It was an answer not only most truthful, but of marvellous beauty and depth. It elevated the controversy into quite another sphere, where there was no conflict between what was due to God and to man - indeed, no conflict at all, but Divine harmony and peace. Nor did it speak harshly of the Nationalist aspirations, nor yet plead the cause of Rome. It said not whether the rule of Rome was right or should be permanent - but only what all must have felt to be Divine. And so they, who had come to entangle' Him, went away,' not convinced nor converted, but marvelling exceedingly. [5134]
3. Passing for the present from the cavils of the Sadducees and the gainslaying of the Scribes, we come unexpectedly on one of those sweet pictures - a historical miniature, as it is presented to us - which affords real relief to the eye amidst the glare all around. [5135] From the bitter malice of His enemies and the predicted judgment upon them, we turn to the silent worship of her who gave her all, and to the words with which Jesus owned it, all unknown to her. It comes to us the more welcome, that it exhibits in deed what Christ had said to those hypocrites who had discussed it, whether the tribute given to Cæsar was not robbing God of what was His. Truly here was one, who, in the simplicity of her humble worship, gave to the Lord what was His!
Weary with the contention, the Master had left those to whom He had spoken in the Porches, and, while the crowd wrangled about His Words or His Person, had ascended the flight of steps which led from the Terrace' into the Temple-building. From these steps - whether those leading up to the Beautiful Gate,' or one of the side gates - He could gain full view into The Court of the Women,' into which they opened. On these steps, or within the gate (for in no other place was it lawful), He sat Him down, watching the multitude. The time of Sacrifice was past, and those who still lingered had remained for private devotion, for private sacrifices, or to pay their vows and offerings. Although the topography of the Temple, especially of this part of it, is not without its difficulties, we know that under the colonnades, which surrounded the Court of the Women,' but still left in the middle room for more than 15,000 worshippers, provision was made for receiving religious and charitable shaped boxes (Shopharoth); somewhere here also we must locate two chambers: [5136] that of the silent,' for gifts to be distributed in secret to the children of the pious poor, and that where votive vessels were deposited. Perhaps there was here also a special chamber for offerings. [5137] These trumpets' bore each inscriptions, marking the objects of contribution - whether to make up for past neglect, to pay for certain sacrifices, to provide incense, wood, or for other gifts.
As they passed to this or that treasury-box, it must have been a study of deep interest, especially on that day, to watch the givers. Some might come with appearance of self-righteousness, some even with ostentation, some as cheerfully performing a happy duty. Many that were rich cast in much' - yes, very much, for such was the tendency that (as already stated) a law had to be enacted, forbidding the gift of the Temple of more than a certain proportion of one's possessions. And the amount of such contributions may be inferred by recalling the circumstances, that, at the time of Pompey and Crassus, the Temple-Treasury, after having lavishly defrayed every possible expenditure, contained in money nearly half a million, and precious vessels to the value of nearly two millions sterling. [5138]
And as Jesus so sat on these steps, looking out on the ever-shifting panorama, His gaze was riveted by a solitary figure. The simple words of St. Mark sketch a story of singular pathos. It was one pauper widow.' We can see her coming alone, as if ashamed to mingle with the crowd of rich givers; ashamed to have her offering seen; ashamed, perhaps, to bring it; a widow,' in the garb of a desolate mourner; her condition, appearance, and bearing that of a pauper.' He observed her closely and read her truly. She held in her hand only the smallest coins, two Perutahs,' and it should be known that it was not lawful to contribute a less amount. [5139] Together these two Perutahs made a guadrans, which was the ninety-sixth part of a denar, itself of the value of about sevenpence. But it was all her living' (bos), perhaps all that she had been able to save out of her scanty housekeeping; more probably, all that she had to live upon for that day and till she wrought for more. And of this she now made humble offering unto God. He spake not to her words of encouragement, for she walked by faith; He offered not promise of return, for her reward was in heaven. She knew not that any had seen it - for the knowledge of eyes turned on her, even His, would have flushed with shame the pure cheek of her love; and any word, conscious notice, or promise would have married and turned aside the rising incense of her sacrifice. [5140] But to all time has it remained in the Church, like the perfume of Mary's alabaster that filled the house, this deed of self-denying sacrifice. More, far more, than the great gifts of their superfluity,' which the rich cast in, was, and is to all time, the gift of absolute self-surrender and sacrifice, tremblingly offered by the solitary mourner. And though He spake not to her, yet the sunshine of his words must have fallen into the dark desolateness of her heart; and, though perhaps she knew not why, it must have been a happy day, a day of rich feast in the heart, that when she gave up her whole living' unto God. And so, perhaps, is every sacrifice for God all the more blessed, when we know not of its blessedness.