Economics – Peculiar Faith

Fierce and Faithful, Persistent and Poor: Walking with Widows on the Gospel Road

In the Gospel reading yesterday morning, the road to Jerusalem in Mark’s account of the Gospel at last brings Jesus and his followers to the Holy City.

It’s worth remembering when we read this story in the U.S., where “church” and “state” seem separated on paper only, that first-century Jerusalem was the seat of Judean religious power and also Roman imperial power for the province; these two forms of power come together at the temple treasury in the story from Mark (12:38-44).

Mark wastes no time in setting the stage for violent conflict in Jerusalem. Mark’s Jesus quickly clashes with every possible authority group in that capital city; in yesterday’s encounter, it was the “scribes,” the interpreters of Mosaic Law—the religious lawyers, in other words.

Mark’s Jesus has been arguing with these scribes about a wide range of issues and his patience has simply run out. Many Christians are familiar with Mark’s rendering of that moment, but probably not with an exasperated Jesus. While rich people drop big sums of money into the temple’s donation boxes, a poor widow contributes two small coins—all the money she has.

The lectionary compilers know quite well that late autumn is the time for fundraising campaigns in most churches—thus the readings about money at this time of year. But the temple story from Mark is far too often and too crudely used to guilt people into giving more money: If even a poor widow can give all she has to the Temple, then surely you can give a bit more to the church…

Mark would be horrified by using his story that way. The poor widow in this story is not the poster child for stewardship campaigns; she is, rather, the shining emblem of God’s own commitment to a world of justice. (Ched Myers provides an invaluable resource for interpreting Mark in the frames of social and economic justice; I am indebted to his analysis of this Markan story.)

As Mark’s Jesus continues his teaching in the temple, he issues a warning: “Beware of the scribes,” he says. Beware of the religious lawyers who tell you what the law means but then “devour” the houses of widows.

That rather strange phrase refers to a first-century legal practice regarding estate management. When the male head of a household died, his estate was given over to the religious scribes to administer because the widow, as a woman, was considered unfit to do so. (And by the way, lest we look down with smugness on that ancient practice, let us not forget that women in the United States were not allowed to have a credit card or take out a loan in their own name until 1974.)

Back in the first century, the scribes were compensated for their estate services by taking a percentage of the estate. As you might imagine, abuse was common in this system, forms of embezzlement to the point of impoverishing the widows—or as Mark’s Jesus puts it, the houses of widows were devoured.

“Beware of these religious scribes,” Jesus says, and then he sits down “opposite the treasury,” Mark says—a phrase we should read as not merely about geographical location but moral orientation: over and against it, as opposed to the temple treasury, where this social and economic abuse of widows is on display.

Quite honestly, after many decades of reading and hearing this story, I have consistently failed to see Mark’s point in telling it. The reason the widow is poor in this story is because the scribes have stolen her money—some of which they were putting in the offering plate, right in front of Jesus! These religious experts would have known that the Mosaic Law they claimed to interpret explicitly provided for the care of both widows and orphans; it was a divine commandment.

But right there, in the temple of God’s presence, the scribes no longer protect the poor but crush them, and then flaunt it. Right there in the outer court of the temple, economic oppression is on display and barely concealed with “long prayers,” as Mark puts it.

Jesus is outraged.

Despite all the pietistic sermons I have heard (and yes, preached) in the past about this impoverished woman giving all she has, Jesus is not commending the widow for her religious piety; he’s calling out the scribes for their religious hypocrisy. Jesus then leaves the temple in disgust, and, it turns out, for the last time before he is arrested and killed.

Among the four gospel writers, Mark is especially keen to address economic injustice as a vital component of the Gospel. Mark is also eager to point out how religion gets used to support the financial inequities of social systems—systems that are almost always designed to favor men.

When Mark’s Jesus insists that the poor widow has actually given more than all the rich people, he is not congratulating her or recommending this practice; he’s drawing attention to the injustice of a system in which the poor contribute proportionally far more to the system than those who are wealthy, a common dynamic in nearly every human society throughout human history—including the United States.

