He held the mammon tightly
in his clenched fists. It was
all his. He had earned it.
He possessed it. It gave
him power and influence
over others. He held up his
fists like a pugilist saying
to himself, Who wants to
fight me for what’s in my
fists. Who would dare?
And then a voice asked,
“May I see what’s in your
fists? You will have to open
your fists with palms up-
turned so what is in them
won’t fall out.” The man
hesitated. He trusted his
fists. “Please, may I see
what is in your hands?”
The man thought to him-
self, It’s only a still, small
voice. It can’t steal my
mammon. And so the man
gradually opened his fists
revealing two fists full of
dust. And the voice turned
to wind and blew the dust
away. The man stood with
hands open, palms upturned
and he began to cry, not from
the loss, but for what he found.

*idea from a meditation by Henri Nouwen