pick). I encourage people to base their church giving on a percentage of income rather than a fixed amount because it is faithful, and because it levels the playing field. Someone with an income of $40,000 a year who is pledging, say, 8 percent of income is giving at the same level as someone with $400,000 pledging at 8 percent.
Well, it would be level if the six-figure person were pledging at the same percentage as the five-figure one – but that’s not often how it plays out. The higher earner will often look at the 8 percent number – whoa, $32,000?!? – and decide on a much lower pledge. The lower earner is more likely to settle on something close to the $3,200 that 8% of her income represents. Many studies have shown that poorer people give much more money away, supporting their churches, neighbors and communities far out of proportion to their income. As of 12 years ago, wealthy Americans gave away an average of 1.3 percent of income, while poor ones gave 3.2 percent. (A British study found a gap of 5.4% vs. 2%, poor to rich respectively; here is a 2018 article; other articles counter this prevailing view.)
We can’t know what was going through the mind of that widow in Jerusalem, or that of a struggling single mother who donates generously to her church’s building fund, but we can conjecture that there is a freedom to their generosity and a willingness to trust. Maybe having less to hang onto releases our grip, and when we release our grip what position do our hands take? They are open to receive as well as give.
Generosity makes no sense if we don’t trust that we will have enough. Trusting in enough when we can’t see it is faith. The widow in Zarephath discovered that her oil and meal never ran out. I hope the widow in Jerusalem was similarly provided for. God invites us to live open-handed and open-hearted, trusting that we will have what we need and often more. As we grow in trust, we may realize we don’t need quite as much “more” as we think; that we can be God's hands, feet, voice and wallet no matter what our circumstances. If we don't give, how will God's children and widows get fed?
© Kate Heichler, 2024. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
The bible and Christian tradition invite us to think proportionally about giving. The biblical standard is the tithe, or ten percent of income (net or gross, you pick). I encourage people to base their church giving on a percentage of income rather than a fixed amount because it is faithful, and because it levels the playing field. Someone with an income of $40,000 a year who is pledging, say, 8 percent of income is giving at the same level as someone with $400,000 pledging at 8 percent.
Well, it would be level if the six-figure person were pledging at the same percentage as the five-figure one – but that’s not often how it plays out. The higher earner will often look at the 8 percent number – whoa, $32,000?!? – and decide on a much lower pledge. The lower earner is more likely to settle on something close to the $3,200 that 8% of her income represents. Many studies have shown that poorer people give much more money away, supporting their churches, neighbors and communities far out of proportion to their income. As of 12 years ago, wealthy Americans gave away an average of 1.3 percent of income, while poor ones gave 3.2 percent. (A British study found a gap of 5.4% vs. 2%, poor to rich respectively; here is a 2018 article; other articles counter this prevailing view.)
We can’t know what was going through the mind of that widow in Jerusalem, or that of a struggling single mother who donates generously to her church’s building fund, but we can conjecture that there is a freedom to their generosity and a willingness to trust. Maybe having less to hang onto releases our grip, and when we release our grip what position do our hands take? They are open to receive as well as give.
Generosity makes no sense if we don’t trust that we will have enough. Trusting in enough when we can’t see it is faith. The widow in Zarephath discovered that her oil and meal never ran out. I hope the widow in Jerusalem was similarly provided for. God invites us to live open-handed and open-hearted, trusting that we will have what we need and often more. As we grow in trust, we may realize we don’t need quite as much “more” as we think; that we can be God's hands, feet, voice and wallet no matter what our circumstances. If we don't give, how will God's children and widows get fed?
© Kate Heichler, 2024. To receive Water Daily by email each morning, subscribe here. Here are the bible readings for next Sunday. Water Daily is also a podcast – subscribe to it here on Apple, Spotify or your favorite podcast platform.
9-22-22 - Tickets To Paradise
You can listen to this reflection here.
What a story: Jesus introduces his main characters, a rich man who feasted sumptuously; and a poor man covered with sores, who begged at his gate. Then he promptly whisks them offstage: “The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried.” No angels for the rich man – and no burial for the poor one, just a one-way ticket to paradise.
The rich man goes south to warmer climes. Way warmer: “In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, `Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.'”
