Almost a year ago, I was in Florida to witness the vows of my nephew Zack to his fiancé Samantha.  

In my heart I knew where I needed to be.  Right there, in sunny tropical Florida with my nephew and the love of his life.  

In my head I wondered if any of us should be in Florida.  It was, after all, the epicenter for the coronavirus.  

You may remember back, those were tense days.  We were eight months into a pandemic and just beginning to understand its trajectory and destruction.  I weighed heavily whether it was a good idea for me to fly to Florida, 

to be at a wedding reception in Florida, 

to be amongst people in Florida, 

some of whom I knew, 

many I did not.  

But in my love for my nephew and my commitment to my family it was in Florida where I found myself.  Exactly where I belonged.

I arrived late in the evening the day before the wedding.  

It was a Saturday night.  

I was wiped out.  

From what exactly I cannot remember; but I do remember not lasting long in my hotel room before I turned out the lights around midnight.

Around Noon the next day, the day of the wedding, my phone rang, and as a fog lifted a little bit from my head, with my phone still in my hand, I discovered that I had slept 12 hours.

I heard my youngest sister, Graceanne’s voice, saying “Hello” to my “Hello!”  Graceanne lives in Houston with her family and they had made the excruciatingly difficult decision to not come to Florida for the wedding because the covid numbers were so high and the risk so steep.  

Graceanne sensed I was still groggy and asked if I was alright?  I said, “Yes, for sure,” … that I was totally okay, and I thanked Graceanne for calling, otherwise Lord only knew how long I would have kept sleeping.  

We talked.  About what I cannot remember.  

I do remember hanging up the phone with the decision I would head out to find some food to eat before heading to the wedding.  

I felt … well … awful … just awful.

Eventually, I found a deli.  

I grabbed a sandwich.  

And then, I headed back to the hotel  

where I immediately shoveled my meal in my mouth.  

Dessert followed in the form of a grumpy phone call from a family member who was pretty stressed that I was’t already at the wedding site for a wedding which was still several hours away.  

In the midst of that call something happened inside my chest.  

Something like stress.  

Something like deep extreme stress.

Or was it pressure?  

Or discomfort?  

And I still couldn’t quite shake the fog in my head.  

I calmed the caller’s fears by saying that I was changing into my priest cloths and would be there shortly.  

What I said seemed to work.  

Wedding crisis averted.

I changed into my priest cloths.  

Found my rental car.  

Drove to the wedding.  

Performed what I thought was a beautiful wedding ceremony for Zack and Samantha … with all of their family and friends.  

I enjoyed the reception.  

Made my way back to the hotel.  

Finally, exhausted, I fell into bed.  

Went to sleep.  

That was a Sunday.  

The next morning I woke up, and met some family for breakfast.  

I returned my rental car.  

Got to the airport, flew home and began to dig out of the work that had accumulated while I was away.  

That was a Monday.

Tuesday was a day filled with zoom meetings, phone calls, emails, etc.  A normal busy day.

Wednesday morning I had a couple of free / open hours to rake some leaves, do some yard work, and begin to get ready for another afternoon and night of zoom meetings, phone calls, emails, etc.  

When I woke up that Wednesday I still felt off.  

Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something still wasn’t right.

I keep a blood pressure cuff in my hall closet.  

That morning I took my blood pressure and oddly enough it was fine.  

That seemed inconceivable to me, but I thought, oh well, at least it’s not my heart.  I still felt crappy so I decided to take my blood pressure again.  Same good numbers.  It didn’t make sense.

I asked my friend Kevin, who was living with me at the time, “Is it possible to be having a heart attack with blood pressure numbers as good as these?” and I showed Kevin my numbers.  He looked concerned by my question, not the numbers, and I said, “Why don’t you Google it and see.”  A split second later I interrupted Kevin typing finger strokes on his cell phone w/ Google and I said, 

“Wait, what am I doing?  

Why am I even asking this question?  

Maybe you should just call 9-1-1.”  

Kevin called 9-1-1.

Within five minutes five paramedics were at my house.  

They took some vitals.  

They decided I was a good candidate for an ambulance ride.  

