Mark 12:38-44; 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

According to research, life expectancy in first-century Israel, in the time of Jesus, was 30-35 years old. Don’t you find that fascinating? Not everybody died by 35, of course. Still, this was the average period most people lived back then. Jesus left home for ministry at around age 30. He could’ve started sooner, don’t you think? But he must’ve had to postpone his ministry till this late to support his mom. Reaching 30, though, ministry was now or never. You know, sisters and brothers, in my prayers, I’ve always imagined that it was Mary who convinced her son to finally go. “I’ll be fine, anak,” I seem to hear her say. “You’ve wanted to do this since you were young. I’ve saved more than enough from what you’ve given me. Our relatives will see to me. Stop worrying! Go!” “Are you sure, mama?” “Oh, stop it! Go!” It must’ve been a bittersweet moment when the day came for parting. My own mom couldn’t get herself to enter my room when I left to join the Jesuits.

Jesus must’ve been pensive when he watched a widow put her few coins into the alms box. His mom would’ve been an easy recall. For she was a widow, too. And her one and only treasure, she also gave away. Both widows must’ve hoped it was worth parting with what meant their lives to them. Mary couldn’t have kept Jesus to herself even if she needed him. His destiny was marked for the widows, the orphans, the poor. Her empty nest was less urgent than the people who lived in emptiness and needed him more. Mary must’ve been preparing herself for the day when she would surrender her precious to the “alms box,” when he’d go from fixing things to fixing people. But come to think of it, sisters and brothers, given that life expectancy at the time, what few years Jesus had left, he gave away, too, didn’t he? So, when he was transfixed on the widow that day, he must’ve realized this was a scene from his very own life. Like widow, like Mary. And like mother, like son.

Today, most of us in this room do not have to give from our emptiness. We’re blessed with comfort and plenty, or at least, we have a little more than enough to go by. Not to worry. Jesus doesn’t say, “Then, you should all part with everything you have. It’s only when you give from the little that you have left will you be richly blessed.” That’s absurd. Whatever security and comfort we enjoy right now are God’s blessings.

But since we do have more, dear sisters and brothers, we can give a little more to those who have very little, can’t we? So, in the spirit of Jesus’ irrepressibly soft spot for the widows, the orphans, and the poor, please allow me this very small suggestion. Take it as a small ask from a small priest. If we can spare a watch-your-car-boy P10 , how about sparing him a P20, two P20s? If we give P20 to a delivery rider, how about P50, a hundred pesos? If a restaurant doesn’t have a service charge, how about volunteering a 20 percent and handing it personally to the waiter? And maybe we can be less diffident about giving more alms. Never mind the sindikato. I think of it as government’s scare tactic. People begging on the streets make politicians look lazy and useless, as many of them actually are. Some already have had their hands in your hard-earned tax money but have nothing to show for what they steal. But the hundred pesos we part with, to give to the poor, may not make much difference in our wallet today. But trust me, what a huge difference it will make on their table tonight. How do we know? By the gratitude that brightens their tired, worried faces especially when you hand it to them and look into their eyes.

But if we’re not able to give a bit more to the poor because we’re also hard up, at the very least we can make them feel seen. Make them feel they’re people like we are. We can make it a point to look at them when we thank them. When the guards open the door for us and greet us, “Good morning, mamser,” we can greet them back this time, and really mean it. We can ask our serve if she’s already eaten, or our kasambahay how it’s going back home, or our driver how his children are doing. In other words, there’s always a way of giving from our plenty to those who give so much of themselves from out of near-empty. Kindness and generosity of any kind makes a difference to the poor, especially when it comes from the comfortable and privileged, to whom they are almost always unseen. Besides, whatever we can offer them, sisters and brothers, was in a very real sense also bestowed to us, in some inscrutable, ineffable, cosmic network of blessings from above.

The widow at the Temple parting with her few cents was such a marvel, not only for her almost foolish generosity, but also and more so, for her interior freedom. She was not only generous. She was so incredibly, enviably free. Isn’t that the sweetest freedom of all?

*photo from the Internet