The story is so well-known, and the woman so unknown. The Widow's Mite. We know she was a widow, we know she had a mite - mere pennies, if that much.

And that is all we know.

No, wait, we know one thing more - she had trust, so much trust she could offer all she had, really all she had, to God and trust he would provide for her, would take care of her. Did Jesus put his arm around her? He does say "this" woman - "this woman put in all she had" - this woman - not "that" woman over there. Did he have the chance to touch her, even have chance to approach her, or was she even then slipping silently back into the crowd from which she had quietly emerged for a moment? It is all so brief, and so bare.

The Widow of Zarepheth in that First Lesson has more, and we know a fragment more about her. She has meal and oil, though in meager amounts - enough for one frugal meal. And she has a son. She has a home town, Zarepheth (though I have no idea where that was) and she has a little time with the Prophet Elijah. Oh, oh, and again - she has one thing more - she has a miracle.

Did the Widow in the Temple with the mite have a miracle to leave with, and then live on? Or was the miracle simply her faith and trust and love?

Our widows here in St Mary's may have a bit more than a morsel of meal or two battered coins, but it is still hard isn't it? And sometimes still sad. And, as a single man I can say this without condescension, even occasionally lonely, isn't it?

But then again, this poor, nameless widow in the Temple has this: she has a very precious and beloved place in the Gospel. This unknown woman has a very well-known mention in the eternal Word of God. for all time, and a place of affection and admiration in the hearts and minds of unending generations of Christians.

My seminary days are as distant as my early 20's when I was there - but I do remember this, because it startled me back then. "She put in all she had, her whole life savings". That's the translation, but it's not the original Greek. She put in her bios. The very Greek word that gives us Biology. She did not offer God her life savings, she gave him her bios - her life. Her very life, at its deepest, most basic level.

Would I? I hope I would be as generous as those very generous scribes and Pharisees. But like the widow - with her mite, her bios, her life? I wonder.

This small portrait of this remarkable woman is so often used as a paragon of sacrificial stewardship, and falling as it does in stewardship season, it is a tempting line to follow. But I disagree, I really don't think that is what it is about. Heresy for an Episcopal Priest to say, but it is about something more important than money. More important than support for your temple or church. Stewardship is about what the parish needs, about what you need and want to give. This story from the Gospels is about what God wants, requires, hopes for. Not a gift, however great or small, he wants our full faith and all our trust, offering to him not just a gift, but ourselves, all that we have, are, dream, hope, love - all of it offered to him without regret, without holding back, and without worry - offering ourselves in trust, absolute trust.

Not surprisingly, a portrait of a widow in the Gospels is concerned with her relationship with God, perfect and unmatched. And possibly above and beyond what we can do, or even seriously intend to do.

But in the Old Testament - there I see a slightly different image. Many people see the Old Testament as harsh and unbending, without the warmth and forgiveness and tolerance and gentleness of the New Testament, especially the Gospel. That may well be true in some spots, but less so in others. What the Old Testament seems to be above all and throughout is realistic, genuine, and straightforward. The Old Testament does not indulge, enjoy, or encourage the sad caricature that religion is sweet and dear and heartwarming. The Old Testament is relentlessly unsentimental, never naive. Here we have widow - and she is kind, polite, and considerate, but she is a realist. She is willing to help if possible, but warns the wandering prophet right off that she is limited, that she has little help to offer. She has not closed her heart to pity, but neither has she shut her eyes to the reality of her situation. She encourages us to be perhaps a bit more realistic and relaxed about our response to those in need - acknowledging that while we want to help, hope to help, intend to help, the help we can really, genuinely give is not unlimited, it may not be what others hoped for or looked for from us, but we are open and unapologetic about what we can and cannot do. What we have to offer and what we just don't.

While I might have chance of being a bit more like this widow, still, would I welcome in Elijah? Or would I warn someone who approached me that I just might not have enough to share just now, and wave him off with quick shake of the head and a mumbled: "Sorry, good luck"?

The Widow in the New Testament offers all to God in perfect trust - let us aim for that kind of trust. The Widow in the Old Testament offers to her fellow humans what she can, and does not mislead them into thinking she can do more than she knows she can. That is more than just something to admire and aim for - that seems something we can actually commit to, something we can do, an approach we can take.

Two widows - two glorious examples. And these two widows, given the highly patriarchal socialites they lived in without a husband of father, were at special risk, very vulnerable, quite limited, deeply isolated, alone and struggling. And yet they were also compassionate, trusting, generous, and genuinely open-hearted.

If they could do it, so can we.