A reflection on Mark 12:38-44

I am a lawyer, or what’s called in the Bible one of the “teachers of the law.” Law may be the only profession for which it is socially acceptable for the punch line of the joke to be some form of, “I wish you were dead.” Could it be that Mark 12:38-44 is the origin of making lawyer jokes socially acceptable?

Most Bible translations label verses 38-40 something like, “Warning Against the Teachers of the Law.” And what a warning it is! In fact, this passage and the same story in Luke 20 are the only times in the Bible where Jesus directly proclaims that people will be punished.

Verses 41-44 are often labelled something like, “The Widow’s Offering.” This is significant because the widow gives her last two coins. But all seven of these verses do go together as one passage. If someone puts two coins in our offering at church, none of us knows if those are their last two coins. In fact, we will assume they are not their last two coins.

So how did Jesus and the others know that the widow had put her last two coins in the offering? They already knew something about this woman. She was not a stranger but was well known. She was one of the widows described in the previous verses, whose house the teachers of the law had “devoured.”

The widow’s offering underscores the first teaching of this passage: Actions matter. The teachers of the law acted in a way that was accepted in their culture but unacceptable to Jesus. They had power and used it to take the widow’s house and almost everything the widow owned. Jesus said that because of their actions, they deserved to be punished.

But the teachers of the law did not take those last two coins. The widow voluntarily placed them in the treasury. Jesus seems to praise the widow for giving out of her poverty. It seems Jesus is accepting her poverty. We might describe the widow as “resilient.”

Let me link this to my experience in Haiti. The Haitian people have experienced enormous hardship, but they have incredible pride. Africans were brought to Haiti as slaves, and they gained their freedom and independence in 1804, even before slavery was abolished in the United States. But generations of dictators, poverty and hurricanes made it seem even more cruel when the earthquake in January 2010 killed tens of thousands of people.

Many Haitians have been reduced often to their last two coins, as was the widow in our story. Yet even through it all, the Haitian people are strong. I’ve been there twice since the earthquake. I know, and many people acknowledge it.

Haitians are incredibly resilient.

So it struck me when a friend of mine whose work focuses on Haiti sent me a quote from a Haitian man who had grown tired of being called “resilient.”

Ilio Durandis wrote this in an email to my friend shortly after the January 2010 earthquake: “There is nothing sexy about being a resilient people. On the contrary, everything about resiliency connotes misery, exploitation, acceptance, victimization and so on. After 206 years of independence, we would hope to have become a people of progress, determination, success. We must become tired of being resilient. … I do not wish to live my whole life being resilient.”

Couldn’t you see that widow who gave her last two coins saying the same thing? If she could speak this morning, wouldn’t she say, “I don’t want to be known for being resilient. I don’t want to be known for being generous out of my poverty, as though my poverty was acceptable. What I did was much more powerful,” the widow might say.

Until she gave those two coins, the actions of the teachers of the law were accepted. By giving those last two coins, this widow exposed the injustice of what the teachers of the law had done. That is why all seven of these verses must be read together.

Let’s put the widow’s offering in a broader context. We are all familiar with the passage in Matthew 5:38-42 (NIV):

You have heard that it was said, “Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.” But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

American theologian Walter Wink provides the best analysis of these verses and shows how Jesus is not suggesting weakness but strength.

Why does Jesus counsel people to turn the other cheek? Because this action robs the other of the power to humiliate. The person who turns the other cheek is saying, in effect, “Try again. Your first blow failed to achieve its intended effect. I deny you the power to humiliate me. I am a human being just like you. Your status does not alter that fact. You cannot demean me.”

Likewise, Walter Wink analyzes how handing over your coat or going the second mile transcends the ability of the oppressor to humiliate.

This widow has taken this teaching to a whole new level. The teachers of the law took her house and everything she owned except two coins. They liked to have “the most important seats in the synagogues” and probably watched as people gave their offerings. They had humiliated many, but this widow transcended their ability to humiliate her.

She did more than turn the other cheek; she did more than give her coat; she did more than go the second mile. She exposed the injustice of what the teachers of the law had done when she gave her last two coins. And everyone knew it.

Actions matter. Jesus could have described what the teachers of the law did and condemned them without focusing on their attitude. But most of the passage focused on their arrogance. They wore long, flowing robes, liked to be greeted with respect and liked the most important seats at the synagogue and places of honor at banquets. Other passages also talk about robes or cloaks or gowns. The Greek word used in Mark 12 is “stole.” That is the origin of our English word “stole,” which can mean a long robe.

“Stole” in English can also be a long band worn traditionally around the neck by bishops and priests and over the left shoulder by deacons. They may look something like the purple hood I wear with an academic robe to represent my law degree.

