Reboot!

“Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us.” ~Hal Borland, American author and journalist (1900-1978)

I was running as hard as I could. Down the concrete sidewalk, which connected the two houses, I went. My grandfather’s big black Cadillac had turned in from McMurray Road and was headed down our long gravel driveway.

My family’s house, and that of my grandparent’s, occupied the same plot of land. We shared a common driveway with a sidewalk connecting the two homes. Ours was first, went entering from the road, so I always knew when Grandpa was coming home. Even before I saw the big, black, broad finned vehicle, I could hear the sound of the tires crunching in the gravel and the putter of the engine as he went by. Undoubtedly, he had just gotten home from Round Hill United Presbyterian Church where he was doing interim pastor work.

Having just arrived home from school, I dropped my book bag in the kitchen and headed out the back screen door, banging it as I went, hoping to beat him to his garage so I could be there to greet him. Grandpa was just getting out of the car when I arrived. He wore his quintessential black two piece suit with a white dress shirt and red patterned tie.

I came to an awkward stop, but my usual “Heh Grandpa!” caught in my throat. Silently I stood staring at the huge chrome front bumper, blinking occasionally to confirm the reality I beheld. The bumper, which had always been so perfectly formed, now had a big semi-circular indentation just to the left of center. Compensating for the stress in the middle, the ends of bumper had pushed awkwardly forward making the whole front look awkward, deformed.

“What happened Grandpa?” I blurted out. “Oh, I was visiting an old lady from the church.” “I was parked facing downhill and forgot to set the parking brake.” “When I got out of the car it rolled down the hill and ran into a tree,” he finished with a smile.

“Wow, you must have really had a bad day,” I concluded. “No, actually I had a pretty good day,” he responded and proceeded to tell me about all the good things which had happened that day including his visit with the little old “shut in”. “Let’s go in and get a glass of milk and see if Grandma baked anything today.” He held the door for me as I stepped into the breezeway and headed on into the kitchen; greeted by the aroma of Parker House rolls.

The New Year is traditionally the time to make resolutions. It is perceived as a magical window of opportunity to change our lives; to eat less, drink less, spend less, stop smoking, start exercising and better our lives in general. Within a few weeks most of us have slipped back into our old patterns, promising ourselves we’ll do better when the next “window of opportunity” comes along.

It is ironic we are so preconditioned to believe our lives are…preconditioned. If my year or month or week or day gets off on the right foot then the rest of it will go well. But woe to us if we get off on the wrong foot. Woe to us if we wake up late, spill our coffee or have a flat tire.

There is another irony here as well: one bad event seems to carry far more weight in our lives than one good event. The flat tire or the unkind word have exponentially more impact on our lives than a friend’s greeting, our spouse’s hug or the parking space we didn’t expect we would find at the mall. Sadly, the negative becomes a blockage to all the positive surrounding us.

But, life is not a roller coaster onto which we step each day, preconditioned by a few bad experiences, and my Grandfather knew this. He knew one event did not a day make. A bent bumper did not take away from the positive human interactions he experienced through out the same day. Nor did it prevent him from expressing his gratitude to his grandson (and others) for the many good things in his life.

As stewards gratitude is an important part of our daily life. We are called to be grateful for the many gifts we receive from God each and every day. So, rather than making resolutions, take every opportunity, throughout the year, to “reboot your day”. Whenever the negative experiences come, as we know they will; REBOOT. Stop for a moment and simply say “CANCEL”. More importantly when the gifts come, as they always do; REBOOT. Stop for a moment and simply say “THANK YOU GOD”.

So, as we enter this New Year, resolve to be more grateful and give negativity the REBOOT.

Dear God: Teach me gratitude.

“We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives... not looking for flaws, but for potential.” ~Ellen Goodman, American columnist and Pulitzer Prize-winning syndicated columnist (b 1941)

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Scrooged

“There is never enough time to do or say all the things that we would wish. The thing is to try to do as much as you can in the time that you have. Remember Scrooge, time is short, and suddenly, you're not here any more.” ~The Spirit of Christmas Present ("Scrooge” 1970)

In 1843, Charles Dickens wrote "A Christmas Carol". It was one of a series of successful Christmas books by Dickens: which he described as "a whimsical sort of masque intended to awaken loving and forbearing thoughts". There have been at least ten movie versions of this classic tale: the first in 1938 and the most recent released in 2009. These include a Muppet, a Mickey Mouse and a 3D version.

