So…here I am in this situation that is not the most comfortable. I am listening to a conversation between a speaker and a group of friends and strangers. The subject being dialogued doesn’t even matter…well it does, but not to what I am writing to you about. What is important is that I was sitting there, not saying anything, and pretty much disagreeing with what is being said. Now trust me, this is not a ‘new’ situation for me; I regularly am in conversations or am listening to someone presenting ideas or thoughts that are contrary to my own. No big deal. I know I have no corner on truth or wisdom, just ask Kim. But today I am agitated. The speaker seems to be creating a river of words that seem all wrong, and I am watching everybody just jump in and splash about as if they are totally unaware that there is a waterfall right around the next couple bends.
One of my best friends is sitting next to me and without looking, I can feel him glance occasionally at me. He knows that this particular subject is one that is near and dear to my heart, and he has heard a few of my rants and raves about it from time to time. Thankfully, I am sitting at the back and doing a fairly good job, I think, of controlling my body language. Inside I am a mix of emotions. Part of me wants to stand up and define in no uncertain terms that the conversation is filled with bovine waste material. Part of me knows better, that such a declaration rarely produces anything that changes the aroma of said waste material, in fact, to do so usually simply adds to the pile. But finally, I lean over and whisper to my friend my perspective on the agrarial nature of the discussion. His response shoves me back into the river of grace where he knows I would rather swim.
My friend leans back, and whispers a question, "Do you think they brought everything they have?"
The walls disappeared, the conversation evaporated and I was standing at the back of a crowd of men. Conversations were muted and everyone was turning to look in the direction that Jesus was pointing. With his other hand to his lips, he motioned silence, and a few final but hushed words trailed out into nothing. At first, I had no idea what I was looking for and in fact heard her before I even saw her. The sense of anticipation was palpable, elevated even higher by the fixed gaze of Jesus in the direction of the approaching sound. I found that I was holding my breath as her approach neared and when she emerged I was stunned. One feeble, little old lady shuffling toward the place where offerings were given. Along with a number of the others, I glanced at Jesus, a little put off, a little surprised, a little disappointed. But he only had eyes for her and his gaze forced ours back to watch her finish the final part of her journey. She was ordinary, she was old, she dragged one leg a bit…not completely well, mostly blind it appeared. It seemed that as far as she was concerned she was alone, neither acknowleging nor considering our presence. She stopped at the box and reached up to draw a wisp of gray hair that had tumbled out from under her tunic. Her face seems is etched by the unkindness of life, but her eyes flash with life and youthfulness, even if mostly blinded by the pain of sorrows. She then reached into her dress and pulled out an old leather pouch, painfully slow in untying the draw strings and tipping it upside down onto her other hand. Two small coins drop. Hiding the pouch again inside the folds of clothing, she picked up the mites from her other hand, holding them between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly she lifted it up, her face breaking across laugh lines into a radiant smile. Then her cloudy eyes opened wide, her eyebrows raised as if she had heard something remarkable. She snapped her gaze right to Jesus, and I glanced at him just in time to see him smile and bow a little to her. Somehow she knew in whose presence she was…and it was enough. The sound of approaching voices and she quickly wiped some tears that had begun to fall, dropped the coin and shuffled out of the way of busier people, leaving untraced and unnoticed, except by one who mattered. And me, I was looking at my own feet, wishing that I was brave enough to take off my shoes. And his voice of love gently pieced me like a blade, "Brothers, do you think she brought everything she has?"
