Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Mark 12:41–44

Occasionally, in passing, the Lord sends someone my way who makes a lasting impression. A few weeks ago, it was a young lady with the Sisters of the Resurrection. While waiting for our boxed lunch at a women’s diocesan conference, she said with a smile, “I love what you’re wearing, boho-chic.” I thanked her, thinking how adorable she was when she followed up with words I will never forget: “That’s how I used to dress before I became a postulant.” A postulant is a candidate seeking admission into a religious order. 

She gave up her style for the love of God. 

And maybe that sounds silly, but I think all women would agree—it’s a big deal. What we wear says much about who we are and how we want others to see us. Truth be told, I had never considered how a postulant or sister might like to dress before making her vows and putting on the religious habit. With her new style—black skirt and vest, white blouse, silver cross—her compliment intrigued me. “How long have you been discerning this order?” I asked. After explaining that she had just recently received her postulant’s cross, she shared that having been married for a short period and unexpectedly finding herself a widow, this was God’s new plan for her life. Immediately, an image of this beautiful woman in a completely different life, on an entirely different path, dressed in my outfit, flashed before my eyes. “God be praised,” I exclaimed. “That’s quite a plan.” And with joy, she agreed, “Yes, God be praised. It is a beautiful plan.”

It’s not uncommon that God’s most beautiful plans are the ones we struggle to find the beauty in. I thought about this young woman while meditating on Mark’s gospel (Mark 12:41–44) about the poor widow’s offering. Next to the rich people putting large sums into the treasury, her two copper coins might have appeared like a meaningless contribution. But Jesus makes certain to point out to His disciples that her penny was of the greatest value in all the contributions, for “she contributed all she had” (Mark 12:44). What sounds like a sad story is actually a stunning story. It’s that last line that gets me: “all she had.” It’s what I want to do and be for the Lord and what I struggle with the most.

Since my lunch line encounter, I have not been able to shake the feeling that the Lord isn’t asking me to give out of my abundance, which I am very comfortable doing. He is asking for my whole living, to give up the goods of this life that never satisfy and the vanities of the world that lead to emptiness. He wants me to shed worldly things that feed a false identity in exchange for clothing myself in everlasting beauty. 

He wants to be my all.
And this is terrifying.

When it comes to my relationship with God, I want to put in everything—except for those few things I try to hide in my pockets: things like self-reliance, control, and that impromptu $100 Target run for just paper towels. I do this knowing that we can’t serve God and serve mammon. I cling to my comfort, knowing that we cannot have riches and pleasures and possess God. I hoard my last two coins, fully aware that Jesus asks that we sell everything: not some things, not the things we no longer use, not the clothes that are out of style, not the gadgets our children have outgrown, but everything. I know this, and yet I hesitate. But what if I need what I give away? What if the Lord doesn’t replenish? What if I am unhappy and regret handing it all over?

The great irony of attaching ourselves to earthly treasures is that God is the true owner of all we possess,[1] and one day, it will all be gone. “We, says St. Ambrose, falsely call these things our property, which we cannot bring with us to eternity, where we must live forever, and where virtue alone will accompany us.”[2] God doesn’t seek to uproot our sin of vanity so that we can be miserable while on earth (we are good at finding misery all on our own). He asks us to lay up treasure in heaven so that we can know the love of God for eternity. 

Treasure in heaven sounds great until you hear of the 40% off sale at Anthropologie. Then all bets are off. What helps me in these moments of temptation is to remember that attachment to earthly goods puts me in the service of the prince of this world—Satan—and, in the wise words of Saint Francis Borgia, a king who retired from the world and became a priest, “I will serve a master who can never die!”[3] 

When you are lured into the lie that one more throw pillow, one more designer handbag, and one more scroll on the old device will bring you peace, remember that God alone offers the peace you desire. 

Your stuff is in the way of God, and there are no storage units in heaven. Everything on this side of the veil decays or blows away. I am reminded of Saint Augustine when he said, “What, O miserable man, dost thou seek in seeking after goods? Seek one good, in which are all goods.”[4] 

I’m still thinking about the postulant on the lunch line. I know that in the world's eyes, she appears to have lost everything—her husband, marriage, even her style. But the world is wrong. Like the poor widow, she has put in everything she has, her whole living, and it is stunning. If only we all had her sense of style, for she is clothed for heaven and far better dressed than the world.

Food for thought or journaling... 

What am I holding back from God? What do I grasp onto, terrified that if I hand it over, I will be unhappy, bored, poor, or alone?

My God and my all, Saint Paul said, “The fashion of this world passeth away” (1 Corinthians 7:31, Douay-Rheims). Help me to be mindful of how short this earthly life is, to use my time wisely, and to seek only what is eternal. With every earthly good I release, let virtue increase. Out of my poverty, I pray to give You everything I have, my whole living, so that one day, I may live with You forever. Dress me for heaven, Lord. Amen.

P.S. If you struggle to let go of material things, convinced that they will lead you to happiness, I cannot encourage you enough to pick up a copy of Keeping in Balance Bible study, focusing on Lesson 12: Balance Through Contentment. This lesson changed my life!

[1] Lisa Brenninkmeyer, Keeping in Balance (Walking with Purpose, 2010-2019), p. 144.
[2]  Alphonsus de Liguori, The Sermons of St. Alphonsus Liguori For All the Sundays of the Year (TAN Books, 1982), 265.
[3] Ibid, 265.
[4] Ibid, 264.