Why is Jesus talking about hell? Doesn’t he know we don’t believe in that anymore? Well, if we’re going to take Jesus at his Word, we need to wrestle with the way he spoke about the afterlife. In stories and teachings, he spoke of eternal punishment – a place of torment and fire, of “outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Sure, he might have been employing folk superstitions of his day in his story-telling… or was he saying there are eternal consequences to our choices, just as there is grace to meet our short-comings?
I am more troubled by the idea that these consequences might be eternally fixed:
What a story: Jesus introduces his main characters, a rich man who feasted sumptuously; and a poor man covered with sores, who begged at his gate. Then he promptly whisks them offstage: “The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried.” No angels for the rich man – and no burial for the poor one, just a one-way ticket to paradise.
The rich man goes south to warmer climes. Way warmer: “In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, `Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.'”
Why is Jesus talking about hell? Doesn’t he know we don’t believe in that anymore? Well, if we’re going to take Jesus at his Word, we need to wrestle with the way he spoke about the afterlife. In stories and teachings, he spoke of eternal punishment – a place of torment and fire, of “outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Sure, he might have been employing folk superstitions of his day in his story-telling… or was he saying there are eternal consequences to our choices, just as there is grace to meet our short-comings?
I am more troubled by the idea that these consequences might be eternally fixed:
“But Abraham said, `Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’”
My hope in God’s mercy is that we can choose after death if we haven’t managed it before. (For a great allegorical tale about that, I recommend C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce.) I will continue in that hope – AND attend to the invitation to make adjustments in this life.
It might also trouble us that Jesus tells a story in which God allows someone to suffer so in this lifetime only to make them comfortable in the next. Many would ask, "Why didn’t God take care of him in this world?" To which God might answer, “I put you there. There were people with resources and hearts and free will all around him - and around all who suffer. They had choices...as do you.”
As we pray today, let’s offer thanks for the rewards we enjoy in this life and our hope for the next. Let’s invite the Spirit to give us a holy intolerance for the hell in which many of God’s children live in this world. Let’s pray our way into seeing the choices before us, and ask God to empower us into action.
Yesterday it was U2. Today I’ll give the last word to the aptly named Eddie Money:
My hope in God’s mercy is that we can choose after death if we haven’t managed it before. (For a great allegorical tale about that, I recommend C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce.) I will continue in that hope – AND attend to the invitation to make adjustments in this life.
It might also trouble us that Jesus tells a story in which God allows someone to suffer so in this lifetime only to make them comfortable in the next. Many would ask, "Why didn’t God take care of him in this world?" To which God might answer, “I put you there. There were people with resources and hearts and free will all around him - and around all who suffer. They had choices...as do you.”
As we pray today, let’s offer thanks for the rewards we enjoy in this life and our hope for the next. Let’s invite the Spirit to give us a holy intolerance for the hell in which many of God’s children live in this world. Let’s pray our way into seeing the choices before us, and ask God to empower us into action.
Yesterday it was U2. Today I’ll give the last word to the aptly named Eddie Money:
“I’ve got two tickets to paradise… pack your bags, we’ll leave tonight…”
God has made available unlimited tickets to paradise, and a few instructions on how to pick them up with our Travel Agent, Jesus. We can take them or leave them…
God has made available unlimited tickets to paradise, and a few instructions on how to pick them up with our Travel Agent, Jesus. We can take them or leave them…
9-21-22 - Crumbs From Our Tables
You can listen to this reflection here.
Many a lyric in a U2 song alludes to a verse of Scripture or a theological idea. Their 2004 song, Crumbs from Your Table references the parable we’re exploring this week, especially the second sentence: “And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table..."
Bono has said the song was in part a reaction to his attempts to get American evangelicals to take action on the AIDS crisis in Africa – an effort he likened to "getting blood from a stone.” As dwellers in one of the wealthiest countries on earth, and as representatives of Jesus Christ, our churches might be expected to be at the forefront of efforts to address poverty. Many church budgets, though, allocate less than 1 percent to such efforts. Would a more visible and generous engagement with the poor invite more interest in our churches and our faith? It worked for Jesus…
As that song’s chorus goes (lyrics here),
Many a lyric in a U2 song alludes to a verse of Scripture or a theological idea. Their 2004 song, Crumbs from Your Table references the parable we’re exploring this week, especially the second sentence: “And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table..."
