Monday in the 34th Week of Ordinary Time, November 24, 2025

Luke 21, 1-4

When Jesus looked up he saw some wealthy people putting their offerings into the treasury and he noticed a poor widow putting in two small coins. He said, “I tell you truly, this poor widow put in more than all the rest; for those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood.”

In this brief and luminous scene from Luke’s Gospel, Jesus reveals something that overturns every human measure of value. He is sitting in the Temple, a place built to honor God, watching how people honor God in practice. The wealthy come forward and deposit generous offerings — coins that clatter, sparkle, and impress. Then a widow approaches quietly, unseen by others, holding in her hand two tiny copper coins — a sum so small it is almost an embarrassment. She drops them in. No one notices. Except Jesus.

And what Jesus sees is the very heart of the Father.

He says that this widow has given more than all the others. Not more coins, not more purchasing power, not more institutional support—more in the eyes of God. Why? Because her gift contains the whole of herself. “Those others have all made offerings from their surplus wealth,” Jesus says, “but she, from her poverty, has offered her whole livelihood.” Her entire life, distilled into two small coins, becomes an offering that outweighs the gold of kings.

This passage reveals first that God’s measure is not quantity but interior weight. God peers into the soul, not the purse. The rich give without feeling the gift; the widow feels the full weight of it. The currency God receives is love, trust, surrender, and willingness. Her coins shimmer with all four.

But even more deeply, this widow shows us the shape of Christ’s own heart. She anticipates His Passion. Like her, he will soon give “all His livelihood” — his very life —in a moment that looks insignificant and even shameful to the world, yet stands as the greatest act of love in human history. In her small and hidden offering, he sees a reflection of his total self-giving that will redeem the world.

And so the Lord Jesus gathers his disciples close and says, “Look at her.” The disciples had just been marveling at the grandeur of the Temple stones — its architecture, its permanence, its splendor. But Jesus points their gaze to one trembling act of trust from a woman no one notices. Her offering is the true cornerstone, precious in his sight. Her poverty, freely surrendered, is the foundation upon which God builds his Kingdom.

This story invites each of us to ask: What coins are in my hand? Not what gifts I possess, but what I cling to. What fears hold me back. What I am reluctant to surrender because it feels too small, too fragile, too necessary to my survival.

The widow had nothing — but she held nothing back.

That is why her offering explodes with divine power. A person who gives from surplus gives something; a person who gives from poverty gives themselves. And that is the gift God can transform.

Christ is not asking us to impoverish ourselves in reckless ways, but he is asking for the corner of our heart where we keep our last two coins — the part we prefer to keep for ourselves: the last reserve of security, the guarded fear, the hidden wound. When we place that in his hands — even tremblingly — we discover that we lose nothing and gain everything.

The widow’s gift is not a lesson in fundraising. It is a revelation of the Gospel. God looks not at the size of the gift, but at the surrender it represents. In heaven’s economy, two small coins freely given outweigh a treasury of gold given with indifference.

And so Jesus calls us gently to step forward like her: quietly, humbly, offering whatever is ours to give — our love, our patience, our trust, our time, our sufferings, our poverty, our hope. When offered to him, they become infinitely precious.

For when we give him our heart, even in its littleness, he gives us his own infinite love in return.