Posted by The WORD in other words by Fr Dionisio Miranda SVD – Univeristy of San Carlos, Cebu City
Monday 34th Week in Ordinary Time
HW was five when she ran across the street to fetch her ball and was hit by a car which crippled her from the waist down. She was the youngest daughter of the family who hosted me as a student priest doing a language course in Germany. Her father firmly refused to put her in a school for special children, taught her consistently to be as independent as her physical disability allowed her, and insisted that the whole family and everyone else relate to her as normally as possible. He even outfitted a special car where the only help she needed was to be lifted from a wheelchair to driver’s seat or back. Like every adolescent HW often volunteered to drive her family to the bakery or grocery, to visit with her relatives, or to take guests on a leisurely drive to the countryside.
My study sponsors chose this family not only because of their resources, but also because they were traditional Catholics, mainstays of the local parish, and leaders of youth groups. During my stay HW was tasked to take me to church for daily mass, bring me home for breakfast, and drive me later to wherever I needed to go. And like any senior high student she apprenticed at the savings bank managed by her father.
At summer’s end the time came for me to say goodbye and return to my studies in Rome. The family members each had a going-away souvenir for their guest. When HW’s turn came she offered an envelope containing the whole of her summer apprenticeship allowance, the first fruits of her labor.
I instinctively declined, remonstrating weakly that she needed it more than I did. Weeping, she countered that the gift was not meant so much for me personally; rather it was her contribution to the mission about which I had shared so many stories. I had no choice but to accept, “in the spirit of the mission.” At that she beamed with the brightest smile that was to be my lasting memory of her.
In hindsight I realized that while well-meaning, my first response was basically mindless – I had reduced HW essentially to a PWD. Despite the genuine bond of friendship we had formed and despite her efforts to become a normal person, I had typecast her as someone in need of pity.
To this day I blush to recall how I caused her offense and grief. So each time I read this pericope I understand that its message is so much more than about money, a widow’s poverty, and her mite; in Jesus’ mind it is about the pure big-heartedness of those like HW from whom one least expects it.
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