They got me in the ambulance.  

Kevin had Max.  

I think I asked Kevin to call Erin.  

I kept looking at Max thinking, okay, well, I don’t know exactly how long this is going to take … what? Maybe a couple of hours?  

Thank God Kevin is here and can take care of Max until I get back later.

In the ambulance I asked the technician, named Mike, 

if he had had covid.  

Mike said, “Yes, we all have … all five of us have had covid.  

I think you have covid too.”  

I said, “Do you also think I had a heart attack?”  

Mike said, “Yes, I think you did … and that’s why you’re going to Fairfax so they can take a good look at you.”  

In the back of my mind I thought, oh, well, no wonder I don’t know what’s going on … it’s covid.  I’ve never had covid before, no wonder I can’t put my finger on what exactly is going on and why I feel so awful.

We’ll never know, but one theory is that the porcine aortic valve I received nine years ago inexplicably failed … perhaps blew up and that caused me to have a heart attack 

or 

perhaps I had a heart attack and that messed up the replacement valve.  

It’s chicken or egg to me.  

Not as important a detail as the fact that I needed a new replacement valve, a triple bypass and a pacemaker and my wonderful doctors were trying to figure out how to fix all of this while I was … quite literally … running out of time.

Some of you know this story.  

Some of you literally lived through it with me.  

Some of you are hearing it for the first time.  

For as open and public about my life as I try and want to be … 

there is still a good measure of vulnerability involved in sharing this part of my life.  

But 

I believe I am perhaps at my most strong when I am my most. vulnerable.  

I think this unifies us.  

Binds us together in a mystical way that only sharing our life experiences–bearing our souls– with one another can do.  

I share with all of you who I am trusting that 

you’ll tell me who you are too.  

And in each of us doing so, we build a community.  

In doing so we build up the Body of Christ … here, at Emmanuel.

I can write about all of this now, a year later, because I have the gift of hindsight.  Oh, I’m sure I have messed up some of the timeline, 

some of the circumstances, 

several details; 

but the essence of this story remains the same.  

I was a profoundly sick pup, 

desperately in need of expert medical intervention, 

a healthy measure of God’s Grace 

and in Big Time Need of a whole lot of widow’s might.  

Not mite – m.i.t.e.  

Might – M.I.G.H.T!

Whenever I share a personal story such as this I think it is fair for you as the listener to ask yourself, why this story?  Why now?

One: I want to share with you this happy news of a one year anniversary of a time in my life when the outcome may have turned out very differently.  I’m grateful for the outcome I have!

And Two:  Today’s Gospel story of The Widow’s Mite highlights the points I’d like to make.  

[This Gospel story has to be one of the most well known and often shared stories in the Bible.  You’ve probably heard it a million times:  Mark 12:41-44.

In short … Jesus sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury.  Many rich people put in large sums.  A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth about a penny.  Then Jesus called His disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she, out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”]

I love how Jesus SAW this woman.

Raised her up as an example for all.

How in doing so he put the arrogant religious leaders of his day in there place.

What this woman gave – in the offertory – wasn’t little.

Wasn’t insignificant.

Wasn’t a mite.

What she gave was, … with all due respect to Mark, the Gospel writer, a REALLY big fricking deal.

She gave everything she had to live on … 

She gave everything …

For the sake of the enterprise called: The Temple 

She gave it all.

For the sake of others.

So others could eat.

So others could sleep.

So others could worship.

So others would have their needs met.

She gave it all.

To others in need.

Having been, at this particular time in my life of this story, I was the person in great need, and I can assure you, no generous action to help me was small, insignificant, or a mite.

Every act of kindness given to me was HUGE.  

A really Big fricking Deal.  

And much appreciated.

There was no small acts of kindness.

No small acts of charity.

No small act of mercy.

All of them were huge.

I received a new aortic valve.

I received a triple bypass.

I received a pacemaker.

I was literally taken care of – every single one of my needs met – by the best care possible – made possible by the best medical professionals in the world.  Made possible by the health insurance you good people pay for me to have.

After 19 days in the hospital I was sent home to slowly regain my life back.

