It was 1937. The Depression was still on. John Keith was about to graduate from elementary school. Smaller than all the other boys in his sixth grade class John’s mother always dressed him in shorts. When winter came he wore woolen knickers and high knee socks. He was the only sixth grader he knew with no long pants. The dress code for graduation called for a white shirt, a navy-blue knitted tie, and dark-blue wool serge slacks. John waited until the Monday before graduation before bringing up the dress issue with his mother. He sat in the kitchen drinking a glass of milk, one of the few luxuries he was allowed in such difficult times, while she fried up fish for dinner. He told her about an award he was going to get at the ceremony first. She beamed. She also knew he had something to ask he was shy about.

“So?” she said.
“ So, I need to get some long pants,” he said.
“ Babe, you know we don’t have the money for new pants right now,” she said.
“ Then I won’t go to graduation,” he said huffily.

Without a word and with only the sound of the frying fish in the air she took a crusty roll, cut it nearly all the way through, put a little filet inside, and handed it to him. There was something in the way she did this that gave him a ray of hope.

The following Saturday greeted him at breakfast with the words, “Let’s go shopping.”

“We took the trolley that ran along Westchester Avenue, got off at Southern Boulevard, the best shopping street in the East Bronx and walked directly past the place I was sure we were going: Zenger’s Men’s Shop. A short distance down the Boulevard my mother left me on the walk and headed into a storefront that looked like a little bank or something. She came out ten minutes later and we back-tracked to Zenger’s. In no time Mr. Zenger fitted me with what he assured us were the best pair of 100% pure virgin wool navy-blue serge trousers that were ever tailored. He measured me for the inner seam length and then sewed the cuffs while we waited. The cost was three dollars and fifty cents, including alterations.

“The trousers were wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. I was holding the package tightly under my arm when my mother went to pay Mr. Zenger.

“I saw her take a tiny brown envelope out of her purse, tear back the sealed flap and remove four brand new one dollar bills inside. She carefully separated them and handed them to Mr. Zenger. He rang it up and gave her 50 cents in change.

“Sitting next to my mother on the trolley, I had the window seat and looked out for most of the ride. About half-way home there wasn’t much to look at rattling over the Bronx River Bridge, and as I shifted around to face forward I glanced down at my mother’s hands folded across her purse. It was then that I saw that the plain gold wedding band that always circled the ring finger on her left hand was gone.”

The gospel writer, Mark, tells the enigmatic story of the day Jesus gave the disciples a tour of the temple in Jerusalem – how impressed they were with the huge stone pillars and the fancy dressed officials and then Jesus showed them what he found most impressive in that high class precinct. A woman who had nothing, two copper coins, and gave it all away.

The Lectionary Committee plops this text right down in early November knowing that for most of us this is stewardship season, but they also chose to include the earlier set of verses: "Beware of the scribes who like to walk around in long robes (expensive) and like to be greeted with respect in the marketplace, and to have the best seats in the synagogue . . . they devour widows houses."

So that's where they get all that money, and that is why Jesus sets himself down "opposite" the temple and yet he calls his disciples over NOT to say -- look at this poor helpless ignorant woman who is being taken advantage of to her last copper coin. He asks his disciples to see what is happening not only from the point of view of a privileged but from the woman's point of view too

See how she loves God. What is the difference between abundance and poverty, between large sums casually given and two coppers given with all ones heart; between apparent sacrifice and the real thing? Jesus is always deeper than most teachers. You can’t pin down his wisdom. It fills one with wonder.

Now, I wonder if the fact that these two stories feature the sacrifices of women means anything?

Columnist, Susan Reimer wrote recently about the difference between men and women when it comes to power and money. FORTUNE MAGAZINE announced it’s latest picks in it’s annual list of "the 50 most powerful women in American business.

Reimer says that, “The women who have power aren't sure that's what they'd call it. And the women who don't have it aren't sure they'd want it. Editor Beth Fenner found that women executives define "power" differently than their male counterparts.

And she found a real ambivalence about paying the price power requires.
" There is a feeling that finally we are at a point where women are not being kept out of the top jobs," said Fenner. Women are now getting the top jobs. But it sounds like we don't know if it is worth it. Some women are now choosing not to go after those jobs – [some are choosing not] to keep them when they get them. And I think it is because we want our lives to be richer than this."

Part of the disagreement can be traced to the word itself. Women, Fenner said, seem to recoil from the aggressive, in-your-face connotation of "power." They prefer "leadership."

