Absence and Abundance

A Reflection on the Second Reading for Sunday, June 30th, 2024:
Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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2 Corinthians
8.7, 9, 13-15

​Brothers and sisters: Now as you excel in everything — in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in utmost eagerness, and in our love for you — so we want you to excel also in this generous undertaking.

For you know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor so that by his poverty you might become rich.

I do not mean that there should be relief for others and pressure on you, but it is a question of a fair balance between your present abundance and their need, so that their abundance may be for your need, in order that there may be a fair balance.

As it is written, “The one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little.”

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

How do I define poverty? At first blush, flashes of news streams flood my mind: homelessness, foodlessness, joblessness, stuff-lessness. Material poverty strikes a cold fear in my body. On any given day, I am only one loss away from any or all of these lessnesses. This fear has roots that run deep in me. Setting aside my life’s experiences with material poverty, the core belief that obstructs my spiritual growth is this: I have bought into the societal narrative that I am my family’s sole provider. How arrogant and ignorant I’ve become.

When Jesus spoke of becoming poor, was He speaking of material poverty? He had an earthly father who provided for His family. Nothing in Scripture would suggest that He had less than others in His community. No, He became poor in a much more profound sense. He gave up omnipresence, choosing a life restricted by place and time. Though He was still God, He gave up His reputation and His glory to benefit us. In Love, He became poor because He took on the poverty of human flesh. Yet He never went without. He always had everything He needed.

My physical body has limitations; my human mind can be opened but blurs at the edges. My human spirit can find obstructions in these necessary counterparts. I, unlike God, also lack omniscience. Because of this lack of all-knowingness, I struggle with trust. I fail every day to trust in His provision. I fail every day to reflect on His lessons in economics. He teaches: If I have, I must give. If I don’t have, He will give.

What might my life look like if I followed Jesus according to His economy? If when I have an abundance of money, I offered more to those in need. If, when I have an abundance of community, I invited in the lonely. If when I have an abundance of time, I offeredmy hands to those running thin. And what would it look like if, in turn, I could shed my pride to receive the same from my neighbour? 

It would look like Love. 

As my cup runneth over, it would tip into another empty vessel, and as another’s cup runneth over, it would tip into mine. Not a drop would be wasted. Devoid of pride or greed, balance would be restored, as we all work together to steer humanity toward its once harmonious dwelling. 

In this idyllic image, I feel great peace, but I struggle to remain in it. Fear always creeps back in, and the crux of my fear is a lack of Love. Sometimes I don’t love others enough to sacrifice my own comforts for their benefit. Oftentimes, I don’t love God enough to trust that His will is perfect—that if I obey it, not only will others profit, but I will too, and ultimately, He will be glorified. I believe this poverty of Love is the pandemic of humanity. In Love, we give, even though it may initially feel painful. Like a woman on the cusp of harvesting her most valuable crop, pain prepares the way for joy.




​Lori MacDonald

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