What can you do when you are dressed like this? You can hope you won’t need to go to the bathroom. You can’t bend over to tie your shoe. You can’t get your keys out of your pocket.

Now imagine several rows of people dressed like this, and imagine their acrobatics when a cell phone goes off in the middle of a prayer. Wearing such a robe, you stand out, and it sets you apart in a group where others aren’t dressed the same.

Whenever I had to wear this as president [of Bethel College in North Newton, Kan.], I took it off as soon as I could. But the teachers of the law in Mark 12 liked the status of wearing their robes around the synagogue.

The teachers of the law were not the only people who wore robes then. Jesus also wore one. Remember how the woman got close to Jesus to touch his robe because she thought that would heal her? When Jesus noticed, he made it clear that the robe itself did not have power but told the woman her faith had healed her (Mark 5:24-34).

That robe in Mark 5 was not the ceremonial “stole” the teachers of the law wore in Mark 12. There the Greek word is “himation.” It was probably more of a coat or cloak.

Do you remember another time Jesus wore this kind of coat? In John 13, Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. But before he could wash the disciples’ feet, he took off his outer clothing.

In New Testament times, people bathed before going to a banquet or dinner, such as for the evening meal described in John 13. Those arriving at the meal had on their outer clothing, and it was typical for the servant in the house to wash their feet when they arrived. That was the part of the body that was no longer clean after walking through the dusty streets to the dinner.

In that context it was significant that Jesus had to take off his cloak; had he been the servant of the house he would not have had a cloak on. When the cloak means something, taking it off to wash another’s feet is more significant. In Mark 12, the teachers of the law did not take off their robes. They enjoyed wearing them, walking around the marketplaces, being greeted with respect and seated at the places of honor at banquets. They thought they were showing what it meant to love God.

In John 13, however, Jesus shows what it means to love God and your neighbor. He shows that it requires something of each person. We witnessed that in our overseas assignments in Haiti and Bolivia. Education and strong resumés can create a sense of arrogance and separation, like wearing a ceremonial robe. I’ve seen it.

For North Americans working in another country, education and strong resumés can create a sense of knowing the answers and being prepared to provide them or even impose them. That’s why it was always so refreshing to see a highly skilled, highly educated person enter a community with a sense of reverence for the people there.

Entering a community with a commitment to listen and learn and show respect for local people did not diminish the skill and education of the outsider.

Rather, it created an environment in which dignity and progress could join hands, where collaboration prevailed over polarities between us and them. It demonstrated taking off the robe or cloak to serve others.

There is another component of the cloak that is equally important. It is possible to wash another’s feet for altruistic reasons but without a sense of reverence. It is possible to serve your neighbor with selfish motivations. But washing another’s feet in response to Jesus’ call to love both God and your neighbor makes it an act of worship. It makes it a proclamation that Jesus is Lord.

That is what the teachers of the law did not understand. And that is what the widow knew instinctively.

Turning back to the earthquake in January 2010, a Canadian friend of mine was in Haiti as the earth shook and the structures collapsed and the sky turned dark. She wrote of that experience:

“On the Friday afternoon before leaving Haiti, I asked to be driven downtown. I wanted to chronicle these images of Haiti. I wanted them to be part of my being. I wanted never to forget these days of my life. One image significantly affecting was that of a cross … the sole remnant of what was once a grand church. Throughout my 40 years (and four days) in Haiti, I have had many opportunities to meet people who come to Haiti who believe that they have been called to this mission … to save and fix and heal Haiti. We come … they say, to bring love and happiness. We come because we are blessed. Haiti is poor. Haiti needs us. However, time after time I have heard testimony as to how Haiti has in turn loved, healed, redeemed.

“Perhaps it is that Haiti is not the mission? Perhaps it is we who are the mission? Perhaps it is here, in this poor, devastated corner of the world that Christ lives and calls us to be forgiven? Perhaps that lonely naked and holy icon of the thorn-crowned Christ amid the rubble is the prophetic sign? Perhaps on that fateful day of Jan. 12 we became witness to the supreme sacrifice of Haiti? I pray that in the months and years to come, that it may not signify its last frontier of loss … that of our humanity.”

For that is what the teachers of the law had lost—their humanity. That is what we lose if we cling to our flowing robes, our status, and simply admire the resiliency of those less fortunate. May we always keep actions and attitude together, proclaiming by our lives that our faith in God cannot be separated from our service of others.

Barry C. Bartel is a member of Glennon Heights Mennonite Church, Lakewood, Colo., where he gave this sermon on Mission Sunday in November 2012.