Why do we keep returning to this endearing tale of the reformation of the irritable miser Ebenezer Scrooge? It is because, beneath the sarcasm and cruel remarks (“then let them die and reduce the surplus population”), he is us. He is obsessed with work and the acquisition of money. Scrooge is defined by his work to the point of sacrificing his one true love. “And as your business prospered, Ebenezer Scrooge, a golden idol took possession of your heart, as Alice said it would” (The Spirit of Christmas Past).

Most of us define ourselves more by our work than by any other single factor:

“There's no more telling example of how people identify themselves…by what they do, than in the current argument over the 9/11 memorial plans for Ground Zero. When the World Trade Center Memorial Foundation announced that victims' names would be displayed without specifying, among other things, what company they worked for, a group of their families denounced the plan, saying that not displaying these affiliations "robs victims of the human qualities that rallied and sustained the nation" ~“Lives Defined by Work, Even in Death” posted 2007 by Fast Company staff.

Why do we do this? Why don’t people asked to be identified as a Parent or as a Christian? Why do we define ourselves by our jobs rather than by who we are or what we believe?

First, it is the easiest way to measure our success at living life…a way of keeping score. Rather than being happy we try to quantify our happiness: i.e. I have a really good job where I spend a lot of time. It helps me have more money, a bigger house, a nicer car and more stuff; therefore I must me happy.

On the other hand, Jesus was essentially an itinerant preacher from a poor family who lived, on the “other side of the tracks”…Galilee. He died a humiliating and excruciating death. How would you measure his success?

Secondly, it is our way of exercising control. If I can acquire it, I can control it. Money, power, possessions and prestige are manifestations of successful living which seem to allow us to say, “I have got this life thing licked.”

Jesus, however, reminds us we have no control. "But God said to him, ' You fool! This very night your soul is required of you; and now who will own what you have prepared?' (Luke 12:20). As the popular commercial puts it, “Life comes at you fast.”

This is the important lesson Ebenezer learns on a snowy Christmas Eve. Scrooge’s obsessive quest for success, defined by his work and accumulation of riches and wealth, does not garner him happiness…quite the opposite. Staring into his own open grave he realizes his life, which is filled with success and money, has been empty. I doubt any of us would choose a tombstone inscription which read, “I should have spent more time at the office.” Unfortunately, we behave as if it would be a good idea.

So what changes on Christmas morning for Ebenezer? He is just as wealthy. He still owns his business to which he will undoubtedly return the next day. What makes him go from miserable and miserly to merriment overnight? HE BECOMES A STEWARD!!! A Christian Steward is “One who receives God’s gifts gratefully, cherishes and tends them in a responsible and accountable manner, shares them in justice and love with others, and returns them with increase to the Lord” (A Disciple’s Response).

Scrooge accepts God’s gift of life gratefully and, more importantly, he recognizes the gift of the “opportunity to change” his life…a gift which all of us receive. For the rest of the story Ebenezer goes about “cherishing and tending” his many gifts “in a responsible and accountable manner” and “sharing them in justice and love with others.”

He begins by making amends to those he has harmed beginning with his nephew. As the story comes to an end he sets about restoring Bob Crachit’s life and livelihood and we are pretty much assured he will make sure Tiny Tim gets the necessary medical attention he needs.

To paraphrase Tiny Tim “God has blessed us every one”. How do we define ourselves? More importantly, how will we keep Christmas in our hearts 24/7/365?

Dear God: remind us that you have blessed us every one.

"Mortal! We Spirits of Christmas do not live only one day of our year. We live the whole three-hundred and sixty-five. So is it true of the Child born in Bethlehem. He does not live in men's hearts one day of the year, but in all days of the year. You have chosen not to seek Him in your heart. Therefore, you will come with me and seek Him in the hearts of men of good will." ~The Spirit of Christmas Present (“A Christmas Carol” 1951)

© 2008, 2009 & 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2008, 2009 & 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the”© 2008, 2009 & 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Are All Welcome?

“Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” ~G.K. Chesterton, English writer (1874 – 1936)

John Q was a catholic in name only. Baptized in a Catholic church his parents had forced him to attend confirmation classes even though they never really went to Mass themselves. Occasionally they would attend a Christmas Midnight Mass or Easter service. John’s dad was fond of having a few to many “toddies” during Christmas Eve dinner. Then off they would go to Mass. His dad, still smelling of booze, would always nod off during the sermon. One year, he snored so loudly, the priest actually stopped mid sentence. That was the last time they ever went to Midnight Mass.

Now, at 37 years of age, John Q, for the first time in a long time, found himself outside a Catholic church…and on Christmas Eve no less. His divorce from his second wife had been final only a month earlier; his kids were spending Christmas with their Mom (his first wife) and her new husband. John’s girlfriend, a secular Jew, was back in New York visiting her family.

The office party had ended an hour or so earlier. Rather than drive home to an empty apartment John had chosen to walk for a while, to clear his head, and had ended up here. Even before tonight he had felt an emptiness in his life he couldn’t seem to fill. His efforts to find meaning and solace had failed. So here he stood, alone on Christmas Eve, in front of a Catholic Church.

He was invisible amidst the clamor of people coming to Christmas Eve services. Laughter was all around him as people greeted one another on there way up the broad stone stairs. With his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black pea coat he wondered if there was an open bar close by. Maybe his dad always had one too many at Christmas just to fortify his courage to go to Mass.

“What am I doing here anyway?” he thought. The answer came back quietly but distinctly: “I’m here because I have no where else to go.” People were rushing in through the church doors now. Mass was about to begin. He could hear the organ playing and a familiar hymn being sung. His right foot rested on the bottommost step.

He looked back the way he had come. The streetlights seemed to dim for a moment. The siren song of the secular world tugged at him. “Surly there must be a bar or restaurant open close by” he thought. His focus returned to the church door and the music flowing from it, his weight shifted from one foot to the other…

Will John Q go in? More importantly how will he be received if he does? The “average Joe” no longer resides in a nuclear household (a married couple with their own children). In fact, we are not only diverse ethnically; we have become a nation of diverse living arrangements. Singles constitute 25.5% of households, the number of nuclear families has decreased 40% and the divorce rate is skyrocketing. The only truism is that most Americans will marry at least once in their lifetime, with the first marriage most likely ending in divorce.

So what message do we give (twice divorced, single) John when he enters a church service celebrating a nuclear family: Jesus, Mary and Joseph? Jesus’ birth family may have been well rounded in appearance, but consider this: Mary was pregnant out of wedlock and Joseph nearly divorced her. In turn we forget Mary was a single Mom most of her life.

Nor did Jesus hang out in the suburbs with nice “normal” church-going families. He was a blue color, single guy. He saved an adulteress from stoning. The Samaritan woman he engaged at the well lived with a man out of wedlock. Jesus ate with tax collectors and prostitutes. He even hung out at the docks and in the rough part of town. In short, Jesus broke boundaries, he didn’t create them. He welcomed and engaged everybody, regardless of who they were or how it reflected upon him.

We often joke about the “CEO Catholics” (those who attend at Christmas and Easter only) but why do they keep returning to our doors every year? What keeps them coming back? They are not finding the spiritual sustenance they need in the world. Like John Q nothing seems to satisfy the emptiness in their lives. But what do we have to offer them instead?

As Christian stewards what are we doing to welcome our CEO’s (and I don’t mean those who run companies)? How are we communicating to them they are welcome at our parish or in our homes? Are we the loving father of the prodigal son welcoming them with open arms…running to greet them? Or, are we the resentful older brother, who, because we never left (our church), feel entitled. Are we breaking boundaries or are we creating artificial ones?

This Christmas I ask you, I challenge you, to say hello to someone you don’t recognize at church. Greet people outside, as well as inside. Does John Q go up the stairs and enter the church on Christmas Eve? It might be your greeting or “Merry Christmas” or a thoughtful “How are you?” which makes the difference. We need to be like Jesus: welcoming everyone. We need to be the face of Christ to the world.

Dear God: When it comes to welcoming people let me be a boundary breaker.

