Losing Things

I spent this past weekend at Shrine Mont with 6^th and 7^th graders from St. Stephen’s and all corners of the Diocese.

While there, I received news that my car had been broken into and a number of things stolen – iPod, GPS, stereo, and a bag full of pennies.

I got the upsetting call on Sunday morning, moments before our worship service. Despite my agitation, I heard some of the Gospel. A poor widow contributes to the treasury “two small copper coins” – the beginning and end of her earthly wealth.

I’m not entirely sure what this Gospel is trying to tell me. But I do hear it differently after Sunday. How difficult it was to be present that morning! I was busy counting the coins I’d lost, mourning their loss, and – most importantly – hatching plans to reacquire them.

How much value had been stolen? What would insurance cover? Should I file a claim? Or would that raise my premiums and ultimately cost me more? Did the thief find my secret stash of quarters? Should I ask for a new iPod for Christmas or just get one right away?

The loss was inconvenient. And aggravating. But was it really even a loss? It is now Tuesday afternoon and I’ve already had the stereo replaced. I got a better one. What kind of loss is that?

From where I sit today, this Gospel is not about being rich or about being poor or even about being generous. It’s about being able to let go. Having no plan or means to replace her coins, still the widow gives them away.

Her loss is real.

Our Christian faith tells about loss. In the Eucharistic prayer, “we remember Christ’s death.” Loss is real. In the same breath, “we proclaim his resurrection.” Loss is not absolute.

This is a story about trust. Do I really trust in God’s promise of resurrection? Or am I putting some coins in God’s treasury while I work on my own plan?