Widow's mite

There is a man, T, who lives in his truck in the church parking lot. He has been around St. Joe's now for a good while - perhaps a year. At first I didn't think he was homeless. He would come to Holy Eucharist on Sunday and stick around for coffee hour to chat. He never asked for anything.

Since taking up residence at the church he has rarely missed a service of Communion or Daily Prayer. He comes to breakfast, sometimes eating and sometimes not (I think it depends on what the casserole looks like), but always politely conversing. I've never seen him drink, though he seems to be on good terms with the others at church that do. T is one of the folks that makes the work we do easy and joyful.

This morning T and I said prayer together, just the two of us, for the first 15 minutes of the service. As we were leaving prayer, a woman who had arrived in time for the last few prayer asked for a bus pass to go job hunting. I said I would have to try to get one for her today because I was out. Then I turned around to the poor plate to see if I could fish the two dollars for the pass out of it. Before I could do so, T had opened his wallet, pulled out two dollars and given them to her.

I smiled in awe of the beauty.

I hung my head half-comically at my hardness of heart. I had been inclined to wait and see if I could get someone to pick up some passes later that day. That would cost me nothing. Then I had turned to the $60 in the poor plate to see if there were a couple of singles. Administering the poor plate costs me nothing, and by it I gain recognition for "serving" the poor. And it is mostly filled by those giving out of their abundance. The poor plate usually costs its donors nothing.

But T had given out of his lack. Such a gift was costly and it must have hurt. With all the cash in the poor plate I could not have given more. It was a sacrifice I did not dare counsel against.

Colin Miller, depauperum.blogspot.com