She was gone as silently as she had come, stepping to the side to let the successful people and their entourages loudly enter the treasury area that she had just vacated. From somewhere the recorder appeared with scroll and writing instrument, probably summoned by the noise. it was his job to record the gifts that were given and he smiled broadly to see the groups approaching. These were known people, pillars of the community and they were the ones the temple professionals felt most dependent upon and obligated to. Three groups had entered almost at the same time and there was a moment of awkward hesitation as each giver politely acknowledged the others, almost hiding the consternation brewing just beneath controlled expressions. No strangers here.
Perhaps each had hoped to have come alone, or at least not in the presence of these particular others. The oldest deferred to the youngest, opening a way to the box where the recorder stood waiting, unaware that he was tapping his stylus on the edge of the scroll. After a weak attempt at inviting the third, who simply shook his head, to go first, the junior stepped forward with his small casket of offering. Just as none of these had noticed the woman slip out, none noticed Jesus and his disciples watching silently from their seats in the shadows.
Each in turn brought their offerings, counting out the coins. Silver pieces dropping like rain, mixed with the occasional flash of gold, each recorded accurately next to the name of the faithful. For most of the disciples, except Matthew and a couple others, this was more money then they had seen in one place in their lifetime. They glanced occasionally at Jesus, to see if any look crossed his face that might give them permission to express inner delight. But he watched passive and that was enough to dampen their enthusiasm or at least any expression of it.
Three groups bringing their offerings, ending with the eldest. The second had trumped the third in his giving, but now the patriarch matched both and then reaching into an inner fold of his robe brought out a small but ornately woven bag from which he ceremoniously withdrew a strand of beautiful black pearls. Judas gasped. Jesus gaze and expression did not waver. Matthew wondered how long that man had kept that pouch hidden just for such an occasion. With a flourish he handed the string to the recorder and leaned forward whispering something, at which both laughed. An inside joke for inside people. And then turning, smiling at the others, they all left the area, the eldest first, followed by the second and then the youngest with his smaller crowd of attendants. The recorder, not seeing anyone else, wheeled the box into the shadows and through a door where its treasures would be removed and secured.
The disciples were looking at Jesus…waiting. He stood as if listening to something they couldn’t hear. He didn’t make them wait long, but turned and smiled. “Do you think they brought everything they have?” It was the teacher asking the students but no one was eager to attempt an answer. the obvious answer was ‘no’ but they had travelled with this unusual man long enough to know that he didn’t see things the same way they did. In fact almost nothing ever turned out to be the way it seemed, and this sounded like another trick question.
“No?” It was the timid voice of Andrew somewhere in the darkest shadows, more a question than any sort of answer. Answering a question with a question is often a bit safer; one doesn’t feel so exposed. It made Jesus grin and almost laugh out loud.
“Thank you, Andrew, that was very brave of you.” And again they were reminded how this teacher never seemed intent upon shaming any of them, even when they were wrong so often. “Any one else?”
“I agree with Andrew.” It was the firm strong voice of Peter. “Unless he’s wrong, of course.” Chuckles all around. “I mean,” he continued, “that old lady gave everything she had, but these ‘gentlemen’ have lots more where that came from.”
“That is true, Peter,” responded Jesus. “If we are making a simple comparison, the woman gave out of her lack and the men gave out of their abundance. But I would like you to think about this a little deeper. I would like you to consider that these men indeed brought everything they have. In this moment of time, they brought what they had. Their own bondages set the limits and truly defined for each of them what they have to bring. So, ‘yes’, they brought everything they have.
“But…” started James, “what about…”
“The older woman?” finished Jesus. “She is freer than these men, so she had more to bring.” And with that he turned and headed out of the collection area and toward the Temple courtyard.
For a moment no one moved. “Clear as mud,” muttered someone. “True that,” said someone else. “Do you think we will ever get used to not understanding anything?” Their voices trail off as they follow Jesus out to wherever he was going, leaving me standing in the back of the room, listening to a conversation between a speaker and group of friends and strangers. The agitation is gone. Somehow everything has changed. Where did this grace come from that now fills the room. I look from man to man, not hearing the words spoken. Sure what is being said matters, but we will find our way through all those words and the attendant emotions, paradigms and motivations. Do I think they each brought everything they have? Absolutely! And suddenly I am proud and honored to be here with them.
