By Rev. Russell Daye
St. Andrew's United Church, Halifax

True Confessions of a Hypocrite

Mark 12:38-44

When one faithfully attends to a spiritual practice, surprising gifts of the Spirit are sometimes bestowed. One of them can be direct insight into the inner life of people around you. You might be walking down Spring Garden Rd. and, all of a sudden, you stop seeing people as they have prepared themselves to be seen - hair combed, clothes nicely assembled, face set in an air of confidence. You start seeing the part of them that is living under the surface. You may perceive a deep sadness, or joy, or fear, or anger. You may see that, under the brave face, there is someone who is really wracked by worry. You may observe a deep wisdom or dynamism that a person carries under a humble exterior. Usually this capacity for direct knowing fades after a while.

I don't know if any of you have this insight into the inner life of others, but you do have insight into your own interior lives, don't you? We know the secret passions and shames and fears and joys that we try to hide from others. Or do we? Our acuity is limited even when it comes to our own interior lives. We run from our passions and pains much of the time. We try to push them out of consciousness.

It certainly is not obvious, but the story we heard earlier - of Jesus and his disciples observing scribes and rich people and widows at the temple treasury - which appears to be mostly about money, is actually very much about the interplay between these two levels of our lives: the external self we present to the world and the internal self that actually drives our being. Jesus has set up a teaching moment for his disciples so that they can begin to see the connection between the outer economy of money and the inner economy of grace.

Jesus was a genius when it came to seeing into the true selves of others, and nobody ticked him off more than powerful hypocrites (and let's face it; it's pretty hard to be powerful without becoming a hypocrite). He had a special fury for clergy who were hypocrites - Pharisees, Sadducees, and scribes. (Sadducees were one kind of priest, often in cahoots with the Roman authorities. Pharisees were another kind of priest, and, actually, some of them were pretty interesting and courageous characters. Scribes were both religious scholars and lawyers - now there's and unholy combination!). The text preceding today's passage shows that some scribes were true and righteous men, but it is clear that Jesus felt most of them had succumbed to the temptations that came with the power of their position: 'They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. Such men will be punished most severely.' This is strong language. Clearly, seeing the scribes parade around in their fine garments, receiving the deferential bows of those they met, sitting at the places of honour, and all the while living off wealth stolen from the poor … watching this made Jesus sick to his stomach. He saw that these men were garnished with grace on the outside but curdling with corruption inside.

I have to confess that I curdle a little myself when I read this passage … for I am a scribe. Here I am, standing before you in my long robe and my fine, Guatemalan stole, receiving the attention of all manner of doctors and lawyers and Indian chiefs. Look in the upper-left corner of the bulletin and you'll find my qualifications as a religious scholar. And if you think this is a place of high esteem, you should have seen me at the Fijian feasts I attended when I was a missionary in the South Pacific. At those banquets I really had a place of honour. Now, this may sound like bragging to you, and, yes, I'm saying all this with a twinkle in my eye, but I truly am haunted by the question of how Jesus would see me, what he would think of my inner life, if he were sitting outside this temple watching us come and go on a Sunday morning.

In our passage from Mark, Jesus is sitting outside of the temple that ancient day to teach his disciples, but what does he want them to learn? He wants to teach the disciples to attend to their inner lives, and laid out before him is a living object lesson. He breaks that lesson into three parts: the worst example; the middling example; and the best example. The worst example is the scribes, whose sheen of power and position hides an inner life of meanness - in all senses of that word. In fact, it may well be that the outer life of power and position is what is killing their inner lives. How many times have they been forced to betray a cherished value to maintain their position? How many times have they had to kill their empathy to protect the system that blesses them? How many times have they had to ignore an evil because naming it would cost them their robes?

The middling example is that of the rich people. Jesus' response to their display of largesse is a big 'so what!' Their charity costs them little and their very public demonstration of generosity comes with its own rewards.

The best example is the widow, who is desperately poor and drops her last cent in the collection box. What about her does he want his disciples to emulate? Was he trying to encourage them to be generous to the treasury? Surely not. Upon leaving that day he predicts, correctly, that the whole complex will be destroyed. Earlier he had gone into the temple, turned over all the tables of the money changers enraged at the corruption there, furious at how the 'house of God' had degenerated into den of financial exploitation. So why would he celebrate the offering of a poor widow's last cent? It's not her support of the temple and its corrupt system. It's not even her action of giving. It is her willingness to surrender her last vestiges of security and throw herself into the hands of God absolutely vulnerable to grace. This is faith! It may be faith exploited and abused by the lawyers and clergy, but it is pure faith nevertheless.

By giving the disciples the example of the widow, Jesus is showing them the choice he has made. Remember the story of Jesus' temptation? He could have been the first among the scribes. He could have been the richest of the rich. But he forwent all honour and security, leaving himself defenceless before fate and God.

It's essential that we get the subtleties of this teaching right. It's not the poverty or humble social station of the widow that he is celebrating. It's not the external circumstance of her life that he cherishes; it is the internal dynamics. It is her vulnerability to grace. A few verses earlier we read of Jesus telling a scribe that he is close to the Kingdom of God. It seems that it is at least possible for a person of influence to have this vulnerability too.

This is good news for those of us assembled here today. For, as I look around, I see that I am far from the only scribe. Yes, only the clergy and the lawyers here are literally scribes, but, let's face it, most of us are people of privilege and that privilege comes with its perils. Jesus offered a special warning about hypocrisy and any of us with status to sustain, power to wield, or wealth to protect are vulnerable to it.

Rarely does a person say to himself in advance 'ok, these actions I am taking will make me a hypocrite but I'm going to take them anyway.' Rather, we become hypocrites by the slow turning away from the truths we know deep inside ourselves. We become hypocrites by serving the interests of cheaters or bullies or thieves because the adversarial legal system or the rough and tumble world of business demands it. We become hypocrites by turning from the pain of our students or our patients because our hearts can't take it. We become hypocrites by holding back the truth that needs telling because the Sunday collection will take a hit.

Of course, this turning to hypocrisy, is not inevitable. In every moment of temptation there is a choice: we can chose between selling ourselves to gain power and being true to that inner voice that the harder choice; we can chose between selling ourselves for security and throwing ourselves on the grace of the Spirit; we can choose between killing our honour and our empathy to protect what we have and risking a life that promises more.

The good news is that, even when we make the wrong choices, hypocrisy is not a permanent condition. There is a foolproof and immediate cure: vulnerability to God's grace. This vulnerability is what Jesus celebrated in the widow and sought in himself. It is medicine that we must choose to take over and over, every day. Sometimes it's sweet; sometimes it's bitter … but it's always potent.