Wednesday Witness: 'You Can't Save the World'

I’ve always been a big-hearted and emotional fellow. As a grade-schooler, I tried to intervene when those who were littler than me (not many) were being bullied. Invariably, I took a thumping myself. But I couldn’t help it: I hurt to see others hurt.

Whenever I got wound up about some injustice or suffering, real or imaginary, Dad would say, “You can’t save the world.”

What he taught me, instead, was how to stand up for myself, to treat others with respect, and to look out for my own—my family and close friends, those whom I could count on to help take care of me.

Dad was right: I can’t save the world. I can’t even save myself. Jesus is the sole Savior of the world, and—thanks be to God—it is accomplished (John 19:30).

But I don’t think our eternal salvation is what Dad meant. When he was young, his family didn’t have much, and the little they had was spread too thin. The older he got, the more he had to look out for himself. He shared what he could with his younger siblings and closest friends, but mostly, he just got by.

When you are formed in scarcity, it’s hard not to protect what you have.

In last weekend’s Mass readings, two poor widows show us another way to live. The widow at Zarephath is gathering a little firewood to bake one last bit of bread for herself and her son before they die of famine due to a severe drought plaguing the land. Elijah asks her for a little water and, when he learns their situation, doubles down: He asks her to use the last of her flour and oil to make him a small cake to eat. Then, he says, she can feed herself and her son, for the Lord has said her jar of flour and jug of oil will not run out until the rains come.

Who would say yes to such a request? As a Gentile and a woman, she should be beneath Elijah’s notice. And why should she help him, a stranger, over her own flesh and blood? Why should he eat the last of their food while they watch and starve?

Then, in the gospel, Jesus watches the people depositing money in the temple treasury. He knows these people better even than they know themselves, so he is deeply moved when a poor widow comes and deposits two small coins. Though it is a much smaller sum than the others who have donated, it is the last of her money. She has nothing left.

Why would anyone do this? No one would judge or begrudge her if she gave one coin and kept the other. How will she care for herself? What will she eat?

Both widows show us how to live the virtue of hope—the belief that God will deliver on His promises. The widow at Zarephath, her son, and the prophet ate from the same jar and jug for many weeks, until the rains came, just as the Lord promised. And while we don’t know what happened to the widow at the treasury, it is safe to assume that she never escaped the Lord’s notice following her act of charity and trust in His providence.

Our God is not a god of scarcity, but of superabundance. Everything we are, everything we have, is a gift from Him, not for own good, but for the good of others. God gives us our very lives in order that we can give them away in love.

I can’t save the world. But He can, using whatever I choose to give Him.

This column is part of a new, weekly series on what the Lord is doing in my heart, specifically encouraging me to simplify my own life in order practice the virtue of charity and the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy. Come back each Wednesday to read the latest!