My friend Erin is my medical power of attorney.  Erin was by my side every single day I was at the hospital.  Directing decisions made on my behalf so the best outcome could be achieved.  Erin advocated for me and took care of me in my must vulnerable human state.

When I was leaving the hospital Erin moved into my house for a month to make sure every need I had was met.

Kevin was with me every day and then for another five more months after that.  He even bought me a new Smart TV.  I’m not sure if that was for me or if it was really for him!  It matters not, when Kevin bought the house across the street from mine, he left the TV at my house for me.  😉

My brother and sister-in-law bought me one of those fancy lift chairs for old people so I could easily get up out of a sitting position.

Physical therapists helped me walk again.

And gain my independence. 

Parishioners fed Erin, Kevin and me for ten weeks … cooking meals made for royalty and hand delivered.

Cards came in from all of you and from others from around the world.

Family were with me every step of the way.

Neighbors supported me from a distance.

Joani and Ryan took care of all things liturgical and 

Joani shouldered all of the pastoral needs of the parish.

Joani and Janie and Karen, and a whole host of wonderful sainted volunteer leaders from our parish managed the day-to-day operations of Emmanuel.

When I wasn’t literally unconscious, 

I saw it all.

I SAW IT ALL.

I saw with my own eyes those who loved me and our parish through a billion words and a million actions.

And what I didn’t see – God saw.

And still sees.

God sees everything we are and do.

In conclusion, I wonder if you can recall times when you have either given or received what seemed small or insignificant but in reality was huge?

Have you reached out to someone who has been in either physical or emotional pain?

Or has someone reached out to you?

Have you delivered a meal to someone who would benefit from that?

Or have you been the recipient?

Have you given financially to an enterprise in need?

Or has someone helped you financially?

Maybe today’s Gospel message is for you?

To either reach out to someone in need or

To give thanks to someone who was there for you.

Trust me, from my own personal experience, every act of loving kindness we give to another is stored in the very heart of God.

You’re all in my prayers everyone.

Thank you for keeping me in yours.

Almost a year ago, I was in Florida to witness the vows of my nephew Zack to his fiancé Samantha.  

In my heart I knew where I needed to be.  Right there, in sunny tropical Florida with my nephew and the love of his life.  

In my head I wondered if any of us should be in Florida.  It was, after all, the epicenter for the coronavirus.  

You may remember back, those were tense days.  We were eight months into a pandemic and just beginning to understand its trajectory and destruction.  I weighed heavily whether it was a good idea for me to fly to Florida, 

to be at a wedding reception in Florida, 

to be amongst people in Florida, 

some of whom I knew, 

many I did not.  

But in my love for my nephew and my commitment to my family it was in Florida where I found myself.  Exactly where I belonged.

I arrived late in the evening the day before the wedding.  

It was a Saturday night.  

I was wiped out.  

From what exactly I cannot remember; but I do remember not lasting long in my hotel room before I turned out the lights around midnight.

Around Noon the next day, the day of the wedding, my phone rang, and as a fog lifted a little bit from my head, with my phone still in my hand, I discovered that I had slept 12 hours.

I heard my youngest sister, Graceanne’s voice, saying “Hello” to my “Hello!”  Graceanne lives in Houston with her family and they had made the excruciatingly difficult decision to not come to Florida for the wedding because the covid numbers were so high and the risk so steep.  

Graceanne sensed I was still groggy and asked if I was alright?  I said, “Yes, for sure,” … that I was totally okay, and I thanked Graceanne for calling, otherwise Lord only knew how long I would have kept sleeping.  

We talked.  About what I cannot remember.  

I do remember hanging up the phone with the decision I would head out to find some food to eat before heading to the wedding.  

I felt … well … awful … just awful.

Eventually, I found a deli.  

I grabbed a sandwich.  

And then, I headed back to the hotel  

where I immediately shoveled my meal in my mouth.  

Dessert followed in the form of a grumpy phone call from a family member who was pretty stressed that I was’t already at the wedding site for a wedding which was still several hours away.  

In the midst of that call something happened inside my chest.  

Something like stress.  

Something like deep extreme stress.

Or was it pressure?  

