Doing Church 6 – Give
by Ruth Wilkinson
Today was Tuesday. For Jesus, Sunday and Monday had both been very, very busy days. Chaotic even. Days filled with anger and joy, and the tears that arose from both.
Wednesday was going to be a day when he could rest and spend time with friends in Bethany.
Thursday was going to be a day for sharing his last meal, his last teaching, his last moments with his disciples before his death.
Friday… He didn’t even want to think about Friday. Not yet.
It was enough that today was Tuesday and he was in the Temple: the glorious, lively Temple, the soaring, golden tribute to the worship of Yahweh God by the people who loved him. The building that was the home to all the soul of Israel.
He’d been here yesterday as well. On Monday morning, he’d woken up early in Martha’s house in Bethany. He’d walked down the hill and up the other side of the valley. Into the city, up the stairs, through the gate. Yesterday he’d only gotten as far as the outer court (what they called the ‘Court of the Gentiles’) which was the only part of the Temple where people from other nations were allowed to come, where foreigners who loved and obeyed Yahweh God could stand, and the closest they were allowed to come to the Holiest Place. This was their space for worship and for prayer.
Yesterday, not for the first time, it had been filled with tables and chairs. The noise of negotiation. Animals and smells and the sound of money clinking from one hand to another. Jesus had seen that before, of course, a number of times. But yesterday he knew that it was time to act. And yesterday he had acted. He made a whip. He flipped the tables, tossed the chairs, scattered the money into the dirt. He locked eyes with the priests and declared,
It is written. My house will be a house of prayer for all nations. And you have made it a den of thieves. (Luke 19:45-46)
In the middle of all that chaos, some people had run away, but others had come to find him: people who were blind, people who were lame or diseased. Children. The powerless. The hand that had been holding the whip let it fall and touched them with gentleness. He blessed them and he healed them.
The priests and the officials who should have known better were furious. But the children who knew nothing sang truth:
Hosanna! Hosanna to the son of David. (Matthew 21:14-15)
That was Monday. So it was no wonder that today, when he came back into the Temple, when they saw him coming through the gate, there were people who gave him the stink-eye.
In the outer court the tables were back, the noise was back, the animals were back, the profiteers were back. The foreigners were pushed back to the margins. There were a few more Temple guards on duty than usual, and they were watching him thinking, ‘Keep moving…’
And he had. He kept moving through the Court of the Gentiles, through the gate into what was called the ‘Court of Women.’ Those few steps closer to the Holiest Place, where all of Israel was allowed to come, men and women, but only people of Israel. Foreigners had to stay outside. There were ‘do not enter’ signs in different languages, letting everybody know where the line was.
In the Court of Women, it was still busy—busier than usual, because it was Passover season and people were arriving in Jerusalem. It was busy, but it was quieter. This space hadn’t been exploited—turned to other purposes—like out there.
Today, for Jesus, it was a day to sit in the Temple. Sometimes in the shade, sometimes in the sun, answering questions, telling stories, debating, warning, watching people come and go.
Watching families arriving for the annual Passover festival. Families trying to herd their children and keep the kids in line. Families laughing and arguing. I think Jesus probably smiled as he remembered his own family doing the exact same thing. Remembered his own young self, wide-eyed, when everything was so much bigger. Remembering Mary and remembering good, beloved Joseph.
They were people just like these. They were ordinary people coming to the Temple to bring their offerings and to say their prayers. I wonder if maybe that’s part of the reason why Jesus noticed… her. I wonder whether those memories on that day—which would be his final day in the Temple—brought back the stories his parents had told him about his first time here.
He couldn’t remember it, of course, being only a month old, but they never forgot and they made sure he knew.
So he knew about old Simeon, who had held the baby Jesus in his arms and given thanks to Yahweh God, blessed this child and lamented over what was to come.
And he knew about Anna. Old, old Anna, the widow who had spent her days and her nights in the Temple praying and fasting and worshipping God in this very court where Jesus sat now. I think he must have imagined her from time to time over the years wondering about her life and what had happened to her. Picturing her. In his mind, maybe… maybe… she looked just like… that. Just like that woman there.
Walking towards the offering box.
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Today was Tuesday. Jesus sat in the Temple watching as that woman walked to give her offering. She had already paid her taxes. She had already paid her tithe. She had already met her obligations and she had nothing left. Except what was in her hand.
Still, she wanted to say ‘thank you.’ She lived a hard, unpredictable life. She lived in a city under occupation. She lived in a world that trafficked and exploited the vulnerable.
And she had no idea that God himself was sitting in the shade in the corner over there. Watching her walk. Seeing her heart.
Noticing the frayed edges of her clothing, but also seeing the richness of her faith.
Hearing her tell the priest on duty at the offering box, “2 pennies,” but also feeling the prayer that she prayed as she opened her hand to let fall the last coins she owned.
God himself saw her sacrifice. He saw her gratitude. He saw her humility. He saw her trust, and her love. God saw her faithfulness.
Today was Tuesday. But today was also Forever. God was present in his Temple, as his people—we his people (often uncertain, sometimes doubting, sometimes faithless, but never abandoned)—we are walking towards the offering box.
Ruth Wilkinson is a pastor in Ontario, Canada and appears here most Fridays. Her sermon blog is Pastor Percipia. Click the title of this post for a link to the original article and a video sermon of which this is an excerpt. This is part 6 of a 6-part focus. Ruth returns in 2 weeks.
Christianity 201 
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