There is no doubt that men and women define it differently. For men, Fenner said, power is top down. It is about being at the highest point in a hierarchy. It is about running the show.

"Women look at power in broader terms," she said. "They say, 'I am powerful if I can control more than my work life. I want to be on top of a number of different things. I want to be able to manage all the aspects of my life: family, community.' "

Think of Nancy Pelosi, mother of five. Hmmm?

“Former Fannie Mae Vice President, Jamie Gorelick, said, "The dirty little secret is that women demand a lot more satisfaction in their lives than men do."

“For women, "power" does not mean controlling other people's lives as much as it may mean controlling their own. [And this is most especially about controlling one’s own time] which is the ultimate form of power."

Speaking for men, Fr. Richard Rohr, said, "Take away money sex and power, and most men on this earth do not know how to motivate themselves. They don't know how to make decisions about what they want to do with life, where they want to go, who they want to be.

“This is why we don’t have a lot of male spirituality,” said Fr. Rohr, “because most western men don’t know how to draw their life from within [like many women do]. They need something outside to kick them, to secure them, to get them going. That is the opposite of a spiritual person. Spirituality is precisely a source of energy from within, called spirit which is beyond money, sex, and power."

I heard an interview last month with Philip Seymour Hoffman who won the Academy Award for Best Actor this year for his portrail of Truman Capote. He was asked first about how he became an actor. Well, he said, I played football and I wrestled in high school, but I hurt myself badly wrestling so I decided to try out for the baseball team, and on the way to try outs I saw this girl who was a senior who I was secretly in love with, and she said she was on her way to try out for the spring play.

The interview proceeded and at every significant turn in his career there was some woman he was interested in and following her led him on to his next life chapter. I guess it’s, whatever works for you.

American journalist in China following WWII witnessed a Catholic sister cleaning the gangrenous sores of wounded soldiers:

"Sister, I wouldn't do that for a million dollars."
Nun: "Neither would I."

In his book, MONEY AND THE MEANING OF LIFE, philosopher, Jacob Needleman, has said, "The problem of money dogs our steps throughout the whole of our lives, exerting a pressure that, in its way, is as powerful and insistent as any other problem of human existence. And it haunts the spiritual search as well."

That book came out of an experience Needleman had in October 1967. A mild mannered college professor, he wandered into a San Francisco boutique that sold spiritual memorabilia. A beautiful Jewish prayer shawl caught his eye, and he decided to buy it. It was pure white silk; thick with finely knotted fringes. It cost $35.

But the shop manager refused to let him pay for it with a personal check. Totally out of character the professor threw a tantrum. "Do you know who I am I'm doctor Jacob Needleman."

It didn't work but it set him thinking about his bizarre behavior and the role that money plays in our lives."

Have you ever had a similar experience when someone has jerked your cord and that cord has something to do with money? I am embarrassed to remember having a similar with a car salesman twenty years ago.

Money can hold a mirror up to us like few things in life. A man once wrote the following letter to the IRS: "To Whom It May Concern; Last year when I filed my income tax return I deliberately misrepresented my income. As a result I cannot sleep. Enclosed find a check for $450 for taxes past due. Sincerely yours, Mr. G.P. Dunn. P.S. If I still cannot sleep I will send you the rest.

Jacob Needleman says, "Our lives are hell, not because money is so important to us, but because it is not important enough."

He's saying that if money were more important to us we would seek to understand its impact upon us and how it influences every aspect of our lives.

Think again about those scribes and their behavior what is it about wearing expensive long robes and people bowing to them and being seen in the prominent pew at the synagogue that drives them to "devour the houses of widows. They must know what they are doing who they are stepping on how do they rationalize it all?

The temple authorities did not want people to think too much about giving. They just wanted them to do it casually and, of course, regularly.

They made it easy with a drop box; something like a 1st century drive up window
so it can be done w/o thinking on the way somewhere else

But Jesus does not believe that anything should be done w/o thinking everything ought to be done with intention. That's why he camps out and has the disciples look, watch, and think.

Jesus sometimes called his disciples his children. What if we who are parents did that with our children?

I read once of a young mother who did just that. She was relatively well off. They had several children, and chose to live simply. Every month that mother gathers her children around the family checkbook when she writes checks for the mortgage, the light bill AND for their charitable giving

She tells the kids, "This is why these people needed this money more than we do." This person is a single mom who is sick with cancer, and can't make a living for her children."

“This check is for people like Uncle John who is paying a lot of money for medication and has little left for anything else. This is for the church, OUR church where we go to worship. This is for NPR where we get our news.