Or discomfort?  

And I still couldn’t quite shake the fog in my head.  

I calmed the caller’s fears by saying that I was changing into my priest cloths and would be there shortly.  

What I said seemed to work.  

Wedding crisis averted.

I changed into my priest cloths.  

Found my rental car.  

Drove to the wedding.  

Performed what I thought was a beautiful wedding ceremony for Zack and Samantha … with all of their family and friends.  

I enjoyed the reception.  

Made my way back to the hotel.  

Finally, exhausted, I fell into bed.  

Went to sleep.  

That was a Sunday.  

The next morning I woke up, and met some family for breakfast.  

I returned my rental car.  

Got to the airport, flew home and began to dig out of the work that had accumulated while I was away.  

That was a Monday.

Tuesday was a day filled with zoom meetings, phone calls, emails, etc.  A normal busy day.

Wednesday morning I had a couple of free / open hours to rake some leaves, do some yard work, and begin to get ready for another afternoon and night of zoom meetings, phone calls, emails, etc.  

When I woke up that Wednesday I still felt off.  

Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something still wasn’t right.

I keep a blood pressure cuff in my hall closet.  

That morning I took my blood pressure and oddly enough it was fine.  

That seemed inconceivable to me, but I thought, oh well, at least it’s not my heart.  I still felt crappy so I decided to take my blood pressure again.  Same good numbers.  It didn’t make sense.

I asked my friend Kevin, who was living with me at the time, “Is it possible to be having a heart attack with blood pressure numbers as good as these?” and I showed Kevin my numbers.  He looked concerned by my question, not the numbers, and I said, “Why don’t you Google it and see.”  A split second later I interrupted Kevin typing finger strokes on his cell phone w/ Google and I said, 

“Wait, what am I doing?  

Why am I even asking this question?  

Maybe you should just call 9-1-1.”  

Kevin called 9-1-1.

Within five minutes five paramedics were at my house.  

They took some vitals.  

They decided I was a good candidate for an ambulance ride.  

They got me in the ambulance.  

Kevin had Max.  

I think I asked Kevin to call Erin.  

I kept looking at Max thinking, okay, well, I don’t know exactly how long this is going to take … what? Maybe a couple of hours?  

Thank God Kevin is here and can take care of Max until I get back later.

In the ambulance I asked the technician, named Mike, 

if he had had covid.  

Mike said, “Yes, we all have … all five of us have had covid.  

I think you have covid too.”  

I said, “Do you also think I had a heart attack?”  

Mike said, “Yes, I think you did … and that’s why you’re going to Fairfax so they can take a good look at you.”  

In the back of my mind I thought, oh, well, no wonder I don’t know what’s going on … it’s covid.  I’ve never had covid before, no wonder I can’t put my finger on what exactly is going on and why I feel so awful.

We’ll never know, but one theory is that the porcine aortic valve I received nine years ago inexplicably failed … perhaps blew up and that caused me to have a heart attack 

or 

perhaps I had a heart attack and that messed up the replacement valve.  

It’s chicken or egg to me.  

Not as important a detail as the fact that I needed a new replacement valve, a triple bypass and a pacemaker and my wonderful doctors were trying to figure out how to fix all of this while I was … quite literally … running out of time.

Some of you know this story.  

Some of you literally lived through it with me.  

Some of you are hearing it for the first time.  

For as open and public about my life as I try and want to be … 

there is still a good measure of vulnerability involved in sharing this part of my life.  

But 

I believe I am perhaps at my most strong when I am my most. vulnerable.  

I think this unifies us.  

Binds us together in a mystical way that only sharing our life experiences–bearing our souls– with one another can do.  

I share with all of you who I am trusting that 

you’ll tell me who you are too.  

And in each of us doing so, we build a community.  

In doing so we build up the Body of Christ … here, at Emmanuel.

I can write about all of this now, a year later, because I have the gift of hindsight.  Oh, I’m sure I have messed up some of the timeline, 

some of the circumstances, 

several details; 

but the essence of this story remains the same.  

I was a profoundly sick pup, 

desperately in need of expert medical intervention, 

a healthy measure of God’s Grace 

and in Big Time Need of a whole lot of widow’s might.  

