Another woman adds to the Holy Week pattern. An imaginative retelling of The Widow’s Mite, in which a woman makes her way to the temple on a busy day and reflects on her advancement in life. S
She walked steadily through the busy city streets. She knew her way around and avoided being shoved out of the way by earnest pilgrims who were looking out for family and friends, carrying luggage or buying food for the feast. She kept her head down when she passed yet another group of soldiers taking up more room than they needed to. Not that she was worried; she’d got used to being invisible. That’s what being older and widowed did for you. She’d also got used to making every penny she had work hard for her.
As she climbed up the hill to the temple, she couldn’t help but remember other Passovers, when, with her husband and children she almost ran, singing psalms I was glad when they said to me, “Let’s go to the temple of the Lord.” (from Psalm 122) and laughing with excitement.
That sort of happy excitement felt like a dimly remembered dream, but she anticipated the festival with a quiet certainty and under her breath muttered a different psalm Do not reject me when I am old; do not leave me when my strength is gone. Even though I am old and grey, do not leave me, O God. (from psalm 71).
When she arrived at the outer temple courts, she instinctively drew herself in. She was used to a barrage of men selling doves for sacrifice, and she had no intention of handing over her money in exchange for some poor creature doomed to die. Still, she was surprised by the quiet spaciousness in that court. Unusually in festival week, there was space to breathe and to pray.
She had heard rumours about a travelling rabbi from Nazareth who’d lost his temper with the temple traders and thrown them out. She’d heard other rumours about him too, about good teaching, feeding and healing and was surprised he’d been so angry. Still, if it meant there was more space for pilgrims that week, then that was good.
She walked on into the court of the women. That was as far as she was allowed to go, but it had what she wanted. She reached into her purse and found two small copper coins. She’d worked out that if she broke her fast later that day and accepted her neighbour’s invitation to share their Passover meal, she could afford to give them as her festival offering. They barely clinked when she threw them in the treasury box and she breathed a prayer that they would be turned into food for the poor.
Before she’d finished, she heard the murmur of a group of men walking past and caught the scent of expensive perfume. Then, she heard clearly one man’s voice and realised she was no longer invisible.
Jesus said: “I tell you the truth, this poor widow gave more than all the rich people. They gave only what they did not need. This woman is very poor, but she gave all she had to live on.”
She raised her head and saw that his hand was stretched towards her, and he was looking her in the eye. She knew that God had answered the prayer of the psalm and not rejected her.
This story is sometimes called the widow’s mite, but I wonder if we should rename it “The widow’s might!” She seems like a mighty strong character to me.
I wonder how she fits into the pattern of Holy Week. Certainly, she was an example to help Jesus challenge the establishment and ideas of greatness. What if there was something more? What if she gave him a fresh memory of goodness when he was surrounded by evil?
Go well towards Easter,
Mandy.
You can read this Bible story in Mark’s Gospel chapter 12, verses 41-44.
If you enjoyed reading this, please like and subscribe!
Wandering Through The Land Of Nod. 