True Religion: The Widow, the Teachers, and Us. Mark 12:38-44

So, here’s the scene in Mark 12. Jesus is in the temple courts. He’s teaching, and people are gathering around Him, hanging on His every word. And, like He often does, Jesus sees more than just the crowd; He sees right through to their hearts, their motivations, the thoughts they’d rather not have exposed.

And He starts with a warning. Watch out for the teachers of the law. These are the religious elite—the ones who knew the Scriptures front to back, who wore their faith on their sleeves for everyone to see. They were the guys with the robes, the grand prayers, the seats of honour. But for all their appearance of faithfulness, Jesus isn’t impressed. He sees something else in their hearts—a need to be seen, to be admired, to be exalted.

Then, after setting the stage with this sharp contrast, Jesus turns His gaze to a poor widow. She’s there at the temple, slipping two copper coins—tiny, almost worthless—into the offering box. These coins, worth a fraction of a penny, are all she has. And Jesus says something remarkable. He tells His disciples, “She’s given more than everyone else combined”.

Wait, what? Two pennies? More than everyone else? The rich people had been pouring in big gifts, dropping coins with fanfare. But Jesus calls her two copper coins more. He explains that they gave out of their wealth, but she, out of her poverty, gave everything she had.

What’s Jesus doing here? He’s redefining value. He’s saying that true religion isn’t about the show. It isn’t about how grand or public our faith looks. It’s about honesty, vulnerability, and living out a relationship with God that’s raw and real.

True Religion Isn’t a Show

It’s easy to look at the teachers of the law and think, “Wow, they had it wrong”. But here’s the thing, don’t we all have a little bit of that teacher of the law in us? The part of us that wants to be seen in a certain light, that craves approval? The temptation to show a filtered, curated version of our faith to others? Social media kind of feeds into this, right? We’re a culture obsessed with looking good, with appearing to be living well, even if inside we’re struggling.

True religion isn’t a highlight reel. It’s not a string of perfect moments or posts. In fact, if we think of the widow in this story, her act is anything but flashy. She doesn’t come in with a entourage, and she doesn’t announce her offering. She’s quiet, almost invisible. And yet, Jesus sees her. He sees the courage it took for her to give everything, even if it was just two coins.

The Widow’s Vulnerability: What True Religion Looks Like

Jesus sees the beauty in her vulnerability. This widow doesn’t hide her poverty or try to make her gift look bigger. She just gives—out of her need, her lack, her emptiness. And I think that’s something Jesus longs to see in all of us. True religion isn’t about how much we can accomplish or how impressive we look. It’s about whether we can bring all of ourselves to God—our needs, our flaws, and our faith that even when we have nothing left, God is still enough.                                       Have you ever been in a situation where you had nothing left to give? Maybe it was a tough time financially, emotionally, or spiritually. Maybe you came to church and all you could do was just show up. Just showing up was an offering in itself. That’s what true religion looks like, it’s the widow’s two coins. And Jesus says that’s worth more than all the gold in the world.

There’s a line from the writer Anne Lamott that speaks to this: “The thing about light is that it really isn’t yours; it’s what’s in you, and the most you can do is be still and let it come through.” The widow lets her light shine. It’s not a spotlight. It’s just a flicker. But it’s pure, and it’s real.

Honest Faith: More Than Just the External

We see this theme throughout the Bible, don’t we? This idea that God isn’t as interested in what we can show as He is in what’s inside. Think of David, who wrote in Psalm 51, “You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.”

David’s saying the same thing as Jesus here. True religion, true worship, is what happens when we let God into the broken, hidden places of our hearts. Not the polished, “I have it all together” places, but the places where we’re vulnerable and in need.

And here’s the good news: that’s where God meets us. Right there. The widow’s faith wasn’t hidden behind a curtain of wealth or perfection. It was out in the open, vulnerable, and real. And Jesus says that this kind of faith is worth more than all the riches of the teachers of the law.

The Power of Small, Honest Faith

We often think we have to do something big for it to matter to God. But what if it’s not about the big, dramatic acts? What if it’s in the small, honest things we do every day?

There’s a scene in *The Lord of the Rings* where Frodo, feeling the weight of his journey, says, “I wish none of this had happened.” Gandalf responds, “So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.” It’s the small, everyday choices—the choice to show up, to give a little, to love—that define us.

That’s what this widow did. She made a small choice, with big faith. And that’s all Jesus is asking of us: to bring what we have, no matter how small, and trust Him with it. True religion is about giving all we can—even if that’s just a little, even if it’s all we have left—knowing that God sees it, values it, and can make it enough.

Living Out True Religion

So, what does this look like for us? Maybe it means showing up honestly in our faith. When we pray, do we tell God the truth about where we’re at, or do we try to sound like we’re more put together than we are? When we come to church, are we willing to show up as we are, even if it feels messy or incomplete?

Jesus doesn’t need our performance; He wants our hearts. True religion isn’t about looking holy; it’s about being holy, in the sense of being set apart to love, to give, to live out our faith honestly.

James 1:27 says, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” True religion isn’t about impressing others. It’s about seeing others, especially those who might be overlooked, like the widow in this story—and loving them.

A Message of Hope

And here’s the part that brings hope: even if our faith feels as small as two copper coins, it matters to Jesus. He sees the offerings we bring, even when they feel inadequate. He values what we have to give, even if the world doesn’t. Our acts of love, service, and generosity—no matter how small—are noticed, treasured, and used by God.

The widow’s story is a reminder that we don’t need to bring the biggest gift, the grandest prayer, or the most polished version of ourselves. We just need to bring what we have, with a heart open to God. And that, Jesus says, is more than enough.

So, may we live a faith that is honest, vulnerable, and real. May we be willing to bring our small, imperfect offerings to God, trusting that He will use them to do something beautiful. And may we find freedom in knowing that Jesus values what’s inside—our hearts, our willingness to show up, even if we have little to give.

Let’s bring our two coins.