In spite of his biblical importance, we know little about Elijah. He showed up out of nowhere and disappeared mysteriously in a chariot of fire. (1 Kings, 17:12 and 2 Kings 2:1-14) His worst problems began when he spoke out against King Ahab who, swayed by his wife Jezebel, began to worship foreign gods. Elijah was known for causing a drought and remedying it, working miracles and so antagonizing the king that he had to flee for his life. Today's description of his interaction with the foreign widow who took him in reminds me of some faith-filled women I have had the privilege of knowing.

When I lived in a small, very poor village in rural Peru, I learned things about the Gospel that cannot be communicated in a classroom. When I picture the widow of Zarephath, I think of Consuelo, an aptly named woman. Consuelo's family had a small piece of land on which they grew corn for their family of nine. During one harvest season, thieves began to come at night with pickup trucks to steal all the corn they could harvest from her and her neighbors. As Consuelo angrily told the story, she said, "Those pitiless robbers line their pockets, leaving the poor with nothing to eat!" She added, "I don't mind a hungry mother who picks six or eight ears for her family, we would never deny the poor, but stealing is inexcusable!"

Much like the widow to whom Elijah turned after he started the drought, Consuelo could not deny others in need. God had told Elijah that he would meet a widow in Zarephath who would feed him. Although the woman was obviously poorer than the prophet himself, Elijah asked her for food and water. With stark and humble honesty, she replied that she was about to use her miniscule remnant of flour and oil to prepare a last meal with her son. Elijah replied that, in spite of the obvious, her store would not be emptied until the famine had passed. And so it happened. 

In today's Gospel, Jesus denounced religious leaders who demanded more of the poor than of themselves. Mark set the emotional tone for this scene by placing it just after Jesus caused the demise of a fig tree, threw the temple into disarray and expelled all moneymakers from the sacred space (Mark 11:12-19). Jesus had just described religious leaders saying, "They devour the houses of widows." For observant Jews, there could hardly be a more severe censure than that. (See Deuteronomy 27:14-26.) 

Speaking of the widow, Jesus communicated two distinct messages. One was admiration for an impoverished woman who trusted enough to rely on God alone. Unlike the disciples who nervously ignored Jesus' talk of his upcoming sacrifice, she fearlessly gave her all. The widow modeled deep and generous faith. At the same time, Jesus was condemning those who paraded around in rich vestments, remaining aloof from and even taking advantage of the destitute. His praise of her reproved them.

Typical of Gospel paradox, Jesus interpreted the scene before him as if it were a play revealing how the last shall be first and the first last. He made it clear that, like the emperor who strutted around in his invisible new clothes, pretentious religious leaders who take advantage of the lowly unintentionally mock their own arrogance while people like the widow express their freedom and dignity by caring for the common good, no matter the cost. 

Practical people will say that people like these three women are irresponsible and unrealistic; they should care for themselves and not risk needing others' help. Cynics, reviling what they see as a reckless management of resources, will blame them for their own poverty. Others believe that they should first take care of their own, and give once they have a surplus.

Both the women and their critics are in the business of creating society. The women might look on their detractors with sadness. They would pity people who are willing to settle for a "me first" society. They would wonder how the selfish do not die of loneliness.

The two widows exemplify what it means to act like Christ. Like Consuelo, their simple example dares others to believe that generosity, like love and the widow's jar of oil, need never be considered a limited resource. Their example can embolden others to act like they do. This is their free, courageous and faith-filled way of redeeming the world.

As we near the end of the liturgical year, the church calls us to think about the meaning of our lives. The widows offer us a challenge and an inspiration. Can we become free enough to trust that love and generosity are permanently renewable resources with which we can create a different world? Are we willing to take that wild, faith-filled risk? 

Today is the feast day of San Martín de Porres of Peru, the illegitimate child of Anna Valezquez, a formerly enslaved Afro-Panamanian woman, and a Spanish nobleman who abandoned the family after Martín's younger sister was born. Martín is the first person of African descent from the Americas to be declared a saint. 

While Martín is said to have had miraculous powers of bilocation, the ability to commune with animals and to heal, service was his specialty. Once, he encountered a sore-ridden beggar and brought him to his own bed in the monastery. When the superior reprimanded him for allowing a dirty, contagious stranger into the cloister, Martín replied that he could easily wash sheets, but not the guilt of ignoring the poor. Disregarding the difference between his rank as a brother and that of his superior, Martín replied, "Compassion, dear brother, is preferable to cleanliness." Martín might be a good interpreter of today's Liturgy of the Word. 

In our reading from Deuteronomy, we hear one of many renditions of Moses instructing the people about God;s law. While there are more than 630 mitzvot (commandments) in the law, Moses summarized them with the "Shema," the prayer/creed we hear today that begins, "Hear O Israel!" This creed reminds all who proclaim it that when they put their whole heart into love of God, their primary desire will be to act in God's name in all times and circumstances. Today's Gospel makes that more concrete.  

One day, some Pharisees and Sadducees were debating with Jesus about taxes and the circumstances under which a man could get rid of his wife. An unnamed scribe (an official with the legal power to transcribe and promulgate scriptural and legal documents) came to Jesus asking about the greatest of all the commandments. As a scribe, he knew the law better than most. Was he sincere? Testing Jesus? Trying to make a point in front of a crowd? Who knows? No matter, Jesus improvised Moses' teaching. He recited the Shema and interpreted it, specifying that that love of neighbor so closely resembles love of God that they are inseparable and summarize every dimension of a God-fearing life.   

By agreeing with Jesus, the scribe took Jesus' side in the previous debates. In contrast to the Pharisees, who tried to protect the faithful from any semblance of mixture with foreigners, including payment of taxes (Mark 12:14-17), the scribe agreed that love was the only core commandment. In contrast to the Sadducees, members of the upper class who oversaw temple sacrifice, he agreed that love outshines every kind of sacrifice or ritual. By implication, the scribe who had the responsibility to write decrees of divorce, also stood with Jesus on that question of the mutual responsibility of husbands and wives (Mark 12:18-27). In a rather ironic exchange, the scribe complimented Jesus on his interpretation of the Law and Jesus affirmed that the scribe was not far from God's reign. 

Moses, the scribe and Jesus shed light on today's selection from Hebrews. The author, presumably Paul's coworker Priscilla, points to Christ as the supreme and final priest and sacrifice. Jesus' sacrifice? Offering himself to humanity and remaining forever as the way for humanity to meet God. 

St. Martín, a porter, barber-surgeon, healer and friend of the poor. was never ordained. He was a brother whose life preached in a way that few others have — or might even wish to do. He understood that love of God implies love of everyone and everything that God loves. He understood that love of Christ implies giving oneself unreservedly for God's beloved. He rankled more than one of his brothers and contemporaries with his freedom to put the law of love above every religious practice and restriction. He offered a frightening example because, like Jesus, he went where the Spirit led him rather than confine himself to "how it should be done." He made the word of God as real and effective as a two-edged sword. (Hebrews 4:12)

What might St. Martín tell us today about love of God and neighbor?

If he wrote English, he might tell us to capitalize the word Neighbor, recognizing that we meet God's love, needs and prophecy in others. He might remind us that in our haste to complete important work or to be respectable, we may miss the fact that compassion is far more important than achievement or being law-abiding — no matter the goal.

Although Martín would never say it himself, he was an icon of Christ, a living, loving incarnation of all that it means to be the body of Christ. As we approach the U.S. election, he would encourage us to ignore our reputations and fears as we dedicate our whole heart, soul and strength for love of God and Neighbor.