This kind of social and economic analysis can make most of us deeply uncomfortable, including me. But that is precisely the “discomfort zone” the Gospel calls us to inhabit, and I am fairly confident that this will increasingly be the case in the weeks and months to come.

Given the rocky road likely ahead of us, it’s worth remembering that the road to Jerusalem in Mark is the good road of the Gospel, the one that leads not only to the Cross but also the Empty Tomb. The good road of the Gospel marks a journey of costly discipleship for the sake of flourishing—for all. The good road of the Gospel is not easy to find, but just ask anyone on the margins of a wealthy and powerful world; they will have a map.

The many books of the Bible, written over many centuries by different communities, are remarkably consistent about this: care for the orphan, the widow, and the stranger is religiously non-negotiable; and resisting unjust systems of oppression is the very definition of discipleship—not because people on the margins deserve our pity (that tired old noblesse oblige of the wealthy West) but because the excluded and forgotten can usually show us the best road home.

Yesterday’s lectionary texts all confirm this—from the story in the Hebrew Bible about Elijah and the widow of Zarephath, a city of Gentiles and outsiders (1 Kings 17:8-16); or from the psalmist who praises God for giving justice to the oppressed, care to the stranger, and who sustains the orphan and widow (Ps. 146); and of course from Mark, whose story in the temple I now read quite differently than I ever have before: the poor widow embodies a fierce faithfulness, the persistence to live with the dignity God gave her while living with virtually nothing that the world should have given her.

Searching for appropriate visual images for worship this past week, I did a Google search for “poor widow,” and the usual suspects appeared immediately. But scrolling down the screen I stumbled on an odd match: “The Calla Lily Vendor,” by Alfredo Ramos Martinez. I still can’t figure out why Google included this one, but I’m glad for it. The “poor widow”—too often a frail old lady in my imagination—is just as likely a determined single mother doing whatever she must to care for her children as she is a demure recipient of social security checks.

“Calla Lily Vendor,” Alfredo Ramos Martinez (1929)

The stubborn faithfulness of widows—my own dear mother embodied this to the very day she died—showed up in all sorts of guises in recent days. A gay friend of mine posted on social media last Wednesday morning, the day after the election. He wrote about waking up disappointed and also afraid. “But then I realized,” he wrote, “that I woke up with the same two arms and the same two hands that I had yesterday. I realized that no election can take away my capacity for kindness, and love, and service.”

He noted that this election might very well take away his rights as a gay man; it might take away still more rights from women, who are already afraid for their safety. While this election might very well cause harm in countless ways, he wrote, “I will continue to choose kindness and love and service.”

That’s exactly the good road of the Gospel God always calls us to walk but especially right now. Mark’s story in the temple offered me a powerful reminder about how we learn to walk that Gospel road: in solidarity with the poor in a rich world; and with women in a patriarchal world; and therefore and also with LGBTQ people in a world of bullies.

Standing in solidarity with all those on the margins is a Gospel posture.

Walking with them is the way of discipleship.

Offering kindness and love to each other on the road is our service of healing.

This is always true, and that has always been how disciples of Jesus walk the Gospel road home, regardless of election outcomes.

Yes, and, I think it is especially true right now.

Norman Bates, Elder Care, and Jesus on the Cross

Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) horrifies for more than one reason. The reason I have in mind is only rarely mentioned in treatments of that film: going insane by taking care of an elderly mother who is already dead.

If all you can recall from that film is the now classic image of Janet Leigh’s character being brutally murdered in a shower, I invite you to consider the previous scene. Anthony Perkins’ character, Norman Bates, describes his conflicted relationship with his elderly mother. When Leigh’s character suggests that he might “institutionalize” his mother, he strenuously objects, insisting that he could never abandon her. The rest of the film unfolds with classic Hitchcock tension and, well, horror.

