Text - Mark 12:41-44
Lord, I thank you for this great and holy Temple. It's only because of your goodness that I'm able to come into your presence and marvel at the majesty and beauty that surround me here.
But all these people Lord! I really hate the crowds .... O, please forgive me, most holy God! Forgive me, Mighty Judge of all. I know I shouldn't say "I hate". You command us to love. And I really do try. Even when my nephews call me names, and tell me to get out of their house, I smile and continue to wash their clothes. It's not their fault, they're only repeating what they hear their father say to the neighbours. I hear him too. "Why, O why did my brother, Tobias, have to die? It's a total disaster," I don't think he's ever once considered my pain. His wonderful friends indicate their sympathy by shaking their heads and making those "tut tut" sounds.
There was that day a young visitor from out of town dared to challenged his incessant moaning, "What do you mean 'disaster'?" He asked, "I thought that since Tobias had no sons you inherited his house, his land and his business."
My brother-in-law turned red and spat out his gruff reply with a jerk of his thumb first towards his own chest, then in my general direction. "You don't understand. Respected, God-fearing men, like me have no choice. We're expected to do the right thing. So now I have his miserable old widow and useless female brats under my roof, bleeding me dry."
The "miserable" is pretty accurate, Lord. The ache in my heart just goes on and on. But, bleeding him dry! That hurt, really hurt. Even though it's the last thing I felt like doing I've kept on working in our old business, and I still don't get a cent; I accepted his invitation to live in his house but only if I'd be allowed to do all the washing and cleaning. I'd have much rather stayed in our old house, but as he said, that was out of the question. How could I have afforded the rent he would have demanded? He had it sold a month after the funeral.
God please don't let my pain turn to bitterness. Help me appreciate what I have.
Help me join the people and the priests as they cheer each gold coin my brother-in-law drops into the offering box every week. It's so wonderful that he gives you so much. Forgive me for thinking he does it simply to receive praise from his friends. Forgive me for being so selfish and horrible that as I polished and counted them out for him this week, I again thought of stealing one so that I could buy new sandals for my girls.
Forgive me for my own miserable offering. Two copper coins. I know they're as good as worthless, but they're the last of my savings. I was so ashamed I tried to put them in so that no one would see, or hear the cheap coppery "clink" as they hit the mound of my brother-in-law's gold coins. But I'm pretty sure at least one man knew what I'd done. I same him, out of the corner of my eye, pointing towards me. I know he and his mates were laughing at me. I don't blame them. How could any man understand what it's like. I'm as useless, and worthless, and cheap as those two coins.
But do you know what scares me most, O Holy One of Israel? I'm terrified that as you sit on your magnificent gold throne amid the unbelievable riches of heaven, you're also laughing at me. How could you in all your power and riches understand someone like me?