I have a confession to make. This reflection almost didn’t happen.
And if you listened last week, you may be thinking, “Wait a minute. Didn’t you say basically the same thing last week?”
Yes. Yes, I did.
And I’m beginning to think perhaps God is trying to tell me something.
Last week got away from me. I had been busy, I hadn’t recorded Between Sundays, and suddenly there I was trying to figure out whether I had enough time to do something worthwhile.
This week... well, here we are again. And I don’t want Between Sundays to become Whatever Donn Managed to Throw Together on Wednesday Afternoon. That’s not the spiritual discipline I’m aiming for.
But it has made me think about something.
What counts as enough? That’s a question that shows up in a lot more places than a weekly reflection.
Did I spend enough time with somebody who needed me?
Did I do enough to help?
Did I pray enough?
Did I prepare enough?
Did I say enough?
Did I listen enough?
And sometimes the question underneath all of those is even more uncomfortable:
Am I enough?
There’s a story in Mark’s Gospel where Jesus is sitting across from the Temple treasury, watching people put money into the offering boxes. A lot of wealthy people are putting in large amounts. Then a poor widow comes along and puts in two tiny coins. Jesus calls his disciples over and tells them that this woman has put in more than everyone else. They gave out of their abundance. She gave out of her poverty.
Now, I’ve heard that story used a lot of ways over the years, usually around stewardship campaigns. There are some difficult questions around using the story that way, especially because Jesus has just criticized religious leaders for exploiting widows. So I don’t think we should turn it into a simple lesson that says God expects us to empty our bank accounts.
But by almost any ordinary measurement, those two coins weren’t enough.
They weren’t enough to repair the Temple. They weren’t enough to fund some great ministry. Nobody in charge of the treasury was going to look at the books at the end of the day and say, “Thank goodness that widow showed up. Now we can finally meet the budget.”
Two coins. And Jesus noticed.
That matters when we’re deciding whether what we have to offer is worth offering. Sometimes we don’t make the phone call because we don’t know what to say.
Sometimes we don’t visit because we only have twenty minutes.
Sometimes we don’t pray because our mind is scattered and we know perfectly well we’re going to get distracted halfway through.
Sometimes we see a problem that is so much bigger than anything we can do about it that doing one small thing seems almost pointless.
And sometimes we don’t start something because we already know we can’t do it as well as we think it ought to be done.
I know that one pretty well.
But there’s another side to this.
“God can use whatever I give” can become a mighty convenient excuse for not giving very much.
Sometimes I really could have prepared better.
Sometimes I could have made the phone call yesterday instead of waiting until today.
Sometimes “I did what I could” really means, “I did what was convenient.”
Usually, somewhere down inside, I know the difference.
So instead of asking, “Is this enough?” a better question is, “Is this what I have to offer faithfully right now?”
Small and careless aren’t the same thing. That widow’s offering was small. But nobody could call it careless. She offered what she had.
Some days, we have abundant time, energy, resources, or attention. On those days, faithfulness may mean giving generously out of that abundance.
Other days, we only have two coins.
Maybe you’ve had days when even praying felt like that. You sit down intending to spend some time with God, and your mind wanders before you finish the first sentence. You finally manage something like, “God, I don’t even know what I need today.”
Is that enough? “Enough” isn’t even the right measurement.
Paul once prayed repeatedly for something he wanted God to change. We don’t know exactly what it was. We just know Paul wanted it gone, and it didn’t go away.
And the answer he finally heard from God was, “My grace is enough for you.”
I find it interesting that God didn’t tell Paul, “You are enough.”
God said, “My grace is enough.”
I think some of our anxiety about being enough results from our constant attempt to manufacture “enoughness.” Enough wisdom. Enough patience. Enough strength. Enough faith. Enough time. Enough good intentions. Enough perfectly chosen words.
But grace says we don’t have to manufacture what only God can supply.
We still bring what we have. We still try, prepare, pay attention, do the work that love asks us to do. But faithfulness doesn’t require us to wait until what we have feels impressive.
Sometimes faithfulness looks like two coins.
Sometimes it looks like twenty minutes.
Sometimes it looks like a prayer that gets interrupted six times.
Sometimes it looks like sitting beside somebody and admitting, “I don’t know what to say.”
Sometimes it looks like doing one small good thing in the face of a problem far too large for us to solve.
Apparently Jesus notices things like that.
For the record, I’m hoping next week’s spiritual insight arrives sometime before Wednesday afternoon.
But this week, this is what I have.
Maybe you’ve got two coins of your own today. In a lot of ways they’re not enough. Not enough to solve everything. Not enough to meet every need. Not enough to become the person you think you ought to be by bedtime. Just something you can offer faithfully, with love.
The question isn’t whether it’s enough. We already know it’s not enough by those measures. The question is whether we’re willing to offer it, and trust God with what happens next.
Let’s pray.
Father, sometimes what we have to offer doesn’t feel like enough. Help us know when you’re calling us to give more, and when you’re simply asking us to give what we have. And when we come up short, teach us to trust that your grace is enough. Amen.
