The word of the priest.

With those two coins that the poor widow threw into the temple treasury, no one would have made a hole in the world. Let’s face it. And yet Christ remained enchanted at the sight of the anonymous lady with her minuscule contribution. I like that Christ did not look at her gift bound by human standards of performance. God has other criteria. I like that the judgments of my God are different from those of men. I like the fact that two quiet sixes can be more likeable to him than a clanging and glowing pile of metal. I love God’s Holy Spirit. I like the fact that there is much for the Lord, even what is little, that it is much for him, if it is all due to circumstances.

Oh, how I am impressed by such sacred relativism and Divine subjectivism! I can already feel them grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me away, they want to install me, the outrageous heretic of relativity, on a burning border, but how can my heart stop burning and, how can I tear my gaze away from Christ, who cannot tear it away from the widow moved by the beauty of her attitude? Oh, I like it, I really do think that God is not driving us humans through a rough Little River, a relentless Objectives rut. So many times we would inevitably fall through it when, for a thousand reasons, we do not provide sufficient performance according to predetermined standards. Even a widow with all her Good Will and all her, uh, two coins would fall through it. I like the fact that it is different, that God captures everything minutely through a fine personalized filter and evaluates it according to other tables. I like that it is different, that God captures everything minutely through a fine personalized filter and evaluates it according to other tables.

I am therefore glad that the fruit I bring does not have to go to scrap, even if it does not fit into the criteria of perfect malice – my little sample products are perhaps the best I am now capable of, and that counts. I am glad that trifles can be pleasing to the Master and that in fact they are something great, if that is all I can do now. I’m glad that it’s okay to manage only to drink water when I have a migraine, although I originally wanted to solve all the problems of the Earth’s surface, and I do not have to condemn myself on the basis of objectively low work efficiency. I rejoice that the Gospel is our salvation from the constant pressure that we are never enough and that what we do is never good enough. I rejoice that the Gospel is the redemption from the Egyptian slavery of heartlessness and that God is our advocate against narcissistic abusers. There are a lot of them. Good God, protect us from them.

I want today’s gospel to reach those who are worse than bad, because more is still required of them than anything. I wish that Jesus could free them from the pressure that nothing they do or everything they give is ever enough. I wish they could hear that it is okay to do only as much as we can: to do as much as we can and not someone else, because we may have less power than someone else, and to do only as much as we can today and not we yesterday, because today we may have less power than we had yesterday. Let us not place on ourselves burdens that cannot be borne, let us not evaluate our performances according to the abilities of others, nor according to our abilities once.

I wish this message could reach children who can’t pass the A – level – maybe even the B-level, even with all their might-but parents are still pushing them into the A’s and comparing them to brilliant preschoolers. I wish they could hear that it’s okay to get a three if they can only learn to get a three, that they don’t have to be all units, but do their best to get a three and not a four or a ball. Jesus, in a crowd of people you were attracted to a poor widow who threw into the Treasury an alms worth three grams of bronze and offered everything she had. It’s good to be motivated, to compete and to be happy after a relentless effort, but it’s dangerous to be under constant pressure. Let’s stretch the bow so that the Arrow will fly as far as possible, but do not strain it so that it will break, and the Arrow will not fly anywhere. Jesus, in a crowd of people you were attracted to a poor widow who threw into the Treasury an alms worth three grams of bronze and offered everything she had. Did she touch you because she reminded you of your father? Could you not look at her and think of the father who gave the most precious thing he had, who gave everything, who gave you? Are you not the true quadrangle that the father offered as a gift to the world, a gift unnoticed and seemingly insignificant by human standards, but whose value exceeded all the heaps of gold, incense, flour, streams of wine, oil and herds of sacrificial animals? Perhaps the anonymous widow moved you because you saw a heart so similar to yours beating in her chest and her sacrifice reminded you of the sacrifice you were about to make. Let your sacrifice also be inconspicuous! I will not subject it to predetermined criteria of effectiveness, and in you, a grain of wheat that has fallen into the ground and died, I will see a blessing for a great harvest, for a life that lasts forever and is forever our home.