Not mite – m.i.t.e.  

Might – M.I.G.H.T!

Whenever I share a personal story such as this I think it is fair for you as the listener to ask yourself, why this story?  Why now?

One: I want to share with you this happy news of a one year anniversary of a time in my life when the outcome may have turned out very differently.  I’m grateful for the outcome I have!

And Two:  Today’s Gospel story of The Widow’s Mite highlights the points I’d like to make.  

[This Gospel story has to be one of the most well known and often shared stories in the Bible.  You’ve probably heard it a million times:  Mark 12:41-44.

In short … Jesus sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury.  Many rich people put in large sums.  A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth about a penny.  Then Jesus called His disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury.  For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she, out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”]

I love how Jesus SAW this woman.

Raised her up as an example for all.

How in doing so he put the arrogant religious leaders of his day in there place.

What this woman gave – in the offertory – wasn’t little.

Wasn’t insignificant.

Wasn’t a mite.

What she gave was, … with all due respect to Mark, the Gospel writer, a REALLY big fricking deal.

She gave everything she had to live on … 

She gave everything …

For the sake of the enterprise called: The Temple 

She gave it all.

For the sake of others.

So, others could eat.

So, others could sleep.

So, others could worship.

So, others would have their needs met.

She gave it all.

To others in need.

Having been, at this particular time in my life of this story, I was the person in great need, and I can assure you, no generous action to help me was small, insignificant, or a mite.

Every act of kindness given to me was HUGE.  

A really Big fricking Deal.  

And much appreciated.

There was no small acts of kindness.

No small acts of charity.

No small act of mercy.

All of them were huge.

I received a new aortic valve.

I received a triple bypass.

I received a pacemaker.

I was literally taken care of – every single one of my needs met – by the best care possible – made possible by the best medical professionals in the world.  Made possible by the health insurance you good people pay for me to have.

After 19 days in the hospital I was sent home to slowly regain my life back.

My friend Erin is my medical power of attorney.  Erin was by my side every single day I was at the hospital.  Directing decisions made on my behalf so the best outcome could be achieved.  Erin advocated for me and took care of me in my must vulnerable human state.

When I was leaving the hospital Erin moved into my house for a month to make sure every need I had was met.

Kevin was with me every day and then for another five more months after that.  He even bought me a new Smart TV.  I’m not sure if that was for me or if it was really for him!  It matters not, when Kevin bought the house across the street from mine, he left the TV at my house for me.  😉

My brother and sister-in-law bought me one of those fancy lift chairs for old people so I could easily get up out of a sitting position.

Physical therapists helped me walk again.

And gain my independence. 

Parishioners fed Erin, Kevin and me for ten weeks … cooking meals made for royalty and hand delivered.

Cards came in from all of you and from others from around the world.

Family were with me every step of the way.

Neighbors supported me from a distance.

Joani and Ryan took care of all things liturgical and 

Joani shouldered all of the pastoral needs of the parish.

Joani and Janie and Karen, and a whole host of wonderful sainted volunteer leaders from our parish managed the day-to-day operations of Emmanuel.

When I wasn’t literally unconscious, 

I saw it all.

I SAW IT ALL.

I saw with my own eyes those who loved me and our parish through a billion words and a million actions.

And what I didn’t see – God saw.

And still sees.

God sees everything we are and do.

In conclusion, I wonder if you can recall times when you have either given or received what seemed small or insignificant but in reality was huge?

Have you reached out to someone who has been in either physical or emotional pain?

Or has someone reached out to you?

Have you delivered a meal to someone who would benefit from that?

Or have you been the recipient?

Have you given financially to an enterprise in need?

Or has someone helped you financially?

Maybe today’s Gospel message is for you?

To either reach out to someone in need or

To give thanks to someone who was there for you.

Trust me, from my own personal experience, every act of loving kindness we give to another is stored in the very heart of God.

You’re all in my prayers everyone.

Thank you for keeping me in yours.

Spirituality The Episcopal Church Clergy Ordinary Time Podcast The Rev. Charles C. McCoart Jr.