How do you measure life? In worldly weights and measures like dollars and cents, or using spiritual scales of love, service and friendship?

In our local supermarket, there are several different candy counters. A big display of all the old favorites greets you just as you turn your cart into the first aisle.

At the opposite end of the store is half a wall of bulk candy big packages for big families or big sweet tooths. There are racks of typical "movie candies" at the video rental desk. Finally, there is one whole display rack located up by the comic books that holds all the really sweet, gooey, glow-in-the-dark, pop-in-your-mouth candy that little kids adore. Actually, about 75 percent of that display is devoted to all the various sizes, shapes and packaging forms bubble gum can take.

The types of candies at each of these locations appeal to the particular set of standards that motivate different types of candy buyers.

Some people would never dream of purchasing anything but an "old standard" a Milky Way, a Hershey Bar, M&Ms.

For others, the most important thing is quantity, not quality. For them, there is no possibility of getting too much of a good thing.

Those who see eating sweets as strictly a "special" indulgence purchase their goodies as part of their "entertainment package."

For children, the standard of taste is replaced by the standard of fun fun shapes, fun colors, fun things you can do with the package when it's empty.

We all have different standards, different ways of weighing out and determining what is good and what is bad. Standards of taste and tastefulness are as varied as there are individuals to establish them. Yet there are certain standards we can all recognize as high or denounce as low. A few years ago, thanks to Aaron Spelling, we all learned to recognize what the numbers "90210" meant. 90210 is not just a zip code. 90210 is a symbol of money, power, prestige and privilege. Beverly Hills is not just an address. Beverly Hills is a lifestyle.

Although we try not to admit it to ourselves, the truth is that today, more than ever, we are a society that judges everything and everyone according to monetary value. We assume that if something costs a lot, it must be good if another version costs even more, it must be better. That is why when some colleges have raised their tuitions, their enrollments swelled. If it costs more, it must be better.

Whatever happened to the beauty of simple gifts, the dignity of small gestures, the grace to appreciate good will and good wishes? What is with this demand for the grand and ostentatious? Supersize, superabundance, and superfluous make up today's "standards."

The challenge that greets disciples of Jesus is whether or not we can buck this big bucks system. Jesus' declaration that the pittance poured down that treasury trumpet-spout by a faithful widow was more generous than all the spilling-over riches of the gifts that had gone before her calls us to sit up and take note. To make any sense of Jesus' pronouncement, we must radically adjust our value system. Christ's challenge to us in this text is literally to let the "scales" fall from our eyes. Can we judge life according to a different set of scales than worldly weights and measures, or dollars and cents, or stocks and bonds?

A good example of how little progress we have made along these lines since Jesus first set forth his challenge is evidenced by some of the most recent interpretations of this week's "widow's mites" pericope. As noted in the "Commentary," many scholars have now determined that Jesus is not lauding the purse-emptying donation the poor widow makes, but rather is appalled by what he witnesses. According to this commentary, the widow is a mere pawn in the hands of a greedy, grasping religious establishment. The widow's wrong-headed gift was word-whipped out of her by the religious establishment.

One wonders. By claiming that this widow's act of sacrificial giving brands her as an unwitting dupe of unscrupulous religious authorities, aren't we perhaps revealing more about our 21st-century standards than about any issues that may be behind this first-century text? Issues of salvation and practices of self-sacrifice are no longer popular or public concerns. Commitments to God and genuine devotion to an unmarketable product have become strange and suspect behaviors.

For the last two centuries of "Capital is King," consumers have come to wield enormous power. In the cutthroat competitive marketplace, anyone with a product to sell must market it expertly, making it as "user-friendly" as possible. Consumers demand big bangs for their bucks. It is no longer enough to give people what they pay for. We insist on getting something more as well. Some perk, some freebie, or even some intangible incentive, must accompany all our purchases.

Buy a dozen bagels ... get one more free.

"Super-size" your soft drink ... for just 20 cents more.

Pay 80 bucks to stay in a cheap motel ... but get a complimentary "continental" breakfast.

Spring for the sports car and lose the back seat ... but regain your youth and your sex appeal.

Get the designer label instead of the knockoff ... and feel superior and elegant.

The standards that calibrate our 21st-century scales weigh out the gift of the poor widow and find it pathetically light, virtually meaningless. We look at the amount she gave both nothing and everything and we judge it against where she gave it to a temple treasury set up to perpetuate a religious life and cultic style that Jesus declared bankrupt.

But what happens if we let the scales fall from our eyes? What happens if we use a set of standards not based on monetary values or worldly success ratings to view this text?

We see a devoted woman not afraid to give all she has to God.

We hear Jesus proclaim that this widow has made a genuine sacrifice, has given her "whole life" because of her faith.

We look ahead to a vision of Jesus hanging on a cross making the ultimate sacrifice, giving his "whole life" for the sake of yet another bankrupt institution known as the human race.

If you blink hard, you can do it, too. It's not too hard to understand that the widow's mite is the might of love.