Bono has said the song was in part a reaction to his attempts to get American evangelicals to take action on the AIDS crisis in Africa – an effort he likened to "getting blood from a stone.” As dwellers in one of the wealthiest countries on earth, and as representatives of Jesus Christ, our churches might be expected to be at the forefront of efforts to address poverty. Many church budgets, though, allocate less than 1 percent to such efforts. Would a more visible and generous engagement with the poor invite more interest in our churches and our faith? It worked for Jesus…
As that song’s chorus goes (lyrics here),
You speak of signs and wonders /I need something other /
I would believe if I was able / But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table.
What about us? Are we cozy with a culture of wealth that leaves many of the world’s poor begging for survival? Some years ago I read this: According to the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization, enough food is produced globally to feed 12 billion people. Global population now stands at 6.3 billion. So why is it that 800 million people suffer from malnutrition and 1.8 billion from obesity, and diabetes and cardiovascular disease are on the rise worldwide?
That’s a lot of “not seeing” the hungry. That's a lot of hanging on to way more than we need. How long will we tolerate that kind of disparity? We know that some efforts yield results. Way back in the 1990s, the U.N.’s Millennium Development Goals made significant progress toward reducing preventable disease and poverty. (Read about it in Bono’s 2010 New York Times editorial.)
Jesus depicts Lazarus as sick, hungry, homeless, forgotten, having no power whatsoever over his circumstances. People who suffer often need not only our resources – they need us to share power and control, a transfusion of life and hope – and yes, food. The rich man in Jesus’ parable didn’t see the beggar at his gate. Who are we missing?
Here’s a prayer experiment for today: “God, show me someone I’m not seeing.” Hold your imagination open for a few minutes – see what words or images take shape. If you get a response, ask the next question: “What shall I do with that person?” Not “for,” “with.” The Lazaruses of our world are not “beggars.” That’s not their identity. They are people with gifts and hopes and dreams and families and histories – and futures. Sometimes we can help shape what kind.
A line from Crumbs From Your Table goes, “Where you live should not decide whether you live or whether you die.” As winners in the birth lottery, and beloved of God, how are we being invited to spread the grace around?
I would believe if I was able / But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table.
What about us? Are we cozy with a culture of wealth that leaves many of the world’s poor begging for survival? Some years ago I read this: According to the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization, enough food is produced globally to feed 12 billion people. Global population now stands at 6.3 billion. So why is it that 800 million people suffer from malnutrition and 1.8 billion from obesity, and diabetes and cardiovascular disease are on the rise worldwide?
That’s a lot of “not seeing” the hungry. That's a lot of hanging on to way more than we need. How long will we tolerate that kind of disparity? We know that some efforts yield results. Way back in the 1990s, the U.N.’s Millennium Development Goals made significant progress toward reducing preventable disease and poverty. (Read about it in Bono’s 2010 New York Times editorial.)
Jesus depicts Lazarus as sick, hungry, homeless, forgotten, having no power whatsoever over his circumstances. People who suffer often need not only our resources – they need us to share power and control, a transfusion of life and hope – and yes, food. The rich man in Jesus’ parable didn’t see the beggar at his gate. Who are we missing?
Here’s a prayer experiment for today: “God, show me someone I’m not seeing.” Hold your imagination open for a few minutes – see what words or images take shape. If you get a response, ask the next question: “What shall I do with that person?” Not “for,” “with.” The Lazaruses of our world are not “beggars.” That’s not their identity. They are people with gifts and hopes and dreams and families and histories – and futures. Sometimes we can help shape what kind.
A line from Crumbs From Your Table goes, “Where you live should not decide whether you live or whether you die.” As winners in the birth lottery, and beloved of God, how are we being invited to spread the grace around?
9-20-22 - Coming Close
You can listen to this reflection here.
Usually when I consider Jesus’ parable about the rich man and Lazarus, I focus on the wealth disparity, Lazarus’ hunger, the crumbs from the rich man’s table. But here's another angle: twice in a very short tale Jesus refers to the man’s sores, and the fact that the dogs would come and lick them. Despite the “ick” factor, let’s look at this aspect of the story:
"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.”
