Fit for heroes?

This moment is the last act in Jesus' public ministry. In the next chapter he foresees the ruin of Jerusalem and the Temple in a passage we have dubbed the "mini Apocalypse". Thereafter he is betrayed, tried and executed.

What the widow teaches is not a recipe for giving: there is no "go and do thou likewise" in conclusion. But her plight offers a reason for the cataclysm to come.

Her fate should be mediated by the religious laws which the authorities are supposed to honour, yet the Temple to which she gives her all is complicit in the oppressive government of the day. It served, among other things, to store records of debt – debts which might serve to impoverish a widow and devour her house. Josephus, the historian of the era, records rebels burning the chief priest's house and the debt records – clear signs of trouble in that part of paradise.

The people to blame are the scribes, who "like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the market places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honour at banquets".

It is not the commitment of the people that is found wanting in this scene – they give their all – but the actions of those in power.

We can find parallels with this scene throughout history, but perhaps today most directly in the caricatures of World War I generals – and chaplains – secure behind the front lines while the common soldier gave his all in battle.

It's a scene of uniforms, salutes, fine seats and dining just a few kilometres away from the Digger, Tommy, Poilu or Fritz freezing, fighting and dying in the mud. Our memory of that disconnect colours our memory of their sacrifice.

The sheer scale of the losses forced a rethink of our Western world, yet the Gospel reminds us that each individual matters. As Jesus observes in Matthew's account: "Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me".

Soldiers who returned to a "land fit for heroes" found that the battle for justice had to be constantly renewed – and they were the supposed victors. To their credit, they focused on the widows and orphans, as their successors continue to do. More than a decade of recent armed conflict has given us a new wave of war heroes, damaged veterans and grieving relatives who will need care for years to come, in both material and spiritual ways.

But the lesson doesn't end there. Who are "the least of these" in modern society? The list is potentially endless and open for renewal every day.

Our modern Temple is conflicted by issues of abuse in the past; abuse which in many cases remains unaddressed, though the fact that we hear the cries of pain is progress.

But we also face a conflicted future, where people marginalised by traditional attitudes find Christians of a certain tendency only too keen to cite Scripture in condemnation.