None of us is bound to feel good about this morning’s Gospel. Not you, the church-goer. Not me, the professionally-religious. And certainly not the stewardship committee. So let me make this quick. Not only because it’s not a “feel-good” text, but also because — frankly — I still don’t feel so good!  What I’ve learned from having pneumonia is, the more I talk, the more I cough! So lucky you, it’s a super short one this morning, so listen closely!

The only ones for whom the news is any good whatsoever this morning are the poor, which pretty much factors out most of us. If you have any income whatsoever, a roof over your head, and have had a meal in the last 24 hours, consider yourself wealthy this morning.

The news is not good for anyone whose giving is not sacrificial to the point of giving everything. That pretty much excludes all of us, I’m pretty certain.

The news is not good for anyone representing institutional religion, that is, making a living from it. So, as rostered leaders of a major denomination, the news is not good for Barbara as a lay associate in ministry nor for me as an ordained pastor in the ELCA.

Nor for anyone who is a member of an organized religion.

And to tell you the truth, the news isn’t even all that great for the poor widow who “put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

You see, Jesus is coming down hard on the rich, the religious, and on institutional religion this morning. And here we sit in swanky Santa Monica, in our pretty little stained glass box, more or less wealthy depending on whose perspective you have, having some ties — if even simply by our presence here today — with institutional religion.

The problem is, Jesus and organized religion don’t mix that well. Because before you know it, with organized religion you have everything Jesus was concerned about too often taking a back seat to keeping organized religion (more or less) organized: justice for the oppressed, food for the hungry, setting prisoners free, opening the eyes of the blind, lifting up those who are bowed down, watching over strangers, upholding orphans and widows — it’s all there and listed in the psalm today — with organized religion you have all that taking a second tier to keeping up a physical plant on a pleasant corner in pretty little community, paying the scribes — I mean — a pastor and an assistant — repaving parking lots, fixing stained glass windows, remodeling kitchens, and updating offices — and before you know it, everything in psalm 146 and on Jesus’ agenda gets moved down on the agenda of priorities.

Ouch.

And then, to top it all off, it’s what Jesus goes on to say in the verses beyond our gospel that make it not even such good news for the poor widow. Because what Jesus says next is that the temple was unworthy of her gift, and that it would all be destroyed. “Not one stone will be left here upon another,” Jesus says, “all will be thrown down.” In other words, even the widow’s mite, given from a heart of generosity, was given to an institution which oppressed her into thinking she had to give her last shekel to support it, while her fellow givers and even the spiritual leadership permitted her to go for broke.

Well, before we cancel our stewardship campaign for 2010 and go home to the Sunday roast (noun or verb), let’s hear some good news, shall we? Jesus uses this teaching moment with the disciples to impress upon them, and us, what is primary: that to care for those whom the world overlooks and exploits — even as this poor widow’s generosity was being overlooked and exploited — that to care for and advocate on behalf of these is precisely the work of the people of God.

Lutheran liturgical scholar Gordon Lathrop contends that we cannot give to God, rather we can give only to the poor. Thus, he suggests that to drive home this point, the church should consider never collecting money without also collecting food. We cannot give to God, but only to the poor. Yes, we give to keep the doors of this house of organized religion open and the place running. But the fellowship inside these doors exists only for the purpose of service outside of them: service to the one who is not here: the neighbor who is forgotten, downcast, grieving, sick, hungry, homeless, undocumented, underemployed, uninsured, the neighbor without identity and without status and without health care — as was the poor widow in this morning’s Gospel.

Jesus calls our attention to her, and thus to them.

We cannot give to God, only to the poor. Jesus teaches that whatever we do to the least of these, his sisters and brothers, we do to him.

It’s sort of good news and bad news isn’t it? Sort of like health care reform. The good news is: as of 8:00 last evening it’s on its way. The bad news is: It’s gonna cost us. It always does. It’s the way of the one who pays attention to widows and calls attention to the needy poor. It’s the way of the cross. And beyond the cross: it’s the way of new beginnings, of renewed health, and of new life.

Amen.