Was it comforting to Lazarus to have the dogs lick his sores, or disgusting and frightening, intensifying his sense of helplessness? Did the sores become even more infected, or were they cleansed? Did the dogs exacerbate his isolation from human company, or make him feel more connected to life? Does Jesus mention the sores to indicate just how wretched this poor man was, so close to wealth and yet completely deprived of life’s necessities?
It’s just a story, Kate! A parable Jesus told to make a point. Well, yes. But every element in a parable is fair game as we try to get inside Jesus’ stories. And this detail makes Lazarus so real for us. We can see him outside a gate in Calcutta or Port-au-Prince or New York. The rich man who came and went by that gate did not see him, or chose to ignore him. The dogs came close, close enough to lick his sores.
I don’t know why Jesus included this detail about the dogs; likely it wasn’t meant as a positive, dogs not being regarded as precious in his day as they are in ours. But it conveys coming close – close to a hurting person and his wounds, as Jesus came close to those who were overlooked or rejected. He touched lepers whom others were afraid to come near. He sat with party girls and extortioners cast out of polite society. He even had tete-a-tetes with the rich and powerful. Jesus did not hold himself away. And when Jesus died and rose from the dead, he invited his followers to come so close as to put their hands inside his wounds.
This God whom we worship in the person of his Son, Jesus Christ, this is the God who does not hold himself away. Wherever pain and loss and illness and despair are, there is Jesus, the gentle hound of heaven, saying, “You can ignore me, as though I were a dog, but I am here, and I will be here. I am not going away. My closeness might make you uncomfortable, but I am here to heal your wounds and restore you to wholeness.”
Maybe as we let Jesus come close to us, we might more often choose to draw near to those who suffer, and then there will fewer people like Lazarus dying of hunger and preventable diseases. Oh wait, I forgot again.. it’s only a story... or is it?
Usually when I consider Jesus’ parable about the rich man and Lazarus, I focus on the wealth disparity, Lazarus’ hunger, the crumbs from the rich man’s table. But here's another angle: twice in a very short tale Jesus refers to the man’s sores, and the fact that the dogs would come and lick them. Despite the “ick” factor, let’s look at this aspect of the story:
"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.”
Was it comforting to Lazarus to have the dogs lick his sores, or disgusting and frightening, intensifying his sense of helplessness? Did the sores become even more infected, or were they cleansed? Did the dogs exacerbate his isolation from human company, or make him feel more connected to life? Does Jesus mention the sores to indicate just how wretched this poor man was, so close to wealth and yet completely deprived of life’s necessities?
It’s just a story, Kate! A parable Jesus told to make a point. Well, yes. But every element in a parable is fair game as we try to get inside Jesus’ stories. And this detail makes Lazarus so real for us. We can see him outside a gate in Calcutta or Port-au-Prince or New York. The rich man who came and went by that gate did not see him, or chose to ignore him. The dogs came close, close enough to lick his sores.
I don’t know why Jesus included this detail about the dogs; likely it wasn’t meant as a positive, dogs not being regarded as precious in his day as they are in ours. But it conveys coming close – close to a hurting person and his wounds, as Jesus came close to those who were overlooked or rejected. He touched lepers whom others were afraid to come near. He sat with party girls and extortioners cast out of polite society. He even had tete-a-tetes with the rich and powerful. Jesus did not hold himself away. And when Jesus died and rose from the dead, he invited his followers to come so close as to put their hands inside his wounds.
This God whom we worship in the person of his Son, Jesus Christ, this is the God who does not hold himself away. Wherever pain and loss and illness and despair are, there is Jesus, the gentle hound of heaven, saying, “You can ignore me, as though I were a dog, but I am here, and I will be here. I am not going away. My closeness might make you uncomfortable, but I am here to heal your wounds and restore you to wholeness.”
Maybe as we let Jesus come close to us, we might more often choose to draw near to those who suffer, and then there will fewer people like Lazarus dying of hunger and preventable diseases. Oh wait, I forgot again.. it’s only a story... or is it?
