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.”
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On the surface, I’m sure we’re all thankful we’re not poor like this widow.
Imagine her stomach growling with hunger, her bones aching with age, her clothes reeking of dust. As she drops her final two coins into the “weekly collection,” her savings slip to zero.
She is bitterly poor, truly on the fringe of society. It’s easy to think, “Thank God that isn’t me.”
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But the truth is we’re all poor like this widow. Though our clothes may not reek of dust, there’s one thing we all wish we had a little more of.
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Time.
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Time is like sand. We cannot count the grains – the minutes – we have left. But it slips through our fingers, nonetheless.
And we don’t know we’re out of it…until we’re out.
Over the next few weeks, in particular, we’ll be pressed for time as we prepare for the holidays – writing cards, shopping online, making phone calls, and so on, which is why we must be intentional about setting aside time for the Lord.
How much time do I already spend in prayer? And how much more can I give to the Lord this Advent season, beginning on Sunday?
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“Truly, this poor widow put in more than all the rest…she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood,” Jesus says.
Like this widow, may we give the Lord everything we have – not only our dollars and cents, but also our time, something that can never be replaced.
In 2013, the Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz unveiled his latest work of art: Homeless Jesus, a bronze life-size statue depicting Jesus as a homeless person sleeping on a park bench.
At first glance, you wouldn’t recognize the figure.
Jesus is covered from his head to his ankles in a blanket. Only the crucifixion wounds in his feet reveal who he is.
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A devout Catholic, Schmalz describes this sculpture as a visual translation of today’s Gospel in which Jesus identifies himself with the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the prisoners, and even a homeless person sleeping on a park bench.
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Since this statue was unveiled, replicas of it have been reproduced around the world.
Unsurprisingly, reactions to it have varied.
Many simply don’t know how to respond. Seeing what appears to be a homeless person sleeping on a park bench can spark fear in us. We might wonder, “Who is this person? Am I safe here? Is this person a threat?”
It’s jarring.
One woman even called the police, thinking the statue was real.
But if we take Christ’s words in today’s Gospel literally, then we should see Jesus – not a threat – sleeping on that bench. Instead of calling the police, we could take action in a different way.
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One person who read this Gospel literally and took action was Saint Teresa of Calcutta, commonly known as “Mother Teresa.”
She developed an entire spirituality out of Jesus’ words, starting a religious order known as the Missionaries of Charity. They continue to serve the poorest of the poor around the world, even here in New Jersey.
Mother Teresa taught people about the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel by having them raise one hand. On each of their five fingers, she would repeat one of the words:
“You. Did. It. To. Me.”
This inspired her to treat every person she touched, especially the sick, the hungry, and the homeless, as if she were touching Christ himself.
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But is material poverty the deepest form of poverty? Or is there something worse than an empty stomach?
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Mother Teresa once visited a nursing home here in the United States.
On the surface, it seemed to have nearly everything a person could want – healthy food, comfortable beds, air conditioning , television, and so on.
But she noticed that not one of the residents was smiling.
Troubled, she turned to one of the nuns serving there and asked, “Why are these people who have every comfort not smiling? I’m so used to seeing people smile, even the poor who are dying in our homes in Calcutta.”
The nun responded, “This is the way it is nearly every day. They are expecting, they are hoping, that a son or daughter or grandchild will come to visit them. But they never do. They hurt because they are forgotten.”
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They hurt because they are forgotten.
This is the greatest form of poverty, Mother Teresa said, feeling unwanted. Unloved. Forgotten.
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Hasn’t COVID reminded us of this?
These last nine months of social distance and face masks have reminded us just how much we need one another.
We’re relational beings. We need physical presence, face-to-face conversations, and human touch.
For example, how many children learning virtually long to see their friends again at school?
Or how many grandparents long to squeeze their grandchildren?
Or how many of us, myself included, long to see our families, but will miss them this holiday season?
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If Mother Teresa is right – if the greatest form of poverty isn’t hunger or thirst but feeling forgotten – then we can find Jesus right in front of us. We can find him in one another.
Think of those you love whom you’ll miss this holiday season. Stay connected to them via FaceTime or write them a letter. Make sure they don’t feel forgotten.
And be grateful for those whom you will see. Perhaps we should put our phones down, talk to each other, crack a joke, stay at the dinner table just a little longer. See that Christ is dining with us!
Before breaking bread, then, hold up one hand, and on each finger repeat his sacred words:
“You. Did. It. To. Me.”
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No matter who we are, whether we are parishioners of Saint Pius or homeless sleeping on a park bench, what we all hunger for more than anything is love.
Jesus entered the temple area and proceeded to drive out those who were selling things, saying to them, “It is written, My house shall be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.” And every day he was teaching in the temple area. The chief priests, the scribes, and the leaders of the people, meanwhile, were seeking to put him to death, but they could find no way to accomplish their purpose because all the people were hanging on his words.
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Jesus “drove out” the money changers from the temple.
This verb “to drive out” – ekballo – is the same verb used to describe the exorcism of demons. These money changers are like unclean spirits, profaning the house of God.
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Notice the symbolism here. Both good and evil are at work in the temple.
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Unfortunately, that’s true everywhere in the world – good and evil intermingle in governments, workplaces, even houses of worship.
As one Russian novelist put it, “If only it were so easy. But the dividing line between good and evil cuts through every human heart. And who wants to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
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As we prepare for Advent – the coming of the Lord into our world – perhaps we should consider those areas in our own lives where we need Jesus to cast something unclean out.
Whether it’s a particular habit, a temptation, an attitude, or a residual grudge.
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Just as Jesus drove the money changers out of the temple – so he has the power to drive out whatever is unclean in us, particularly through prayer and the sacrament of confession.
If I’m a Catholic, when was the last time I went to confession? Do I believe I’ve outgrown the sacrament? Or will I go before he comes again?
