A small action can have a big consequence. Have you ever made a line of dominoes? I used to sit on the floor of my grandparents’ basement with my cousins and try to set up dominoes into long and twisting lines. If we were feeling especially adventurous, we would build little stairs for the dominoes to travel up or down. We tried to create shapes or spell words with our dominoes. We didn’t get very far with this most of the time because, 1) we didn’t have a ton of dominoes to work with and 2) it never failed that someone would bump a domino just slightly, and the whole line would topple over in spectacular fashion. I wonder how many failed attempts Liu Yang of China had before successfully setting up 321,197 dominoes over the course of six weeks in order to knock them down live on television. All of that work, and then one little nudge, and the whole thing went down, one toppling domino at a time.

Sometimes we do little things–even by accident–like not closing the refrigerator door all the way, and we end up with a big mess. With the fridge door just slightly open, the inside temperature of the fridge rises little by little until all of the food inside spoils. Or, think about the words we say or have said to us. A kind word at just the right time might encourage someone to work hard and go far toward reaching their dreams. An unkind word–or a cruel remark–can stick with someone for life. When I was in 5th grade, my 5th grade teacher kept me after school for handwriting lessons. He told me I was too smart to let my bad handwriting hold me back. His encouragement helped me believe in myself and that I had something important to offer.

This week, my dad showed me a quote by C.S. Lewis. Lewis compared the small things we do to compound interest. They might not seem like much at the time, but they add up. Lewis wrote: “Good and evil both increase at compound interest. That is why the little decisions you and I make every day are of such infinite importance. The smallest good act today is the capture of a strategic point from which, a few months later, you may be able to go on to victories you never dreamed of. An apparently trivial indulgence in lust or anger today is the loss of a ridge or railway line or bridgehead from which the enemy may launch an attack otherwise impossible.” A small action can have a big consequence.

The moment Thanksgiving ended, Christmas decorations went up all over town–and probably across the country. Radio stations switched over to Christmas music, and advertisements on TV began touting the latest items to add to the Christmas list. Even before Thanksgiving, Christmas was creeping in all over the place. So, after we’ve eaten our fill around the Thanksgiving table, and we’ve started seeing Christmas pop up everywhere, we gather at church ready for a feel-good message about the coming birth of Christ. But, the Revised Common Lectionary–the group of Scripture passages many churches follow every Sunday–does not give us what we want. Instead, we come face to face with a text about signs, destruction, and a warning to pay attention. Why is this?

Why, when we gather ready for a word about warmth and joy and celebration do we instead find a word of warning? 

I think it’s a little bit like knowing you will be having company coming over. Week after week, during the ordinary course of our lives, we tidy up our homes here and there. We wash dishes, we do laundry, we sweep the floors. But suddenly, when we find out we have company coming over, we notice we haven’t wiped the baseboards down in…months…or maybe years. Wow, those mini blinds are a lot dustier than we thought they were. And, why on earth have we held on to all this clutter?

Jesus begins with a word of warning because he knows the people he was talking to–and he knows that we here in this room–need to be reminded to start paying attention. We’ve allowed ourselves to get lulled nearly to sleep by our daily, ordinary routines, and we have no idea all of the things we are missing.

Just this week, I realized I was missing the way this word of warning began in the Gospel of Luke. You see, at the very beginning of the chapter, Jesus observes a widow putting her last two coins into the temple treasury. The treasury would have had thirteen collection boxes, each with a metal, trumpet shaped opening on top. If a person put in a large amount of money, these trumpet shapes would reverberate with the sound. Everyone would know a large amount had been put in. When this widow put in her two tiny coins, very little, if any sound would have been made. Add in the background noises of other worshipers in the temple, and there would have been no way for anyone to hear the offering this widow put into the treasury. But, Jesus notices. He is paying attention. He’s alert, watching, and he sees that she has given her very last cent. He pointed out her offering to everyone gathered, and when he did this, they should have felt convicted to their cores. I wonder if they even realized what the problem was.

The two coins she gave were leptas, the smallest coin available at the time. They were so small that their name–lepta–comes from the Greek word meaning “small,” or “thin.” The amount she put in would have hardly made a difference to the temple treasury, but for her, it was everything. When the people see her gift, I imagine they were amazed by her faith as she put in everything she had, but I wonder if they understood the reason Jesus pointed out her gift. Jesus wanted them to see that the system that had originally been designed to protect widows and orphans and strangers was now taking everything these people had without anyone even realizing it. 

In Deuteronomy 10, after the giving of the law for the second time, we get a summary of what the law is all about. It says that what God requires is to fear the Lord, to walk in his ways, to love him, and to serve him with our whole selves. The chapter continues,

“For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who is not partial and takes no bribe, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and who loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

If caring for orphans, widows, and strangers is the work God is doing, and if we are called to follow in God’s ways, we will be caring for these people as well. Jesus knows this, and he points out the widow’s gift. It was meant to be a wake up call. It was meant to be like a sign in the heavens. It was meant to be a loud, clanging warning siren. Rather than caring for the widows, the system had begun exploiting their faith and generosity. Wake up, Jesus said! It’s time for this system to be torn down so that something new, something better can be built back up.

Right after this, the religious leaders begin looking for a way to put Jesus to death. His movement has grown, his following has escalated, and now he’s calling for the tearing down of an empire that exploits the most vulnerable people in their midst. He’s calling people to return to their calling from God. He’s calling them to a scary, six-letter word no one wants to think about. He’s calling them to change.

All of this begins with the widow dropping in her two copper coins, and like a person pushing over the first domino in a long chain, this widow’s two coins sounded the warning that soon, it would all be torn down.

The first week of Advent, we focus on hope. We light the candle of hope in our Advent wreath, and we sing songs about the hope we have in Jesus. So many years ago, he came into the world, and someday soon he will come again for us. So, if today is about hope, why are we talking about warnings, and doom, and gloom? 

Friends, today we are talking about hope because hope pays attention. Hope does the difficult work of looking at what is going on around us: not the things we wish were going on around us, and not the things we pretend are going on around us. Hope has the courage to see what’s really happening: to notice that our systems, our ways of doing things, our routines and habits, are not what God is calling us to do. And, perhaps most difficult in all this: hope has the courage to admit it, and to work for change.

Hope is willing to do the hard work of paying attention, because ultimately, hope knows this is not all there is. God wants better for us than what we have planned for ourselves. As it says in Hebrews 11:1, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

After giving the people warnings, Jesus tells a parable. He says, “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.” In other words, you can take a look at the trees, and know the seasons are changing, but spiritual indicators that you are unhealthy are all around you, and you can’t seem to understand. 

This Advent, may we be filled with hope in the coming of Christ–but not just in the feel-good, stockings-by-the-fire kind of way. May we see what’s going on around us–even the little things in ourselves and others–and have the courage to know what needs to change. May we release our grip on the way we’ve always done things, so that we might see the transforming power of doing small acts with great love. May God give us the courage this Advent to examine our hearts and our lives, and change what needs changing, because even the smallest things we do have the potential to add up into what hurts or what heals. And when we look up and look around, may we remember these words of Jesus: “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Amen.