Saint Mark tells us in the Gospel (Mark 12:38-44) that Jesus sat opposite the Temple treasury and watched people putting money into the receptacle for alms. The scene takes place in one of the porticos, in the so-called Treasure Chamber or Hall of offerings. The days of the Passion were almost upon him.
Our Lord did not comment at all on the many people who contributed large amounts. But Jesus saw a woman come up who was dressed in the typical garb of widows, and who was obviously poor. She had perhaps waited for the crowd to thin out before depositing two small coins there. These coins had the least value of any in circulation at the time. Saint Mark explains the real value of these particular units of currency for the benefit of his non-Jewish readers, to whom his Gospel is principally addressed. He wants everyone to know how very little they were worth. In men’s eyes that anonymous offering had very little value indeed; the two coins were worth a quarter, that is to say a quarter of an as. This coin in its turn was a tenth of a denarius which was the basic monetary unit; a denarius was the day’s wages of a farm worker. A quarter would buy scarcely anything.
If anybody had been keeping a record of the offerings made that day in the Temple, he would probably have thought it was not worth recording this widow’s contribution. We see in fact that this was the most valuable contribution of all! It would be so pleasing to God that Jesus called together his disciples, who were scattered around the place, so that they might be taught the lesson to be learned from this widow. Those tiny pieces of copper could scarcely be heard falling into the treasury box. Jesus however clearly perceived the love of this woman who
said nothing but who was giving God all her savings. Truly I say to you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For they all contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, her whole living (Mark 12:43-44).
It often happens that what God considers important is very different from what men consider important. His standard of measurement and theirs are not the same! We are generally impressed by the big gesture, by unusual things of the kind that attract everyone’s attention. God is moved – the Gospels have left us plenty of examples – by little details filled with love, which are within the radius of action of everyone. He is, of course, also moved by happenings that we consider to be very important, but only when they are carried out with the same spirit of rectitude of intention, of humility and of love. The Apostles, who later were to be the very foundation of the Church, did not forget the lesson they were taught that day. That woman has taught all of us to touch God’s heart every day in the only way most of us can: through little things. Have you noticed how human love consists of little things? Well, divine Love also consists of little things (J. Escrivá, The Way, 824).
In this passage of the Gospel we also learn the true value of things. We can turn everything that happens, no matter how inconsequential it may seem, into something very pleasing to God. And because it is pleasing to him, it is turned into something of great value. Only those things we make pleasing to God have any true and eternal value.
Today in our prayer we can consider the vast number of opportunities that present themselves to us: Great opportunities to serve God seldom arise, but little ones are frequent. Understand then that he who is faithful over a few things will be placed over many. Do all things in the name of God, and you will do all things well. Provided you know how to fulfil your duties properly, then ‘whether you eat or drink whether you sleep or take recreation or turn the spit, you will profit greatly in God’s sight by doing all these things because God wishes you to do them (St Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, III, 34).
It is the little things that make a job perfect, and worthy therefore of being offered to God. But it is not sufficient that what we are doing is good (work, prayer…); it also has to be well finished. For there to be virtue, Saint Thomas Aquinas teaches, it is necessary to attend to two things: to what is being done and to the way it is being done (cf St Thomas, Quodlibet, IV, 19). As far as the way it is being done is concerned, the final touches with the chisel or the brush turn that work into a masterpiece. On the other hand, shoddy workmanship, work which is done clumsily or carelessly, is a sign of spiritual languor and of lukewarmness in a Christian who should be sanctifying himself through his daily work. I know your works; you have the name of being alive, and you are dead… For I have not found your works perfect in the sight of my God (Rev 3:1-2). The very nature of our Christian vocation demands that we take care of little things. Our aim should be to imitate Jesus during his years in Nazareth, those long years of work, of family life, of friendly relationships with his countrymen. Doing little things with love for God’s sake demands attention, sacrifice and generosity. A single isolated little detail may not in itself be very important: what is small, is small: but he who is faithful in small things is great (St Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, 14,35).
