Long ago, as a rookie policeman in a village, I did the funerals, escorting the hearse, directing traffic. When the service started, I listened to the hymns and homily from the back of the church. Church was new to me then and I found it quite affecting. One time, the funeral director thanked me and put a five dollar bill in my jacket pocket. I objected that the village paid my wages but he was gone. Next to me, a box marked “Alms.” I put that fiver into that box. I felt pretty good about it then. I still do.