All of this cuts close to my bones as I am an only child of an elderly mother. Until recently, I thought I might be going insane trying to take care of my mom in my own home; I refused other options because I didn’t want to “abandon her.” I did that for nearly four years before she moved to a wonderful elder care residence not far from my house last month. My sanity – and thus my life – is slowly returning.

I share this because it’s not just my story. It is the story of a large and growing number of people in the United States and hardly anyone talks about it. I never heard it mentioned in this year’s Presidential debates and I never hear it mentioned in national or state budget negotiations. This is at least odd if not infuriating.

Did you know that Medicare does not cover nursing home expenses except for short-term stays after a hospitalization?

The looming (and already-upon-us) crisis is thus two-fold: emotional and financial. Responding to that two-fold crisis will mean delving into the truly peculiar character of Christian faith and practice.

The Emotional Toll
Through social media I stay in touch with a small group of peers and friends who are dealing with various kinds of elder care. Their stories and anecdotes are by turn hilarious, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching, and inspiring as we try to support each other as best we can.

Don’t for a moment think that “going insane” from dealing with an elderly parent is restricted to a Hitchcock film. The phrases and images I hear from these friends include: “I’m losing my mind”; “I’m desperate here, please help”; “I can’t keep doing this but I don’t have any options”; “I have to quit my job to care for him, but then how do I pay the bills?” That’s a short list of the emotional and relational agony of doing this work of love and devotion – and that’s what it is.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but Norman Bates is not an outlier. I would wager that some of your friends and colleagues are, right now, on the brink of “Bates-related-insanity.”

The Financial Toll
The “fiscal cliff”? Really? Let me — and so many others — tell you about a fiscal cliff. Those of us caring for elderly parents sit on that edge every day. But don’t just take my word for it,. The demographic statistics are alarming. I have found a modicum of sanity in my life only because of some fortuitous financial resources. The vast majority of people in this country don’t have that luxury. Consider the following factoids from this helpful site:

Chance that a senior citizen will become physically or cognitively impaired in their lifetime: 2 in 3
Chance that a senior citizen will enter a nursing home: 1 in 3
Chance that a patient in a U.S nursing home is sedated or physically restrained: 1 in 2
Average cost to stay in a US nursing home for one year: $76,680
Percentage of older population with long term care needs who live at or near the poverty level: 40%

So, have an extra $75,000 to throw around to take care of granny? No? What will you do? Are you single, like me? Who the hell is going to take care of you when you get old and “useless”?

Jesus on the Cross
I am absolutely convinced that retrieving the peculiarity of Christian faith and practice can help with our elder care crisis and so much more. How about this: As Jesus suffered in extremis on the cross, he looked at the “disciple whom he loved” and at his mother. Here’s how “John” described that moment:

“Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home” (John 19:25-27).

John’s Jesus exposes the lie at the heart of today’s religious rhetoric about “family values.”
John’s Jesus excoriates all those religious leaders extolling “traditional marriage” while their elders languish.
John’s Jesus urges a robust critique of the “nuclear family” as the building block for late global capitalism.
John’s Jesus, in the very throes of death, offers a compelling vision for creating a humane and thriving society that values elders by creating homes.

John’s Jesus fuels my impatience for any “Christian economics” that doesn’t account for the care, nurture, and love of the elders among us. The crisis is here. What shall our peculiar Christian faith say about it? Is your church even talking about the social policy implications of all this?

Much more needs to be done today about Christian faith and economics, not to mention families.

Isn’t it time to retrieve the revolutionary implications of the Gospel? Sound too radical? Do you have an elderly parent?

Voicing a Vision: Compulsory Marriage, Part 3

Marriage is not necessarily sinful, just a distraction from the more important work of ministry. That was what the Apostle Paul seemed to think (1 Corinthians 7:25-32); and the Church has never figured out what to make of it.

While there has never been a coherent tradition of “marriage theology” in Christian history, we can say this much: the Church usually reacts to whatever else is going on in the wider culture or in its own ranks, whether in response to Greco-Roman marriage practices, the privileging of monastic vocations, or the emergence of an official state contract that decided how to divvy up property for legitimate heirs (which happened relatively late in European history).

