The Widow Strikes Back
Proper 27, Year B; Mark 12:38-44
Last week we had a rare story of agreement between Jesus and a scribe, which underlined the fact that Jesus’ growing conflict with the Jewish leadership (as well as with the Roman overlords) was not with the Law or with the Temple (on which more below), but with most of their purported defenders at the time. This is worth bearing in mind today for both anecdotes within the Gospel reading, where Jewish religious institutions are prominent.
The first part of today’s Gospel (we have skipped a section where Jesus discusses his relationship with a Davidic Messiah) takes us back to the more expected territory of conflict with the scribes. Jesus first criticizes them—the teachers of the Law—for their preoccupation with glory. The warning about seeking honor, recognition, and privilege has universal resonance, but still needs to be read contextually. The quest for these specifically contrasts with how Jesus has been describing the reign of God during the preceding journey to Jerusalem: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant” (10:43) sums that up neatly. The scribes thus tend to present not the reality of faith and obedience to God, but the opposite.
More serious still however, and yet coherent with the complaint about seeking honor, is the accusation that the scribes prey on the helpless. “Devouring widows’ houses” seems to refer to exploitation of those who had no other forms of support than the capital or property that remained after widowhood. The need to care for widows (as well as orphans and immigrants, also without effective means of support in that agrarian setting) and therefore the outrage of exploiting them are recurrent themes through the Old Testament (Exod 22:22, Deut 24:10, etc.). Here we may imagine lawyers who then, as sometimes now, might be trustees of a widow’s estate, but who failed to exercise that responsibility.
Some commentators link this exploitation of widows with the remarkable story that follows, of the “Widow’s mite.” Joel Marcus for instance suggests the “long robes” of the scribes could mean that those criticized were priestly figures as well, and hence that the following passage expands on their activity.1 Others take up a suggestion from Arrington Wright, that the story of the widow is not a commendation of her behavior but a picture of exploitation; that is, her gift of the remains of her estate to the Temple was not so much a model of piety as a symptom of oppression.2
We can certainly inherit misreadings, and the story has been domesticated (especially when stewardship campaigns get close), but the idea that the widow is a victim fails to convince, because it does not (as Elizabeth Struthers Malbon points out) really consider the context in Mark.3
We recently read the story of a rich man who was challenged to sell all he owned to follow Jesus and gain eternal life; the disciples then added that they had left everything and followed him. Two weeks ago we read of the already-destitute Bartimaeus leaping out of his cloak—his home as well as garment, his sole possession—to follow Jesus. The idea that the widow should have been balancing her portfolio and hedging against currency fluctuation instead of giving everything away is thus hardly compelling. It is precisely those who grasp the choice of giving it away who are the model disciples in Mark, and if Jesus’ commendation of her jars with our sensibilities in this case as well, should we be surprised?
Malbon also points out that this woman belongs to a list in Mark of those who act with striking courage and assertiveness: the woman with the flux (chapter 5), the Syro-phoenician (ch. 7), this widow and still to come, after Jesus’ upcoming apocalyptic discourse, the unnamed woman who anoints his feet (14:3-9). Each of these acts with an autonomy that disturbs the social equilibrium as well as that of the reader, displaying an agency that is unexpected but always affirmed. The widow deserves her place among these.
The Temple itself complicates how we tend to read this scene. We must admit that its place in the Gospels is ambiguous. Indeed, the very next scene will have Jesus predicting the destruction of the great shrine (13:1-2). We are however burdened here by a long history of Christian supersessionism, according to which Temple and sacrifice could never be theologically sound because they are (e.g.) “material” not “spiritual”—hence there is a temptation to read past what Mark actuallly tells us and to assume that widow could not be offering her tiny coins to any good end.
Not long before though, in a scene the lectionary skips over (11:15-19), Jesus had acted violently against the commercial tenants of the Temple. Although this is obviously a critical stance, it was then made quite clear—with the quote from Isaiah that this was to be “a house of prayer for all the nations” (Isa 56:7)—that Jesus’ action was a plea for the real purpose and identity of the Temple, not an attack on it per se. The Temple was never denigrated during Jesus’ ministry. As with the recent exchange with the scribe about the Law, Jesus defends the religious institutions of Israel from those who have misused them.
This speaks to a wider interpretive challenge. Readers seeking to extract timeless teaching from Jesus’ pronouncements in the Gospels without attending to the narrative arc will always be tripped up. The fact that the situation of the Temple will shortly change is not to be denied, any more than that the place of the Gentiles in God’s plan is going to change in the light of the events to come. Mark however presents a story, not just a static image; what can be true at one point in the story can change because of the (literal) crux to which it is headed.
Jesus’ ministry changes its surrounding reality, not so much because of (e.g.) wise teaching about generous giving, but because of his impending clash with the powers of the world. We might seek in vain, then, for proper models of social inclusion in his teaching when Jesus the Jewish prophet doggedly maintains his ethnic and religious focus, but he then turns out to be the savior of the gentiles too (see 15:39). By the same token, if we want a clear statement about the value of the Temple and sacrifices regardless of context, we will not find it, because Jesus is able to show his zeal for the Temple while also predicting its demise, and thus entirely capable of praising an action (the widow’s gift) which makes little sense in the world’s terms, regardless of what comes next.
The praise for the widow’s act thus constitutes not a timeless teaching about philanthropy, but a highly situational observation about hope and the love of God. The widow’s two tiny copper coins outweigh the gold and silver of the scribes, because they defy the exploitation that might have made her and her sisters seem only of as much value as their denuded estates. So the woman’s gift, of no economic consequence to the powerful, was an act of generosity and service to God that put others to shame, and an act of defiance in the face of exploiters. With no honor to attend her (unlike the scribes) it makes no economic sense, but is a moment of true glory.
Mark: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. New York: Doubleday, 2000, pp. 852-3. I think this is not convincing in itself - this is too subtle to suggest priestly identity, and the long robes of the anecdote serve mostly indicate the lack of need to perform any kind of real labor.
Wright, Addison G. “The Widow’s Mites: Praise or Lament?—A Matter of Context.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 44.2 (1982): 256–65.
Wright embraces explicit anachronism: “if any one of us (sic) were actually to see in real life a poor widow giving the very last of her money to religion, would we not judge the act to be repulsive and to be based on misguided piety because she would be neglecting her own needs? Do we really think that Jesus would have reacted otherwise? Do we really think that he would have enthused over such a donation?” (p. 256). See however Malbon, “The Poor Widow in Mark and Her Poor Rich Readers.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 53.4 (1991): 589–604.
There is complexity here, I think, between asking the questions "why is this widow so poor?" and "what is it that compels here to give everything she has?" The connections you have made (a through-line, if you will) between the rich man, Bartimaeus, and this widow are compelling. The last will indeed be first, and that is the heart of the matter. Yet we can wrestle, then as now, with the question of crushing poverty amidst astonishing wealth and who perpetuates it and who benefits from it. And of course, writing this as we ponder the presidential election (today) is challenging. Thanks, as always, for provoking me to considering the mise-en-scène.
As always, I'm grateful for your commentary and insights, Andrew! I am a bit skeptical, however, about your dismissal of the figure of the widow as one of economic or social oppression. I don't think absolutely every story of encounter has to be read in the same way--just because some are told to sell everything doesn't mean everyone must, especially when they are already not in any position of privilege. Moreover, Mark himself seems to give us a clue here by noting how the scribes "devour" the widows' houses. I think there is more to make of this concerning economic systems of injustice, especially when they are supported by religious institutions, than you appear to suggest here..... That's what I'm sitting with this week, anyway. Again, MANY thanks for your weekly, faithful work!