“[Jesus] sat down opposite the treasury and observed
how the crowd put money into the treasury. Many
rich people put in large sums. A poor widow also came
and put in two small coins worth a few cents.
Calling His disciples to Himself, He said to them…”
--Mark 12:41-44
This Sunday at mass, I imagine many of us will hear a homily about the gift of a poor woman. And clearly that is at the heart of the readings this Sunday. The gospel story of the widow whose almost meaningless gift is in fact the greatest—because she gave all that she had. The Old Testament reading from 1 Kings 17 is about a poor widow dying of hunger, who gives the prophet Elijah the last of her food. And then the psalm (146) reminds us of God’s generosity –especially to the poor:the hungry, the widow, the orphan, the captive and the stranger, and the reading from Hebrews (9:24-28) reminds us of the completeness of Christ’s gift, holding nothing back, a gift that costs everything and yet was given freely for our salvation. So, without a doubt, anyone focused on the gift of the widow and her mite will be in good company, in fact –as we can read—that is exactly what Jesus focused on.
But, going out on a limb here, this week my attention was caught by a different element. Earlier in the week I wrote about the image of God presented in the psalm—an image of tender care and compassion for the lowly and the oppressed. But now I’d like to focus on another image in the Gospel. Instead of the widow and her coin, I’ve been pondering what Jesus is doing. And wondering what lesson we might find in that.
And so I turn back to those words and ask: what exactly does He do?
Not very much. He just sits, and observes. Not exactly the plot of a Bruce Willis movie, I know; but stick with me. Jesus takes a seat opposite the treasury, and watches as people walk past dropping their gifts (their tithes) into the box. Some rich people give great amounts of money, others not quite as much—and then He sees this one widow who gives only a couple of small coins—worth only a few cents. And this catches His eye.
And then, what does He do? He calls the disciples to come hear what He has seen. He sits and He observes, and then He shares. Let us think about that image, those two actions, for a moment.
The image of Jesus sitting down and observing the activity in the temple area may seem like a pointless detail. But, I was struck by it—in part because it reminds me of reading, of study, even daydreaming. To sit and watch, feels like a very passive thing for Jesus to do, and passivity is not a posture our world tends to regard very highly. We are a world that honors the doing, more than the observing. We are a world that much more readily honors Martha over Mary.
But, for some reason, this week I find something quite compelling in His action (or lack of action), I see an image of contemplation. When we sit down, settle ourselves for a moment, we make room for something else, even someone else. When we sit down and observe, we begin to notice things, we may even begin to pay attention. In a sense, we allow ourselves to receive whatever gift the world, the universe, God, wants to reveal to us. To sit and observe may look like wasted time, but… in this Gospel it sure seems like Holy work.
Now let us look back at the story again. What does Jesus do next? He calls his disciples and tells them what He has seen. He sits and observes and then He shares. Observes and bears witness...
He isn’t making up a story, or telling a parable, Jesus is simply telling the apostles what He actually saw, in the real world, right there in front of all their eyes. The disciples may have seen the very same thing, but Jesus draws their attention to what it means—to Him. He tells them what He saw: the humble act of a passing stranger, and what it means to Him.
What lesson am I drawing from this? To me, the posture of sitting and observing is a lesson about allowing ourselves to receive. To receive a gift, we have to allow it to be given. We have to open our hands, our eyes, our ears, and our hearts and accept it—whatever it is. To sit and observe the world, the people around us, the neighbor jogging past on the street, the clouds drifting in the sky, a blue jay hopping on a branch, is to contemplate the gift of God’s creation. To receive –in some sense—a revelation. When we sit and observe, we allow God to feed us, to feed our spirit, our soul, even our imagination. And that is a blessing.
But what is the natural reaction to receiving a gift? We want to tell someone about it. We want to share. In a sense, we want to give it away.
This image of Christ reminds us to pay attention. Which may seem like such a small thing, but… as Jesus so often points out, sometimes the smallest gifts (even something worth only a few cents—like a mustard seed…) are worth more the most.
One last thought: one of the problems we keep hearing about in our world today is loneliness, and anonymity. So many people today feel unseen, unheard, unnoticed. They hunger for someone to notice them, for someone to just take a moment and pay attention. The tiny gift of stopping whatever we are up to and paying attention to even just one person, is worth more than we can imagine. To let someone know they are seen, noticed, is to let them know that they matter. Their gift matters.
Sometimes the gift we give, is to simply sit and receive.
As Jesus reminds us, that humble gift that seems like “nothing” may be the greatest gift we have to give.