Today’s complex socio-religious landscape threatens to lure the Church into that familiar, reactive pattern – either the Church embraces or rejects the State’s decisions about civil marriage.

Civil marriage equality ought to be a no-brainer for the Church – it’s a civil contract to which any couple should have access. But is that all the Church wants to say about marriage? Will the Church simply baptize Las Vegas wedding chapels and be done with it? Couldn’t Christians offer something a bit more compelling, something people want to hear but don’t expect the Church to say?

The Church has an unprecedented opportunity today to voice a vision of human relationships that speaks to how people really live their lives, and in the process, advance what Jesus called the “kingdom of God.” I don’t know everything about what that vision ought to entail, but here are just a few thoughts toward it, clustered around families, finances, and fidelity (yes, I like alliteration).

1. Families

A recent congressional hearing on the “Defense of Marriage Act” highlighted the paucity of coherent arguments among those who oppose marriage equality. Among the several absurd things now on the congressional record is this: “Marriage makes a family.”

No, actually, it doesn’t. Civil marriage makes a contract between two people. That contract comes with a lot of benefits, but “family” is not among them. My mother and I are a family, not because we have a contract but because of the love, care, compassion, and commitment of our relationship. That’s what “makes a family.”

The Church could voice a vision about families by, well, turning to Jesus. When told that his mother and brothers were waiting to see him, Jesus said, “whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:50). And when he was dying on the cross, Jesus looked at his mother and his beloved disciple and said, “Woman, here is your son.” And to the disciple, “Here is your mother” (John 19:26-27).

Let’s be clear here: The State does not (and probably never will) recognize either of those two Gospel forms of family as a family. But the Church can and should do that. If the Church did, thousands of people would be profoundly grateful.

2. Finances

If I lost my job tomorrow, my health insurance would become exorbitantly expensive. Linking health care to employment is among the more absurd features of American culture. And marriage matters here because of another absurd feature of American culture: If you’re unemployed but married to an employed person, you can get access to your spouse’s health insurance.

Why in the world should affordable health insurance be linked to whether or not you’re married? As I noted in Part One of this mini-series, health insurance is just one reason why the so-called “freedom to marry” quickly becomes the “necessity to marry” just to get access to a physician.

There are many other financial benefits that attach to marriage, and the Church might turn to Jesus (again) for developing its own voice. Jesus looked rather askance, to say the least, at the privileging of some types of social relation over others.

The Church could voice a different vision by insisting that we no longer live with economically or socially privileged relationships. Everyone should have equal access to what everyone needs to thrive and flourish, regardless of the relationships to which they are called – both human and other animals. I know that sounds like socialism. Don’t blame me; blame Jesus.

3. Fidelity

Everyone knows what “infidelity” means without having to spell it out – a spouse broke a sexual rule. But that kind of marital fidelity emerged in human history mostly to protect property inheritance rights for legitimate heirs.

Biblical writers had a dramatically different view: faithfulness is not about what one cannot do, it is instead what enables one to do something better. The Hebrew prophets denounced the “adulterous” practices of Israel because they weren’t caring for orphans and widows, or showing hospitality to strangers, or tending the land responsibly, or practicing economic justice for the poor. Faithfulness to their covenant with God would have enabled them to do all of that and more.

The Church could offer a compelling vision of fidelity by paying attention to Jesus (again). We know a good tree, Jesus said, not just be looking at it but by the kind of fruit it yields (Matthew 7:16).What does your relationship (of whatever type) enable you to do to make the world a better place?

Civil marriage contracts don’t make families, and they don’t create financial justice for all, and they don’t empower people with the gifts of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23). That doesn’t make civil marriage “bad,” just short of the Gospel mark toward which the Church could and should aim.

But covenantal relationships (of various types), entered into deliberately and with spiritual intention, can create families, and promote economic justice for all, and bear fruit in households and communities of remarkable generosity, hospitality, and compassion.