9-19-22 - The Feasts Around Us
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
I was part of a group that helped start a residential school in Western Kenya called the Nambale Magnet School. Initially designed as a place that would provide home and education for children orphaned by AIDS in a region that provided no services for thousands such children, it also includes fee-paying students who have family support. The need-based calculus for how the indigent, “supported learners" are chosen, though, is heart-breaking. The many candidates for limited places at the school are vetted by the social worker, who visits each village and assesses the needs. Many of the students come from “child-headed” families. If a child has one parent living, shelter at night, and/or gets at least two meals a day, the place will go to someone with even less.*
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores…
We may sometimes feel like that beggar, aware of what we do not have. In terms of global poverty, though, we are the rich man, feasting sumptuously every day. In fact, we feast so much that we cannot consume it all – some 25 percent of food in American households is thrown out, uneaten. (Add in commercial foods, and we as a nation waste 40 percent of the food we buy, while millions go hungry.)
I do not wish us to begin the week feeling sad and ashamed. We can rejoice in our good fortune. I suggest, though, that we acknowledge how wealthy we are and take the time and mindful presence to truly enjoy the feasts we have each day.
We are invited to share out of our abundance, not out of guilt or a teeth-gritted sense of justice. Our tables are a place to begin to cultivate that awareness of abundance that is real for most of us. We might move from giving thanks for each item on our plates and where it came from, to naming other areas of abundance in our lives. Do you have time for a break at work? Can you exercise? Do you have friends? Leisure activities? Memories and dreams? All of these are kinds of abundance to be celebrated.
It’s easy to approach this parable with a sense of guilt. But that often shuts us down and prevents us from opening ourselves to participating in God’s reign of justice. If we can approach it in gratitude for what we have, we just might be able to see how to better share our feasts so that everyone has one. There is enough. As we are released in grace, we release our resources in love.
*We estimate it costs about $1200 a year to support the indigent students, including tuition, clothes, school and medical supplies and food. If you’d like to join me in providing annually for one such student, please email me or click here.
I was part of a group that helped start a residential school in Western Kenya called the Nambale Magnet School. Initially designed as a place that would provide home and education for children orphaned by AIDS in a region that provided no services for thousands such children, it also includes fee-paying students who have family support. The need-based calculus for how the indigent, “supported learners" are chosen, though, is heart-breaking. The many candidates for limited places at the school are vetted by the social worker, who visits each village and assesses the needs. Many of the students come from “child-headed” families. If a child has one parent living, shelter at night, and/or gets at least two meals a day, the place will go to someone with even less.*
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores…
We may sometimes feel like that beggar, aware of what we do not have. In terms of global poverty, though, we are the rich man, feasting sumptuously every day. In fact, we feast so much that we cannot consume it all – some 25 percent of food in American households is thrown out, uneaten. (Add in commercial foods, and we as a nation waste 40 percent of the food we buy, while millions go hungry.)
I do not wish us to begin the week feeling sad and ashamed. We can rejoice in our good fortune. I suggest, though, that we acknowledge how wealthy we are and take the time and mindful presence to truly enjoy the feasts we have each day.
We are invited to share out of our abundance, not out of guilt or a teeth-gritted sense of justice. Our tables are a place to begin to cultivate that awareness of abundance that is real for most of us. We might move from giving thanks for each item on our plates and where it came from, to naming other areas of abundance in our lives. Do you have time for a break at work? Can you exercise? Do you have friends? Leisure activities? Memories and dreams? All of these are kinds of abundance to be celebrated.
It’s easy to approach this parable with a sense of guilt. But that often shuts us down and prevents us from opening ourselves to participating in God’s reign of justice. If we can approach it in gratitude for what we have, we just might be able to see how to better share our feasts so that everyone has one. There is enough. As we are released in grace, we release our resources in love.
*We estimate it costs about $1200 a year to support the indigent students, including tuition, clothes, school and medical supplies and food. If you’d like to join me in providing annually for one such student, please email me or click here.
7-6-22 - Neighbors
You can listen to this reflection here.
It is no surprise that Jesus’ interlocutor in this week's gospel story is identified as a lawyer – first thing he does is look for the loophole. That’s no diss on lawyers – it’s what they’re paid to do. And it’s human nature to categorize and define, to narrow the field so that we can manage things. It can also keep us from living into the heart of God’s commandments.
But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.”