Love is what gives little things their value (cf J. Escrivá, op cit, 814). If this love were lacking, our endeavour to look after little things would be pointless; it would become a mania or be merely Pharisaical; we would pay tithes in mint, dill and cumin – as the Pharisees did – and we would run the risk of leaving out the most essential points of the Law – those of justice and of mercy. Although what we have to offer may seem very little – just as the contribution of that poor widow did – it acquires a great value if we place it on the altar and unite it to the offering that the Lord Jesus makes of himself to the Father. Then, our humble surrender – insignificant in itself like the oil of the widow of Sarepta, or the poor widow’s mite – becomes acceptable in God’s eyes through its union with Jesus’ oblation (John Paul II, Homily, Barcelona, 7 November 1982). At other times, details in our work, in our study and in our relationships with other people are the crowning of something good which would remain incomplete without those details.
One of the most obvious warning signs that we are starting on the path of lukewarmness is that we give little value to the details of our life of piety, to details in our work, and to little specific acts of virtue: if we ignore these symptoms we end up paying little attention to big things as well. The misfortune is all the more grievous and incurable when we barely notice that we are sliding downwards and only slowly come to realise this … That if we are in this state we give a mortal blow to the life of the spirit is some thing obvious to everyone (B. Baur, Frequent Confession). Love for God on the other hand is shown by our inventiveness, by our unremitting zeal and our effort to find in everything an occasion for showing our love of God and for giving service to others.
God is not indifferent to a love that knows how to care for small details. He is not indifferent, for example, as to whether we go to greet him – first of all – when we go into a church or when we happen to he passing by a church. He is not indifferent to the effort we make to arrive on time (better, a few minutes early) for Holy Mass, to the way we genuflect in front of him in the tabernacle or the way we behave or try to be recollected in his presence. Moreover, when we see somebody make a devout genuflection before the tabernacle, it is easy for us to think: that person has faith and loves God. That sign of adoration helps others to have greater faith and greater love. It may perhaps seem to you that the Liturgy is made up of little things: the position of the body, genuflections, inclinations of the head; the way the thurible, the missal and the cruets are to be moved. It is then that we have to recall Christ’s words in the Gospel: ‘He who is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much.’ Moreover, nothing is small in the Sacred Liturgy, when we think of the greatness of him towards whom it is directed (Paul VI, Address, 30 May 1967).
Our spirit of mortification normally consists in specific little sacrifices throughout the day: keeping up a persevering struggle in our particular examination of conscience, sobriety at meals, punctuality, being pleasant to people, getting up on time, not leaving our work for later even though we find it difficult and trying, having order in our work and taking care of the tools or implements and materials we use, being grateful for whatever food is put in front of us, not allowing ourselves whims and fancies.
In order to live charity in a way that becomes ever more refined and heroic, it will be necessary for us to apply this approach right down to the smallest and least important details of daily life. Your duty to be a brother to all souls will lead you to practise the ‘apostolate of little things’, without others noticing it. You will want to serve them so that for them their way becomes agreeable (J. Escrivá, Furrow, 737). At times it will mean taking a real interest in what other people are saying; at other times it will be putting aside our own personal concerns so as to give our attention to the people we live with. It will mean not getting annoyed about what are really trivia, not being touchy, making people feel welcome. We will have to help others in a way they may not notice but which lightens their burden, to pray to God for them, for example, when they are in need, to avoid having critical spirit towards them and always to be grateful to them… All of these things are within the reach and scope of each one of us. And we should do the same where each one of the virtues is concerned.
If we give attention to little things, we will live each day to the full, and will know how to fill each moment with the sense of preparation for eternity. To do this, let us frequently ask Mary for her help: Holy Mary, Mother of God; pray for us… now, in every ordinary little situation of our life.
By Francisco Fernandez, In Conversation with God, New York, Scepter, 1990, Volume 3, pp. 510-515
Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash
