Once there was a man who picked a plump, shiny red apple to offer to God and which subsequently would be used in the village’s community thanksgiving feast. Yet on his way to offer his gift, the apple smelled so fresh, and it was so inviting, the man he told himself that if he just took a little bite, it would seem as a small bruise and no one would possibly notice. The first small bite was absolutely delicious, and before he could think, he took another bite, then another. “Oh well,” he told himself, “one can surely tell the apple has been eaten on one side, but it will likely be used for applesauce at the great community feast, so I just will have to be careful and lay it on its eaten side when I place it in the basket.” However, the apple still smelled so good, that by the time he had arrived at the village square to offer his gift, all he had left was the core. “Ah,” he sighed, “tomorrow I will pick and bring another apple. There were plenty of good apples on the tree where that one came from.” You can guess the rest of the story. Every time he began to bring an apple to offer for the Thanksgiving feast, before he arrived at the square, he had already eaten the apple down to the core. When Thanksgiving Day came, there were no apples for him to pick, and in a corner by the village square, all that was left over was an ugly pile of barren, dried cores. No, not one apple was left over.1
In early spring I was given several guide books on hidden hikes, secluded one-day paddles, and curious things to visit on a day’s drive from Ithaca. Yes, the birthplace of Jell-O and the national Jell-O Museum in Le Roy, NY was highlighted in one of the books, but I quickly crossed that one off. As the March snows gradually melted, I used yellow stickie notes, marking two to three dozen places I was resolved to explore, once spring really came. When I had the time, I told myself, I would go forth exploring.
Now, as the bird bath has been put away for another season, the winter deer fences are up, and the snow blower has been filled with gas and successfully started, I sheepishly must admit, the yellow stickies are still in the books. I did think about going when I had time left over or when I had nothing scheduled, but there was always something that called. Then there were days that looked like it was going to rain or was too windy. Somehow I could match an excuse to every one of the yellow sticky notes. Thumbing through the guide books once again as it rains cold outside, I see the promise of some true gems, things I would enjoy and long remember; but if I am not to repeat last summer, I must make a visit to some of those special places a priority, not just a wish.
There is a larger lesson here. We all need spiritual nourishment. Our hearts work hard and they require refreshment. If we put off paying attention to these needs, to when we have time, when there is nothing else on our schedule, when nothing else calls, when we have time left over, we are likely to become exhausted and malnourished.
The lesson of the man with the apple is not suggesting one starve oneself, just as it would be equally foolish for me next summer to quit all my responsibilities and obligations to go on hikes and visit curious sites. Maturity is the ability to balance and put things in proper perspective, knowing that making no commitments or making commitments indiscriminately and not keeping any, is pretty much the same thing. Commitments that are of no value are really no commitments at all.
I suggest that was close to what Jesus was conveying to the disciples as he observed the difference between the gifts of the Pharisees and the gift of the poor woman. For the woman, her gift really meant something; it came from her whole being. To the Pharisees, their gift was routine, forgotten about within minutes after it had been offered. Its effect, if any, was to dull the heart, not refresh or strengthen it.
Now I suspect the woman who put her few coins into the temple treasury, would have been surprised that from ever after she would be remembered and held up as example. She would have been perplexed if she thought she was being portrayed as someone who gave until it hurt. I think she would have replied, “Give until it hurts me? Ridiculous! I gave all my coins because I love to do it, because I am grateful, and I am so thankful that I am able to give.” Stewardship is really about gifts of the heart, gifts that matter the most, especially to the giver.
1Adapted from a story in the Episcopal Church’s stewardship resources some years ago.
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
