Hide and Go Seek Blog

 “And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.” Matthew12:41-42 (KJV)

The offering plate passes. The silver reflects the house lights back into your eyes, as your hand reaches out to receive it from the family of four you have never seen before. The silver steel brings a sudden cold surge through your fingertips. The fresh polish feels smooth, your fingerprints leave evidence of your greasy fingers, making you feel guilty for ruining the shine.

You have been preparing all week for offering. Normally, offering doesn’t warrant a second thought during the grind of the day to day, but this week was different. Something was different. This week, you looked around and saw some things laying around that you’d like to get rid of, so you brought them all to church with you. This week, there were some things that started getting in the way as you went about you’re business, so you brought them all to church with you. This week, some things started to make you upset, so you brought them all to church with you. This week, you ran into something, hitting it hard enough you actually cried, you brought it to church with you. Yesterday, you came across something that broke your heart into pieces, so you brought it to church with you.

So this week, you walk into church with bags full of things you’re going to put into the offering plate. It’s a little unorthodox, but there’s nothing that stops you from your intent. First, you write a check, just a few dollars, all that wasn’t going to room and board. But then, you grab from underneath the pew the multiple bags of endless things that accompany you to church today. You reach inside and begin placing items, the previous one always leaving room for the next.

In the plate, you place your regret, that time it went to far, the words you can’t take back, the promises that lay shattered on the floor. You place your hurt, all the things that people have said that you haven’t been able to wash off. All the times you’ve been pushed to the floor, unable and unwilling to stand back up. You place your hatred, for yourself. All the scars on your body, on your heart, from the times when the pain was too much. Into the plate goes your mistrust, of others, of God. In goes your resentment towards your friends, your family and the church. In goes your addiction to pornography, your struggle with lust and your thoughts about the next door neighbor.

The bags empty, they get lighter and lighter and then empty. Somehow they all fit, though it seems like you could have filled stacks and stacks of plates by now. The tears roll down your cheek and into the offering. As if a seal. “Wow, do I not have the words to say”.

Jesus, please please take it. Take my offering. I know it’s not fair. Two mites, and then all of this. But I can’t have this stuff anymore. Please, take it. It’s all I have to give, it’s everything I have to give. I’m so sick of this stuff lying around.

The offering plate. I think, in adding to my previous entry…we’ve missed the point. I don’t know what else to say, besides the fact that the offering plate, is the offering plate.

, Chad