Looking back at my priestly ministry spanning over more than 52 years, I lost count of the many people who came and keep coming to me with a very heavy heart. Invariably, they want me, as one of God’s ministers, to assure them that he has been monitoring all their sighs, accompanying them through their tragedies and collecting their tears in his divine bowl: My wanderings you have noted; are my tears not stored in your vial, recorded in your book? (Psalm 56:9)
Frankly, the most painful part of sitting there listening, has been and always is, their silent plea if they cannot see a way out of their plight, and my powerlessness to go beyond words of comfort and reassurance. This feeling of tragic inevitability and imminent end were present in the words of the widow from Zarephath: “…when we have eaten it, we shall die.” (1 Kings 17: 12); as well as in Jesus’ words about the supreme gesture of the widow who dropped two copper coins in the Temple treasury: “…but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.” (Mark 12:44)
Again and again, no matter how close we might find ourselves to the brink, the good news is that our God is fully aware of our plight, as our silent anguish reaches his ears anytime, anywhere. Of course, on the scale of world events worth recording in history books, our wrenching choices, our anguished situations will never register; they are utterly insignificant. But not for our God.
We might be living through the “for worse” part of our marriage. We might be tempted to give up on a difficult child. We might be hoping for a future without the trial that is gnawing at our soul. Or we might have painted for ourselves too rosy, almost ideal an environment from which sudden pain and anxiety yanked us away totally unprepared.
Well, in all cases, we ought to keep in mind that the Lord Jesus, who has entered heaven, is both at our side as well as before the throne of the Father pleading on our behalf. (cf. Hebrews 9:24-28) Both God the Father and our brother Jesus know that our two copper coins, our handful of flour, our little oil are all that we have left…
Clearly then, today, we are urged to live through the pain, to embrace the thick darkness before us. Whatever we are asked to endure, at this juncture of our life, it must symbolize the core of our entire self. Yet, we might have to look at the flip side of this coin. We could, in a sense, be like the scribes, who like to go around in long robes and accept greetings in the marketplaces, seats of honor in synagogues, and places of honor at banquets. (Mark 12:38-39)
Unintentionally, we might, so to speak, devour the houses of widows and, as a pretext, recite lengthy prayers.
Jesus is both praising the heroic self-giving of the widow who trusted her entire existence into God’s hands, but also lamenting the tragedy of a society that had driven the most defenseless of its citizens to the brink of powerlessness, silence, and the anguish of total insecurity.
We take pride in our honesty and moral integrity. We are caring, compassionate people. So, how can we possibly be creating anguish in the heart of the most vulnerable and pushing some to the brink of despair?
Certainly not intentionally. But by being distracted by the lures of this world; by desiring some extravagant thing that would give us fleeting moments of joy and push us a notch higher on the social ladder; by letting the news of tragedies leave us mostly unaffected or driven to donate only a token to quiet our conscience rather than contributing according to our real means. We can worsen harrowing situations of despair by having allowed our heart to be only superficially sensitive to the needs of those around us. And regarding those not near to us, perhaps we have failed to be adequately informed about the foreign missions and failed to become sincerely concerned also about the urgent needs of our brothers and sisters.
Hence, throughout our life, we experience cases like those of the two widows (1 Kings 17:10-16 & Mark 12:38-44) and situations of disregard and apathy. We can be victims of indifference, and we can be disengaged bystanders.
In both cases we are in situations that can be redeemed by Christ alone. And this is precisely the reason why we feel the need to gather for our Sunday Eucharistic celebration to remind each other that Jesus has assumed our pained flesh; that he is close to us and interceding for us before the throne of the Father. But he wants us to consume his Body and Blood so that our hearts become truly trained to feel the pain of others and prepare us to be ushered into heaven if we would have attended to his needs by attending to the needs of the hungry, thirsty, homeless, ill, naked and imprisoned who are waiting for our help.