Consider David Porter's comment on Mother Teresa: "Born Agnes Boyaxhiu, to Albanian parents, she went to India in 1929 as a member of the Loreto Order of nuns. There she taught for many years and became headmistress of a school. In 1946, she received her "call within a call" to work with the poorest of the poor. By 1948, she had received permission to leave the Loreto order and trained in the nursing skills needed to carry out her calling. She prayed, "Oh God, if I cannot help these people in their poverty and their suffering, let me at least die with them, close to them, so that I can show them your love" (Mother Teresa: The Early Years, 67. Cited by Caroline J. Simon, "The Media and Mother Teresa," Perspectives, 12, March 1997, 3).

Wasted time and energy? Wasted might? Are the scales falling from our eyes? Are the standards of measurement changing? Simon notes: "From this simple beginning, the Missionaries of Charity have grown to include 4,000 sisters and brothers, 755 homes and 1,369 medical clinics that serve 120,000 worldwide."

Mother Teresa's mite has might, and it's the might of love.

But you're no Mother Teresa, you say. Consider William Magee, 52, and Kathleen Magee, 51, founders of Operation Smile. One is a plastic surgeon and the other a social service worker. OpSmile began in 1982; since then, it has performed surgery on 18,000 kids in 15 countries to correct without charge - such disfigurements as cleft palates and burn scars, while training local doctors in the procedures. Says William: "The world is changed by emotion." On June 20, 1996, the Conrad N. Hilton Foundation awarded the group a $1 million prize to continue their work.

William and Kathleen Magee's mite has might, and it's the might of love.

Evie Rosen, 69, of Wausau, Wisconsin, is no doubt busy right now, knitting afghans. The reason: Winter is almost upon us, and someone is going to need a blanket. Evie is a retired needlework shop owner. Disheartened by news stories about the homeless, Rosen wanted to do something to help. "Almost every home has little balls of yarn. I thought if we could all knit 7-inch by 9-inch rectangles, we could stitch them together and make a lot of afghans." She started Operation Warm Up America in 1992, getting the word out to churches, retirement homes and craft shops. Last year, with help from other organizations, the group distributed 16,000 afghans!

Evie Rosen's mite has might, and it's the might of love!

Norm and Lori Nickel of Abottsford, British Columbia, wanted to offer their services as a family to help others. So, with four of their children, they took three weeks off in the summer last year to work with SOAR (Sold Out and Radical, Youth Mission International's teen program). They were placed in Reedley, California, where they worked with an organization called Community Youth Ministries that had been able to get into an Hispanic apartment complex housing 2,000 mostly illegal immigrants, 1,500 of whom were kids. They did VacationBibleSchool, sports camps, drama and various other activities with the children. Lori says: "I could feel God working through our hands as we played with the children, our mouths as we verbally shared his love, and our eyes and ears as we saw and heard their hurts and pains. Just to think that God had set our family apart for three weeks so that he could convey his love and compassion to hurting people was life-changing for me."

Norm and Lori Nickel's mite has might, and it is the might of love!

Mrs. Epps likes the time she spends with children. So she enjoys her time as a volunteer at the NorgeElementary School in Williamsburg, Virginia. There she works with students who have mental and physical disabilities. Her day begins long before she goes on duty at 7 a.m. She has to catch a bus to get to the school. When she gets there, she greets Drew who has difficulty walking. Another one of her favorites has Down syndrome. He sits beside her, smiling. She turns on the tape recorder and plays, "Jingle Bell Rock" while her students sing and clap enthusiastically. It takes a lot of energy to work all morning, five days a week, with these children.

Oh, did I mention that Mrs. Epps is 99 years old? Wasted time, twisted values? "I don't want to act dead while I'm still alive," she says.

Fanny Epps' mite has might, and it's the might of love!

Paul Beyer calls it "the Lord's work." Beyer lives in Leola, Pennsylvania. Every week for 35 years he has driven a truck to New York City, a six-hour round trip, to deliver food to the Bowery Mission, located in one of the seedier sections of Manhattan. His truck is loaded with produce, canned meats and pastries which the Mennonite farmers and businesses near his town have donated. He says that people trust him with the food he takes and that the reward is to see all the happy faces when the food arrives.

Paul's mite has might, and it's the might of love!

In Santa Monica, California, volunteer pilots can fly with Angel Flight, an organization that helps the disadvantaged get to places where they can get the appropriate diagnosis and treatment.

In 1995-1996, over 9,000 volunteers assisted the Red Cross in local relief efforts around the country.

In Toronto, if you are a youth 16-24, you qualify to be placed with another youth aged 6-15 suffering from emotional, behavioral and social problems in a program called Youth Assisting Youth. The program has a phenomenal success rate of 98 percent in keeping kids in school and out of the criminal justice system.

[Cite examples from the community and congregation that recalibrate the scales of the 21st-century "super-size" mentality, that demonstrate the might of the mite!]

How do you measure your life? What scales are you using? Are you using the scales of love to measure life? What would happen if you began to measure your life by the acts of love that filled it? Would you find yourself "rich" or "poor"? As Christians, recipients of the greatest gift of love ever given, the sacrificial gift of Jesus Christ for our sake, we are truly rich beyond imagination. Can we, like the poor widow, find the courage to share the wealth we hold? Can we stop dribbling out our stores of love and selflessness and sacrifice and compassion and dare to pour out our whole heart, our whole being, our "whole life" into the love-starved coffers of this world?