If you’re like me, and you’re far, far below the “having buildings named after you” tax bracket, you might just think that today’s Gospel has nothing to do with you.
 
You might kick back and relax, thinking of all the poor, rich suckers sitting in the pews, shifting uncomfortably as Jesus praises the meagre gift of the widow and disdains those who only give from abundance, those whose charity results in admiration and praise and all manner of temporal reward.
 
“In this economy, every gift I give is from my poverty,” you might think to yourself with a chuckle.
 
But you — and let me be clear, I’m talking mostly to myself here — would be wrong. Because we all have an abundance of something, even if it isn’t money.
 
What I’ve come to realise about myself is that I find plenty of ways to give only from my abundance. For instance, if I answer any request with the words, “Sure, I can, but…” chances are high that I’m about to work out a way to give, but only in a way that doesn’t really impact me.
 
I’m willing to help. I just don’t want to feel it.
 
But here’s the thing about Jesus: he cares what’s in our hearts as well as what’s in our hands. A good deed, an act of charity? That’s great! But what’s the story behind it? Because a world full of moral actions and selfish hearts doesn’t do anyone any good.
 
When we give from our poverty — our poverty of money, our poverty of time, our poverty of patience — we are giving the gift of the widow.