What do you suppose the man was hoping to hear? Your neighbor is the person who looks like you? Who shares your ethnicity? Your family heritage? Your lifestyle? Socio-economic bracket? National identity? That’s how some people define “neighbor,” so they can justify devoting their resources to their own kind. That is how the bulk of the wealth in our country has ended up in the bank accounts of a relatively small percentage of the population, while we have a serious problem with poverty and hunger.
In reply, Jesus begins to tell a story about a man who was beaten, robbed and left for dead on a notoriously dangerous road. I wonder what the man thought about that response to his question. “Is he saying my neighbor is anyone who is victimized? How extensive is my obligation to such folks? He made the foolish choice to do business on that road, and to go alone… If such a man is my neighbor, where does it stop? Where can I draw the line and still be in God’s will?”
As we will see, a few people in the story draw the line rather close, and one seems not to draw one at all, giving well beyond expectations. But how about us? How do we decide who we will help and how much? There is no right or wrong answer – it’s just good for us to know how we define neighbors, and what criteria we use to evaluate whether or when to offer help. Some people will give generously to total strangers in the event of a natural disaster, and refuse all help to the poor in their own towns. We all approach it differently.
The point of examining ourselves on this question is not to instill guilt or even to suggest guidelines. The point is to become more aware of our default positions, and invite the Holy Spirit into our decision-making processes. You tell God who you think your neighbor is, and is not; then ask God to tell you who God thinks your neighbor is.
Our responses will likely still have limits according to our tendencies and our capacity for giving. I hope that as we explore this rich story, though, we will become freed from self-imposed limits, and expand our vision of what it means to have and to be a neighbor.
It is no surprise that Jesus’ interlocutor in this week's gospel story is identified as a lawyer – first thing he does is look for the loophole. That’s no diss on lawyers – it’s what they’re paid to do. And it’s human nature to categorize and define, to narrow the field so that we can manage things. It can also keep us from living into the heart of God’s commandments.
But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.”
What do you suppose the man was hoping to hear? Your neighbor is the person who looks like you? Who shares your ethnicity? Your family heritage? Your lifestyle? Socio-economic bracket? National identity? That’s how some people define “neighbor,” so they can justify devoting their resources to their own kind. That is how the bulk of the wealth in our country has ended up in the bank accounts of a relatively small percentage of the population, while we have a serious problem with poverty and hunger.
In reply, Jesus begins to tell a story about a man who was beaten, robbed and left for dead on a notoriously dangerous road. I wonder what the man thought about that response to his question. “Is he saying my neighbor is anyone who is victimized? How extensive is my obligation to such folks? He made the foolish choice to do business on that road, and to go alone… If such a man is my neighbor, where does it stop? Where can I draw the line and still be in God’s will?”
As we will see, a few people in the story draw the line rather close, and one seems not to draw one at all, giving well beyond expectations. But how about us? How do we decide who we will help and how much? There is no right or wrong answer – it’s just good for us to know how we define neighbors, and what criteria we use to evaluate whether or when to offer help. Some people will give generously to total strangers in the event of a natural disaster, and refuse all help to the poor in their own towns. We all approach it differently.
The point of examining ourselves on this question is not to instill guilt or even to suggest guidelines. The point is to become more aware of our default positions, and invite the Holy Spirit into our decision-making processes. You tell God who you think your neighbor is, and is not; then ask God to tell you who God thinks your neighbor is.
Our responses will likely still have limits according to our tendencies and our capacity for giving. I hope that as we explore this rich story, though, we will become freed from self-imposed limits, and expand our vision of what it means to have and to be a neighbor.
4-1-22 - It's About Jesus
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
Was ever a saying of Jesus' more often misconstrued, with such devastating consequences? When Judas protests that the cost of the ointment Mary “wasted” on Jesus could have fed the poor, Jesus defends Mary: Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
That one reference to the persistence of poverty has led some to a “so, why bother?” stance about remedying economic inequality. Others have gone so far as to see in those seven words a mandate for poverty, despite the full record of Jesus’ pronouncements about justice and giving in the gospels. I actually heard someone quote these words and say Jesus does not want us to help the poor.