That’s the vision the Church could be voicing today by saying unequivocally two things at the same time: 1) civil marriage equality is good and necessary for social justice; and 2) civil marriage equality is not nearly enough for a Gospel vision of human thriving.

If the Church voiced that vision, we’d see many more people saying “I do” to queerly Christian discipleship.

I Do and So Must You: Compulsory Marriage, Part 1

Full civil marriage equality for lesbian and gay couples now stands within reach. If the Roman Catholic governor of New York can get this done, so can everyone else. This is nothing short of amazing and cause for great celebration. If we’re not careful, however, this heady moment could derail a queerly Christian witness to the good news of the Gospel.

I worry, for example, that at least one diocese in the Episcopal Church has so quickly boarded the state’s marriage train that it left its theological luggage in the station. The Diocese of Long Island, responding to the recent marriage equality legislation in New York, is now requiring its clergy in same-gender relationships to get married. Some of these couples may have had their relationship liturgically celebrated and blessed already, yet Long Island is now relying on the state’s civil contract to make those relationships religiously legitimate. (Read more about those diocesan policies and their national implications here.)

In microcosm, Long Island casts the ongoing confusions between Church and State in bold relief. Surely Christians want to say something more about marriage than whatever the state says about it. But what do we want to say?

I recently heard feminist Catholic theologian Mary Hunt preach a wonderful sermon in which she applauded the inevitable march toward full marriage equality and then urged us to imagine how we can do better.

Marriage, she said (rather provocatively), is not a right but a privilege. Health care, on the other hand, is not a privilege but a right. We can do better than marriage equality if we detach the basic human right to health care from the privileging of just one kind of relationship. If we continue to make human rights contingent on a privileged relationship, then the “freedom to marry” quickly becomes the “necessity to marry” just to get affordable access to a physician.

In a similar vein, Christian ethicist Marvin Ellison has noted that the divorce rate is so high in the United States because the marriage rate is so high. Ellison would have us notice, in other words, that marriage has become the default position for what it means to be a grown-up, a rite of passage into being a responsible, contributing member of society. Here the “freedom to marry” becomes the “pressure to marry” just to look like an adult.

In the midst of this ever-shifting cultural landscape, the Church has good reasons to applaud the freedom to marry as a matter of social justice. But is that all? The Church can and should do better. The Church can and should bear witness to something other than the economic necessity to marry or the social pressure to marry, and the Church could do this by turning to its own theological traditions.

To be sure, there is no single, coherent theology of marriage in Christian history, but there are rich theological themes in that history that we can still tap today. Christian traditions, for example, invite us to consider marriage as a vocation to which some but not all people are called. There are many other vocational paths through which we can bear witness to the good news of the Gospel and the Church can and should celebrate them as well.

Other themes in Christian history also come to mind to provoke our spiritual imagination – the creation of households (of many various types), the significance of covenants (rather than contracts), how relationships of all kinds empower us for ministry in the world, to name just a few.

Most of all, perhaps, many married couples know what the Church seems rather strangely to have forgotten: marriage is not the best thing we can hope for. Yet over the course of several centuries in the modern West, the Church has baptized marriage as the apex of human fulfillment – just ask the modern wedding industry how much it costs to celebrate that fulfillment.

Both Jesus and the Apostle Paul would find such exultation of marriage rather strange indeed, as both of them suggested something quite different: rather than marriage, union with God is the apex of human fulfillment. At its best, marriage can only reflect and point to that hopeful promise and, thankfully, other types of covenantal relationship can do the same.

Everyone who wants to enter into a civil marriage contract should be able to do so. The Church should say that, loudly and clearly. The Church could also say something else: no one should feel compelled to get married for economic or social reasons. And to those who don’t want to get married, the Church can offer some queerly Christian hope: you can live a full, meaningful, responsible, adult life – even if you’re not married.

Will the Church say those important things? Only if it ends its collusion with the State. And I’ll say more about that in Part Two. Stay tuned.