So the kids know where the family money is going, and who it is going, and why. Consequently there is not a lot of money left at the end of the month for them to have a Play Station 2 or whatever it is their friends have that they have lately drooling over, and why Dad isn't getting the latest new trolling boat this year.

This is the best form of religious education possible: As Jesus, himself, said, "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."

“Look at this woman,” says Jesus. She’s a widow who scrubs floors at night.
She had nothing and gave away everything in one extravagant gesture.

Greeks followed Aristotle: "Moderation in all things."
Jews had another ethic. They believed in being sensitive to the seasons of life: There is a time for belt tightening, and a time to splurge. One must follow one’s heart.

Following your heart . Here’s a personal story from the life of Sylvia Seymour Akin all about her family’s Christmas, 1949.
A light drizzle was falling as my sister Jill and I ran out of the Methodist Church, eager to get home and play with the presents that Santa had left for us and our baby sister, Sharon. Across the street from the church was a Pan American gas station where the Greyhound bus stopped. It was closed for Christmas, but I noticed a family standing outside the locked door, huddled under the narrow overhang in an attempt to keep dry. I wondered briefly why they were there but then forgot about them as I raced to keep up with Jill.

Once we got home, there was barely time to enjoy our presents. We had to go off to our grandparents' house for our annual Christmas dinner. As we drove down the highway through town, I noticed that the family was still there, standing outside the closed gas station.

My father was driving very slowly down the highway. The closer we got to the turnoff for my grandparents' house, the slower the car went. Suddenly, my father U-turned in the middle of the road and said, "I can't stand it!"
" What?" asked my mother.
" It's those people back there at the Pan Am, standing in the rain. They've got children. It's Christmas. I can't stand it."
When my father pulled into the service station, I saw that there were five of them: the parents and three children -- two girls and a small boy.
My father rolled down his window. "Merry Christmas," he said.
" Howdy," the man replied. He was very tall and had to stoop slightly to peer into the car.
Jill, Sharon, and I stared at the children, and they stared back at us.
" You waiting on the bus?" my father asked.
The man said that they were. They were going to Birmingham, where he had a brother and prospects of a job.
" Well, that bus isn't going to come along for several hours, and you're getting wet standing here. Winborn's just a couple miles up the road. They've got a shed with a cover there, and some benches," my father said. "Why don't y'all get in the car and I'll run you up there."
The man thought about it for a moment, and then he beckoned to his family. They climbed into the car. They had no luggage, only the clothes they were wearing.
Once they settled in, my father looked back over his shoulder and asked the children if Santa had found them yet. Three glum faces mutely gave him his answer.
" Well, I didn't think so," my father said, winking at my mother, "because when I saw Santa this morning, he told me that he was having trouble finding y'all, and he asked me if he could leave your toys at my house. We'll just go get them before I take you to the bus stop."

All at once, the three children's faces lit up, and they began to bounce around in the back seat, laughing and chattering.

When we got out of the car at our house, the three children ran through the front door and straight to the toys that were spread out under our Christmas tree. One of the girls spied Jill's doll and immediately hugged it to her breast. I remember that the little boy grabbed Sharon's ball. And the other girl picked up something of mine. All this happened a long time ago, but the memory of it remains clear. That was the Christmas when my sisters and I learned the joy of making others happy.

My mother noticed that the middle child was wearing a short-sleeved dress, so she gave the girl Jill's only sweater to wear.

My father invited them to join us at our grandparents' for Christmas dinner, but the parents refused. Even when we all tried to talk them into coming, they were firm in their decision.

Back in the car, on the way to Winborn, my father asked the man if he had money for bus fare.

His brother had sent tickets, the man said.

My father reached into his pocket and pulled out two dollars, which was all he had left until his next payday. He pressed the money into the man's hand. The man tried to give it back, but my father insisted. "It'll be late when you get to Birmingham, and these children will be hungry before then. Take it. I've been broke before, and I know what it's like when you can't feed your family."

We left them there at the bus stop in Winborn. As we drove away, I watched out the window as long as I could, looking back at the little girl hugging her new doll.

A widow gives away her last two copper coins. A family man gives away his last two dollars. Such grand gestures, and yet. In each case these are people who could do nothing else. It’s just how they looked at the world. They “couldn’t stand it,” and made a U turn when most of us would just keep on going.

"The problem of money dogs our steps throughout the whole of our lives, exerting a pressure that, in its way, is as powerful and insistent as any other problem of human existence. And it haunts the spiritual search as well."

Amen.