Such an interpretation makes a mockery of the Good News, which Jesus said he came to proclaim to the poor, as well as to other marginalized groups. The imperative to share our resources so that no one is in need, an ideal oft proclaimed by the prophets of Israel (and briefly achieved in the early church, according to Acts 4…) should be a driving force for Christians engaged in God’s mission to reclaim, restore, and renew all people to wholeness in Christ. In God’s realm no one is defined by how much or how little she has, but by his belovedness.
An even deeper distortion of the first seven words of that sentence can result when the second seven get ignored. That was the main point Jesus was trying to make – that his presence in human, embodied form was finite and soon to end. Those who emphasize the “social gospel” and Jesus’ love for the poor, as though he did not equally value the humanity in those with resources and privilege, can be in as great a danger of misinterpretation. It is Jesus who matters, more than his teaching and example and ministry and power. When we reduce him to “teacher” or “moral example,” social worker” or even “healer,” we miss the most important part of his identity: Son of God, Redeemer, right here in your living room.
Mary, better than anyone else there, seemed to grasp what was happening: that Jesus, in the way they had known and come to love him, would soon be dead and gone. She alone understood that it was about him, all about Jesus, and she expressed that insight in a profoundly sacramental action.
Can we value him that much? Can we make Jesus our priority? Spend time with him, seek his counsel, ask to be filled with his Spirit, make him known among the people in need whom we encounter? I’m pretty sure that if more Christians put Jesus first, our hearts would be so transformed we could not tolerate poverty or injustice, violence or warfare. As Gandhi famously observed, if Christians were more like Christ, there would be a lot more of them. (That’s a paraphrase; the actual quote and its context can be found here.)
If more Christians put Jesus first, I suspect there would be a lot more of us too.
Was ever a saying of Jesus' more often misconstrued, with such devastating consequences? When Judas protests that the cost of the ointment Mary “wasted” on Jesus could have fed the poor, Jesus defends Mary: Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
That one reference to the persistence of poverty has led some to a “so, why bother?” stance about remedying economic inequality. Others have gone so far as to see in those seven words a mandate for poverty, despite the full record of Jesus’ pronouncements about justice and giving in the gospels. I actually heard someone quote these words and say Jesus does not want us to help the poor.
Such an interpretation makes a mockery of the Good News, which Jesus said he came to proclaim to the poor, as well as to other marginalized groups. The imperative to share our resources so that no one is in need, an ideal oft proclaimed by the prophets of Israel (and briefly achieved in the early church, according to Acts 4…) should be a driving force for Christians engaged in God’s mission to reclaim, restore, and renew all people to wholeness in Christ. In God’s realm no one is defined by how much or how little she has, but by his belovedness.
An even deeper distortion of the first seven words of that sentence can result when the second seven get ignored. That was the main point Jesus was trying to make – that his presence in human, embodied form was finite and soon to end. Those who emphasize the “social gospel” and Jesus’ love for the poor, as though he did not equally value the humanity in those with resources and privilege, can be in as great a danger of misinterpretation. It is Jesus who matters, more than his teaching and example and ministry and power. When we reduce him to “teacher” or “moral example,” social worker” or even “healer,” we miss the most important part of his identity: Son of God, Redeemer, right here in your living room.
Mary, better than anyone else there, seemed to grasp what was happening: that Jesus, in the way they had known and come to love him, would soon be dead and gone. She alone understood that it was about him, all about Jesus, and she expressed that insight in a profoundly sacramental action.
Can we value him that much? Can we make Jesus our priority? Spend time with him, seek his counsel, ask to be filled with his Spirit, make him known among the people in need whom we encounter? I’m pretty sure that if more Christians put Jesus first, our hearts would be so transformed we could not tolerate poverty or injustice, violence or warfare. As Gandhi famously observed, if Christians were more like Christ, there would be a lot more of them. (That’s a paraphrase; the actual quote and its context can be found here.)
If more Christians put Jesus first, I suspect there would be a lot more of us too.
11-4-21 - The Poor Give More
You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.
What induced her to put her last few coins into the temple treasury? Was it an act of faith or of desperation? Like her ancient forebear, the widow in Zarephath in our Hebrew bible reading for Sunday, this unnamed widow in the temple is giving it all away. The widow whom Elijah encountered in Zarephath is using the last of her meal and oil to make some bread and then die. The widow being observed by Jesus in Jerusalem is putting in all she has. And though it is quantifiably less than what the wealthy are putting in, it is proportionally much, much more.
He... watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. All of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
The bible and Christian tradition invite us to think proportionally about giving. The biblical standard is the tithe, or ten percent of income (net or gross, you pick). I encourage people to base their church giving on a percentage of income rather than a fixed amount because it is faithful, and because it levels the playing field. Someone with an income of $40,000 a year who is pledging, say, 8 percent of income is giving at the same level as someone with $400,000 pledging at 8 percent.
Well, it would be level if the six-figure person were pledging at the same percentage as the five-figure one – but that’s not often how it plays out. The higher earner will often look at the 8 percent number – whoa, $32,000?!? – and decide on a much lower pledge. The lower earner is more likely to settle on something close to the $3,200. Many studies have shown that poorer people give much more money away, supporting their churches, neighbors and communities far out of proportion to their income. As of ten years ago, wealthy Americans gave away an average of 1.3 percent of income, while poor ones gave 3.2 percent. (A British study found a gap of 5.4% vs. 2%, poor to rich respectively; here is a 2018 article; other articles counter this prevailing view.)
We can’t know what was going through the mind of that widow in Jerusalem, or that of a struggling single mother who donates generously to her church’s building fund, but we can conjecture that there is a freedom to their generosity and a willingness to trust. Maybe having less to hang onto releases our grip, and when we release our grip what position do our hands take? They are open to receive as well as give.
Generosity makes no sense if we don’t trust that we will have enough. Trusting in enough when we can’t see it is faith. The widow in Zarephath discovered that her oil and meal never ran out. I hope the widow in Jersualem was similarly provided for. God invites us to live open-handed and open-hearted, trusting that we will have what we need and often more. As we grow in trust, we may realize we don’t need quite as much “more” as we think, and that we can be God's hands, feet, voice and wallet no matter what our circumstances. If we don't give, how will God's children and widows get fed?
What induced her to put her last few coins into the temple treasury? Was it an act of faith or of desperation? Like her ancient forebear, the widow in Zarephath in our Hebrew bible reading for Sunday, this unnamed widow in the temple is giving it all away. The widow whom Elijah encountered in Zarephath is using the last of her meal and oil to make some bread and then die. The widow being observed by Jesus in Jerusalem is putting in all she has. And though it is quantifiably less than what the wealthy are putting in, it is proportionally much, much more.
He... watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. All of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
The bible and Christian tradition invite us to think proportionally about giving. The biblical standard is the tithe, or ten percent of income (net or gross, you pick). I encourage people to base their church giving on a percentage of income rather than a fixed amount because it is faithful, and because it levels the playing field. Someone with an income of $40,000 a year who is pledging, say, 8 percent of income is giving at the same level as someone with $400,000 pledging at 8 percent.
Well, it would be level if the six-figure person were pledging at the same percentage as the five-figure one – but that’s not often how it plays out. The higher earner will often look at the 8 percent number – whoa, $32,000?!? – and decide on a much lower pledge. The lower earner is more likely to settle on something close to the $3,200. Many studies have shown that poorer people give much more money away, supporting their churches, neighbors and communities far out of proportion to their income. As of ten years ago, wealthy Americans gave away an average of 1.3 percent of income, while poor ones gave 3.2 percent. (A British study found a gap of 5.4% vs. 2%, poor to rich respectively; here is a 2018 article; other articles counter this prevailing view.)
We can’t know what was going through the mind of that widow in Jerusalem, or that of a struggling single mother who donates generously to her church’s building fund, but we can conjecture that there is a freedom to their generosity and a willingness to trust. Maybe having less to hang onto releases our grip, and when we release our grip what position do our hands take? They are open to receive as well as give.
Generosity makes no sense if we don’t trust that we will have enough. Trusting in enough when we can’t see it is faith. The widow in Zarephath discovered that her oil and meal never ran out. I hope the widow in Jersualem was similarly provided for. God invites us to live open-handed and open-hearted, trusting that we will have what we need and often more. As we grow in trust, we may realize we don’t need quite as much “more” as we think, and that we can be God's hands, feet, voice and wallet no matter what our circumstances. If we don't give, how will God's children and widows get fed?
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