The jar of flour did not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry.
Ever since Vatican II we have been exposed (over a three year cycle) to an Old Testament reading at every Sunday Mass prior to the Gospel reading. The idea was to widen our grasp of the Bible, multiply opportunities to feed upon its wisdom prior to feeding upon Christ at communion time. It was not so, prior to the 1960’s – when at Mass it was all Gospel, no Old Testament – and the same cycle of Gospels every year.
Now when this change took place the liturgy scholars put a bit of a spin upon the selections to be read. In other words more often than not the Old Testament reading was geared to the New; it was chosen because its message anticipated and served to clarify the message of the Gospel selection.
For example, if you remember last Sunday’s Old Testament selection (the first reading), it was about a poor widow who had hardly enough to feed herself and her son let alone meet the prophet Elijah’s request for something to eat. The prophet asks for but a cupful of water and then adds, How about a piece of bread as well? She reacts, saying in effect, For God’s sake, there’s only a handful of flour in my jar and a smidgen of oil in my jug – and after my child and I consume that we expect to die of starvation. Nevertheless the prophet insists that she make him a little cake because The Lord . . . says the jar of flour shall not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry.
So notice now how the Gospel reading for last Sunday is also about a poor widow! Except, unlike the high and mighty scribes who stingily make token contributions from their ample bank accounts, this widow deposits all that she has into the Temple treasury – her whole livelihood.
What a contrast! The widow in the Old Testament reading clings to what she has for fear of having nothing at all – a natural feeling. For her the future is always empty. Whereas the widow of the New Testament story shows no worry, no concern about how little she has to give, about tomorrow. She gives her all with an abandon and, may we say, a confidence that somehow there is more where that came from and it will always be exciting to find out whence it will come (which is a summary of my own whole economic history!).
How many of us are like the first widow. We don’t think we have much to offer; years of education have left us thinking we know so little, are somehow handicapped, untalented; shy to put ourselves forward, unconvinced that we have something worthwhile to say or achieve, a gift to present to the world. For God’s sake, what do you expect of me! I’m played out; have nothing more to give! Or as Groucho Marx has been endlessly quoted: I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member. When from Elijah and God’s point of view we have so much bottled up inside us that can, like rain, make a parched landscape green or a parched town or parish.
The Gospel widow never belittled or doubted the worth she had to give to the world no matter how little it seemed– no more than did our wonderful Emily Dickinson whom nobody knew, until after her death her poetry, her wisdom blossomed for all to enjoy – for as long as time shall last.