Last summer I had the privilege of teaching a class of refugees as part of my work. My students came from the Middle East, Asia, Africa, and Latin America and lived in six different cities in the US. We met on Zoom. They were a joy to me. As part of a get-acquainted activity the first night, I asked them to name their favorite food of their home country. I thought it would start good conversation about interesting native dishes. Not so.
Six of the nine participants answered, “Rice.”
Rice? Yes, rice. Their answer has stayed with me. It has humbled me. I did not have opportunity in the class to explore my students’ stories before they came to America, but, from that answer of rice, I’m guessing that experiences that led to appreciation of simple food were a part of them. The solid nurturing of rice was something they came to relish. Rice has a strength to it, a solidity. It fills you up and gives you energy. It is a simple thing, a food of both rich and poor in much of the world. It is enough.
Today’s Gospel
Today’s Gospel is very short. I quote it all here:
When Jesus looked up he saw some wealthy people
putting their offerings into the treasury
and he noticed a poor widow putting in two small coins.
He said, “I tell you truly,
this poor widow put in more than all the rest;
for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth,
but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood.”
The Context
This reading, like the readings we have had on Sundays for the past several weeks, takes place during the early part of Holy Week. Jesus is speaking to his disciples—not the crowds and not the Pharisees. In Luke, this little incident follows Jesus condemning the Pharisees for appearing to be holy, but also “going through the savings of widows while they recite long prayers to keep up appearances.” (Luke 20: 47) After this brief incident, Jesus talks about coming sorrows and the destruction of Jerusalem. Then Luke’s story of the Passion begins.
It is an interesting, life-giving thing to notice what people say as they know death is approaching. I have had the privilege of walking with a number of people in those last days. My observation is that people focus on communicating to those they love what is most important to them.
What is so important about the two small coins the widow put in the temple offering?
Matthew’s memories of what Jesus said the last few days of his life focus on the practical tasks of carrying on—including the parable of the Last Judgment of Sunday’s Gospel. John’s “Farewell Address” section in chapters 14-17 remembers Jesus saying “Love one another,” and “I am the vine; you are the branches.” Mark and Luke are more eclectic. Both Mark and Luke tell today’s event. They see the plight of widows as important.
In Jesus’ time, widows often had no means of livelihood. If they didn’t have sons to take care of them, they were dependent on the mercy of the temple or on begging. For the widow to put her two small coins in the temple treasury meant that she was depending on the generosity of God through the goodness of others to have what she needed to live. Jesus is pointing out her virtue of trust.
At the same time, because of the comments just before this, Jesus seems to be telling his disciples: do not do what the Pharisees do—take the money of widows without taking care of them. And, indeed, the early church in Jerusalem took care of widows. I have read that at one time there were 6000 widows whose sustenance depended on the fledgling Christian community.
In that sense, the message is perhaps both “depend on God like the widow” and “take care of the widow,” that is, do the works of mercy described in Sunday’s Gospel.
That interpretation hits home for me. Yet, there seems to be a meaning that builds on that one—yet goes beyond it.
If I put the words of Jesus during the early days of Holy Week altogether, there is a picture of “church” that emerges: Giving ALL to create a distinct, new, Christian way of life: loving God, loving each other, loving those in need, incorporating those in need into the community.
And, indeed, creating that way of life made Christianity grow–in the early days after the Resurrection, during the Middle Ages as that Christian life survived in monasteries–and again and again through the centuries. It is a pattern of giving and incorporating all that creates communities of rich faith which have built the Kingdom of God again and again for 2000 years.
Jesus is about to give all—as God, as man. Many of the disciples will follow him to martyrdom. But what about the rest: Mary, Martha, and Lazarus; Mary Magdalen, Zaccheus, Bartimaeus, the woman at the well and the healed lepers? How are they to give all? Are they to be a part of the Kingdom of God built after the Resurrection? What are they to do?
Application for Today
I love to imaginatively enter into Scripture stories as one of these lesser characters. If I enter this one, I enter as Mary or Martha of Bethany. As I enter into the story, I imagine the apostle Andrew is telling us about this incident some months after Jesus death. He tells us there are widows who need homes. Could we take some in? I imagine what I would be considering if I were Martha or Mary in that circumstance.
That is, of course, imagination—but it is prayer—and it helps me apply this story to today. How can I have the generosity of the widow with her two small coins (called a “mite” in some translations)? Would I give all to God as the widow? Or how would this story affect me if I were Martha or Mary when the needs of widows put serious strain on the Jerusalem church. How would I respond to this story then? How would I give all?
How does the story convert me a little today? How can I apply it in this spiked, “red zone,” COVID circumstance? I remember my refugee friends and their love of rice.
How can I find joy in simple rice? How can I be simple rice? How can I use the simple and ordinary to be in Christian community, to create Christian community, to build the Kingdom of God in this COVID circumstance?
Prayer
How interesting, Lord! As I prayed with this today, You brought to mind a habit I had in the past of reciting the 10 Commandments, the 8 Beatitudes, and the 14 Works of Mercy every morning. You know my dilemma, my sometimes strong desires to curl up at home and let the rest of the world go by. But prayer labels such thoughts as temptations, not Holy Spirit. I think You offer me that former practice as a way to move me toward giving my version of the widow’s mite—that You can use to create the Widow’s Might—the capacity IN THIS TIME to build the Kingdom of God as simple people love You and love others with our whole hearts. Let this be my rice, Lord, to give me strength and wisdom. Then, as strength increases, let me be rice.
