What a coin is worth changes very quickly. I spent years handling taxes, weighing payments, and calculating debts, so I should know. I like to have numbers and references clear in my head, which is why I included as many dates and other little details as I could in the Gospel I wrote. But today I want to focus on one thing that happened a few days before Jesus’ Passion.

I remember it perfectly. It was cloudy, but the air was still hot and humid. Jesus and some of his disciples, including us twelve apostles, were near the Temple of Jerusalem. People had come to hear Jesus speak and he’d been talking for a while. I was watching him but my head was elsewhere.

To be perfectly frank, I was worried. There’d been rumors that the Pharisees were plotting something against our Master for months. They had so much influence over our people, and if they decided to expel Jesus from the country or lock him in prison, I didn’t think we’d be able to defend him. We might be able to take refuge in Capernaum for a while and let tempers cool. The last few weeks had been especially hard. We were all anxious and insecure within the group. Peter’s mood seemed worse every day and John never took his eyes of Jesus. At any moment Nathaniel, who had no filter, would say aloud what we were all thinking: the danger was imminent.

I was so absorbed in my worries that I didn’t notice Jesus watching me. I don’t think I can describe the Master’s gaze. There was something special in his eyes, a lively warmth, that was at once welcoming and challenging. It was like an invitation, a question, and an affirmation all at the same time.

“Forgive me, Jesus. I didn’t hear you,” I said.

“I was asking you about that phrase of David, where he calls the Messiah ‘my Lord.’ Do you remember where in Scripture it appears?”

“In… In the Book of Psalms, right?”

“That’s right. But if David calls the Messiah ‘Lord,’ how can he be his son?”

For a second I was afraid that he wanted me to answer the second question, but then he went on teaching. An elderly woman drew my attention. She was shuffling slowly toward the Temple, wearing a tunic that completely frayed around the edges. The few strands of hair that escaped her veil were pure white. I don’t quite know why I noticed her. Unfortunately, the city of Jerusalem is full of elderly widows and the poor. But maybe spending so much time with Jesus had taught me to look past myself.

The woman approached the chests where the Temple offerings were deposited. She reached into her robe and pulled a small bag from its folds. Her hands were shaking, but she took out two small copper coins. Based on the size, I gathered that they were lepta, the lowest value coins. She tried to put them in one of the chests, but her hands were trembling too much and one of the coins fell in the dust.

I was very sorry to see an elderly woman kneeling on the ground struggling to pick up her coin. Her eyesight must have been poor, because she started feeling the floor for it. I went to her quickly, gave her the lost coin, and helped her to her feet. She gave me a mostly toothless smile, dropped the second coin into the chest, and continued on her way.

I watched her walk away, moved to sympathy over her limp and the ragged folds of her cloak.

When I went back to the group of disciples, I realized that Jesus had seen the whole episode.

Addressing everyone, Jesus asked, “What is worth more in God’s eyes? The work of a king or a carpenter?”

We were all quiet. Then he looked at me and asked another question. “Matthew, what’s worth more? A copper coin or a talent?”

I knew Jesus’ way of teaching very well and I was sure there was more to this question than appears on the surface, but I answered simply: “A talent.”

“Indeed. And yet, I ask you: what is worth more in God’s eyes? The large offerings of the rich or the little the good woman we just saw gave?”

We were quiet again. Jesus went on, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything; all she had to live on.”

Thomas asked if that meant God would prefer a carpenter’s work to a king’s.

Jesus said, “In God’s eyes, what is worth more is what is done with more love, whether it comes from a king or a carpenter. God doesn’t ask for just a little or a lot: he wants your whole heart. That’s what he wants from each person every day.”

I looked back at the chests of offerings, thinking about the day when Jesus called me and I left my comfortable life as a tax collector. It was difficult, but I never regretted it. Everything in my life was more meaningful because of Jesus, from my personality to my habits, my flaws and failures, my sufferings and joys.

It was late. The sun was almost at the horizon. Loudly but gently, Jesus said, “Never forget: there is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends. Give your life for others in every small reaction, action, and project. I have already done so, and you will see the measure of my love in a few days.”

With those words he finished, and we went back to Bethany for the night. But I never forgot what he told us, and I pondered those words many times in the days that followed.