There was once a woman, marginalised and unnoticed, poor and silent.
She sat on the sidelines and watched as the rich, recognised, important walked into church and dropped their offerings into the bucket. Each making an impressive sound as it landed, a ripple through the room as the the righteous admired…
how successful he is
what a contribution he makes to the kingdom
how God must approve of him, look at his wealth
oh such generous benefactors
unspoken, echoing loudly in the minds of the watchers.
On the edge, this woman fingers the inside of the second hand pocket on her well-mended garment. She knows so well what is in her pocket. Of such little value and all she has of any value.
She hovers on the edge of decision – logic it seems would say keep it for yourself it won’t make a difference here – and faith sings its contending song when you are loved with endless love how can you hold back, trust the one who makes wonderful things from the dust of the earth
and the watching eyes feel like one more mark against a long checklist that confirm her non-status
She straightens, slips to the edges and casts in the smallest of coins – two of them, all she has.
and they land like a petal falling on the stack of offerings that are sure to change the world.
She turns, lip trembling, heart beating wildly and leaves lighter than all the weight of the world, wholly empty but full in a way no-one else has experienced as they have produced their offerings.
She is free.
…. this woman marginalised, unnoticed, poor, voiceless
and the freedom song her heart sings is shared by a watching man – another who knows what is is to give all of it, the whole of life.
He notices, he tells her story, he makes her rich and his voice gives her story immortality.
What are you holding in your pocket today?
How small is your offering?
Who do you offer to and do you know what God makes from dust?
He makes beloved ones.
So maybe he can do something miraculous with your smallest and complete offering.
Those tiny pennies may not amount to much here but to a God who makes life from dust and breath those tiny pennies/words/gifts/service/patience… those might be ripples whose stories are told in the screenplay of eternity.