Widow’s Mites

Widow’s Mites

By Jenny Komenda

“And Jesus sat down opposite the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in out of their abundance; but she, out of her poverty, did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”

Mark 12:41-44

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Her gift was so small it would barely have made a sound. Yet the Savior called His disciples over to see it. “In that moment,” taught Elder O. Vincent Haleck, “the Savior fully knew the widow, for her gift showed Him her heart.” We often read this story as one of loss—a woman “doubly poor,” in Charles Spurgeon’s words, who tithed her last two coins and went home with nothing. But the Savior seems to be teaching something much more profound about her sacrifice. The word “sacrifice” comes from the Latin sacrum facere, “to make sacred.” To place something on the altar is not, at heart, to be deprived of it. It is to make it holy by turning it over to God. Mark’s phrase “all her living” might even be read as “her whole life.” The poor widow did not merely empty her purse. She consecrated her life.

That is why the size of our offering matters so little to God. “It is the obedience and love which God accepteth,” wrote 17th century theologian Matthew Poole, “not the quantum of the gift.” Dieter F. Uchtdorf observed, “To the Lord, the value of the donation was measured not by the effect it had on the treasury but by the effect it had on the heart of the donor.” Her sacrifice had “a purifying effect on the giver,” while the larger, easier gifts “left the giver unchanged.”

This is the quiet miracle that comes when we willingly place things on the altar: what we give is not lost but transformed, and in the process so are we. Every offering freely made makes a little more room in our heart for Christ. G.A. Chadwick pointed out that the widow could have kept one coin back and still made an offering, “but her heart went with her two mites.” Pope Francis saw the same: “She is not afraid of losing the little she has because she trusts in God’s abundance,” writing further that, “the sound of her few coins is more beautiful than the grandiose offerings of the rich, since they express a life sincerely dedicated to God, a faith that does not live by appearances but by unconditional trust. Let us learn from her: a faith without external frills, but interiorly sincere; a faith composed of humble love for God and for our brothers and sisters.”

What do we have that we can offer up to the Lord? Perhaps little the world would notice: an hour, a talent, a shared grief, a stubborn habit, a fragile hope. Neal A. Maxwell reminds us that “our wills constitute all we really have to give God anyway.” That is the real offering beneath every other. “In praising this faithful widow,” Elder Uchtdorf taught, “the Savior gave us a standard to measure our discipleship in all of its many expressions. Jesus taught that our offering may be large or it may be small, but either way, it must be our heartfelt all.” Nor do we need to worry what becomes of it, once offered. The widow went home never knowing that the Lord had noticed and blessed her. “And so, perhaps,” wrote Alfred Edersheim, “is every sacrifice for God all the more blessed, when we know not of its blessedness.”

So, let us come to the altar as she did, not grudgingly, for “God loveth a cheerful giver” (2 Corinthians 9:7), but in trust, casting in, as St. Ambrose urged, “the two mites, full of faith and grace.” For, as Elder Uchtdorf reminds us, “to God, our sacrifices are more sacred than our accomplishments.” Whatever we lay there, however meager, He receives and makes holy. And in the giving, He makes us holy, too.

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