Mark 12:38-44 [13:1-2]
As [Jesus] taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”
He sat down opposite the treasury, and 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. 44For 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.”
As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!" Then Jesus asked him, "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."
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In the gap between finishing seminary and receiving my first call, I applied for a number of part-time jobs to help make ends meet.
One of the jobs I applied for was a listing in the classifieds for an assistant in an eye doctor’s office that was associated with nearby Northwestern University. I sent in my materials and was called in for an interview.
I was expecting to show up at a medical building, and I was expecting the job I was interviewing for to be a matter of typing and filing and managing documents and answering phones.
Instead, I pulled up to an old Chicago brownstone duplex, right on the edge of campus, that had been converted into an office suite, though “converted” might be a bit of an oversell. I found the office and entered the original heavy, dark wood door, as if I were just bursting into someone’s apartment without knocking.
The layout of the office was still the original apartment layout, and the old floors and old wood trim had been preserved. I stepped into what once had been a living room, and through the doorways to the other rooms, I could see a bunch of young people, college research students, presumably, leading patients through a bizarre set of games and exercises. I felt confused and nervous. There was no reception desk. No eye charts. No fancy chair where they flip the lenses and ask you, “which is better, 1 or 2? 3 or 4?”
The doctor who had placed the ad welcomed me and took me to one of the rooms where people were working. He began leading me through a series of exercises, not unlike the sorts of optical illusion games you might play at a science museum. One involved putting on goggles that skewed my vision such that all straight lines looked curved. Another involved putting my face up to a machine and tracking the shapes and lights that I saw. Meanwhile, behind me, there was a woman, presumably a patient, whose current task was to trace a circle on a chalkboard, over and over and over again.
After he led me through all these exercises, he “auditioned” me on leading others through these exercises, and then he half-diagnosed me, telling me that with training, he could increase my field of vision and really help me see better, and it was all very strange, and I didn’t get the job.
On later reflection and with a little internet research, I figured out that this doctor wasn’t a clinical eye doctor who takes pictures of the back of your eyes and helps you get glasses. Instead, he was the equivalent of an occupational therapist, but for sight. He was a doctor and researcher who was concerned with helping people re-train their eyes to help them to see better; to increase their field of vision; to teach their eyes how to see all over again. (I wish he'd said as much in his classified ad!)
Jesus takes a seat opposite the temple treasury, alongside his disciples. It takes them no effort to see the wealthy ones, standing there with their fine robes, praying their long prayers, dropping their hefty offerings into the treasury box from a little height so that their coins clang to the bottom of the box noisily, as if they are sounding a bell to alert all bystanders of their superior gifts. The disciples’ eyes are drawn to the spectacle, and their eyes are drawn upward to the size and beauty of the temple buildings, and they might have just stood there gawking at all of these displays of wealth and power had Jesus not redirected their gaze.
Jesus leads their eyes to a sight beyond their usual field of vision, to a poor widow, who is also bringing her offering to the treasury. A poor woman, remarkable in no way, struggling in every way.
The crowds rush past this woman without giving a second glance. The wealthy toss around their offerings right over her shoulder, as if she didn’t exist.
But Jesus. Jesus sees the woman. Jesus notices her when no one else does. He pays attention to her circumstances when everyone else ignores her. He speaks her truth: “She has given everything, all that she has to live on.”
And I wonder…how many of you, sitting out there today, feel a little bit like that widow right now. Like life has demanded of you so much these days that you, too, only have a few pennies left over. Like the world is rushing around you, and everybody else seems to have energy and confidence and means and faith to spare. And nobody seems to notice you. Or nobody looks at you long enough to recognize that you are struggling.
And maybe the good news in this story today has absolutely nothing to do with money or charity or justice, and everything to do with the fact that Jesus sees you in your poverty. Jesus notices you when the rest of the world doesn’t. Jesus doesn’t shame you for what you lack. Jesus doesn’t immediately try to give you self-help books or life coaching sessions. Jesus simply sees you. And Jesus knows your truth. And Jesus loves you.
Jesus sees you when you are at the end of your resources. When you are tired. When you are overwhelmed. When you have nothing left to give. When you have nothing left to live for. When you are barely hanging on.
Jesus sees you when you have been devoured. When you have been steamrolled by even the most well-meaning of institutions. When you time and your gifts have been exploited. When your needs have been overlooked for the needs of the powerful or the many.
Jesus sees you. And Jesus loves you.
But more than that: Jesus is also the occupational therapist for our eyes and our hearts. Jesus keeps pointing and shifting our gaze so that we can see the world as he does. Jesus keeps expanding our field of vision. Jesus is in the business of retraining our eyes so that we can see others in their struggles, too.
I think that sometimes we think that we are only truly living our faith if we can go into action mode, solving all the world’s problems in Jesus’ name. And sometimes we get scared of seeing one another in our struggles if we don’t have the capacity to fix what is broken.
But sometimes the first way that we can be Christ to one another is by offering one another the dignity of saying, “I see you. And I love you.”
I see you, drowsy parent who has wrestled your kids into clothes and come here this morning because you need words of hope and your kids need some extra hugs and attention from loving church members.
I see you, heartbroken friend, mourning spouse, grieving mother, still feeling disoriented from a loss, recent or longstanding, still feeling helpless to lighten the weight of your grief.
I see you, anxious soul who feels honest despair over politics but who feels too ashamed to talk about your fears.
I see you, nervous worshiper, who has been absent from worship a lot because it has been too hard to add another commitment to the week, or too hard to be around people, or because you are are afraid that you will be judged for not being showered or ironed or happy or friendly or “okay.”
I see you, struggling family, and the way that offerings and stewardship letters make you uncomfortable because you aren’t sure you can make ends meet.
I see you, sitting there weak in body, waiting for a diagnosis and feeling hopeless, living with chronic illness and feeling overwhelmed.
I see you, fretting member, who feels torn between your desire to have a church home and your deep feelings of hurt over something that this congregation has done, or left undone, or done wrongly.
Just as Jesus knows the widow’s story, and loves her, and does not shame her for her poverty, so also does Jesus retrain our eyes to see one another with the same grace and love.
I wish I could fix all that is broken in this world. Maybe you feel that way too.
But until then, we can offer each other the dignity of being seen and loved in this place. We can hear God’s story of repeatedly seeking out the lost and the forgotten. We can pray together, for all of the things that we cannot yet fix for each other, trusting each other to God’s mercy. And we can share a meal where, before the bread is placed in your hand, your eyes are met, and your dignity is seen. And then, having been seen, you receive for your nourishment Christ himself, and all his love and his mercy and his forgiveness and his promise. Not because of your poverty. Or in spite of it. But simply because Christ loves you. As he sees you. As you are.
Go, therefore, to love one another. As you see them. As they are. And in this way, you will be the hands and feet - and eyes! - of Christ in this world that is so desperate for the dignity and the hope that only he can bring. Bring mercy into the world, insofar as the Spirit gives you ability. See one another. And love one another. As Christ has seen and loved you. Amen.
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