“The church is the great lost and found department.” ~ Rev. Robert L. Short, Presbyterian minister and writer (1932-2009)

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

The Noise Next Door

“Brotherhood is the very price and condition of man’s survival.”~Carlos P. Romulo, Filipino diplomat, politician, soldier, journalist and author (1899-1985)

Teresa and I sat across the table from our old friends Richard and Penny. Richard is a Federal Court Judge from Pittsburgh and Penny, a linguistics professor from Thailand. The music and noise from the next room was distracting making it hard to follow a conversation. It wasn’t exactly unbearable, but it was, without a doubt, annoying. The tables in our room were jammed so tightly together every time someone stood up their chair banged into the chair of the person behind them.

We were attending a Christmas party for the Italian Catholic Federation. Normally they are fun, festive affairs held in our Parish Hall. This year, however, the hall had been inadvertently double booked; over lapping our event with the Filipino Catholic Community’s annual Christmas party. In an effort to accommodate everyone it had been decided we would divide the hall space by way of a folding partition used to separate Religious Education classes. A single hallway connected the two rooms to the Parish kitchen which both groups were sharing as well.

What had first seemed like an amicable solution was quickly turning into an irritating debacle, however. The claustrophobic space and the cacophony produced by two very different styles of Christmas music playing simultaneously were making everybody edgy. I watched as Jim Fillipelli and John Viani communicated silently to one another with a glance and a nod. Like a couple of “wise guys” on an assignment they rose from their chairs and quietly slipped out, disappearing up the hallway. I wasn’t the only one who noticed their departure as the room got noticeably quieter with expectation.

Suddenly there was a loud thud at one end of the wall as the trip panel was shoved open allowing the wall panels to slide freely in their track. The partitions separated at the center and the panels began to slide apart folding up flat at the exterior walls. Several times the process had to be halted so tables could be moved out of the path of the folding walls. It quickly became apparent that Jim and John had negotiated a truce. It had been decided it was better to have one big Christmas party than two cramped little ones.

Serving tables and eating tables quickly blended together and suddenly everyone had more space. The feast was amazing: kare-kare (Filipino stew), seafood linguini, pancit, lasagna, lumpia, raviolis and chicken pork adobo. Then came the desserts: pizzelles, suman luya (sweet rice with ginger) biscotti, suman moran (chocolate rice cake), anisette cookies; there was even a flan of unknown ethnic origin. Isaiah’s holy mountain could not have had better food.

Richard and I leaned against the wall sipping our espressos, chatting with Julie Labatique who explained the Filipino dances to us. We watched as Filipino children bounced on the lap of an Italian Santa Claus. The cooks swapped samples, recipes, sources for key ingredients and helpful hints. Italian grandmothers with blue hair pinned in tight buns clapped out rhythms as Filipino teenagers danced the Tinikling (the National dance of the Philippines).

As the evening began to wind down I noticed the two members of the Filipino band (a guitar player and keyboardist) whispering to one another. Suddenly they struck up their version of “That’s Amore!” We all joined in even if it only meant yelling out “That’s Amore!” at the appropriate time. I was choking with laughter between my efforts to sing.

An hour later my wife and I found ourselves escaping into the parking lot with our white plastic bag of foil wrapped food (seafood pancit, lasagna and an assortment of cookies). We exchange anecdotes of the evening as we headed for our car. “Thank God everyone had the good sense to put the Christmas parties together,” Teresa observed. “Yes,” I replied, looking up at the full moon. “Thank God!”

What happened at that Christmas party? Was there really more room and more food or did it just seem that way? Why was it, when the wall finally came apart, irritation changed to joy? Why was it two very different worlds did not collide but blended gracefully together?

It was a stewardship moment. A vision of what the world could be. It was no longer a case of my room, but our room. It was no longer my food but our food. In one defining instant everyone had a moment of clarity when the good of all overcame what was advantageous for a few. Everyone was vested in everything. Everything became a gift, gratefully received and returned to God with increase. “Me” became “We” and we shared who we were…our cultures, our heritage, ourselves.

When we stop protecting who we are, start being who we are, and begin sharing who we are, our lives change dramatically.

This is what it means to enter a loop of grace. Through giving, we receive more in return than we would have if we had not shared. This includes sharing ourselves. Imagine what it would have been like if the two groups had stuck it out in their two confined spaces…the irritation, the agitation, the grumbling. But when we gave of ourselves to one another everything seemed bigger, better, happier.

This is very much the story of the multiplication of the loaves which appears in all four gospels. The more we give the more we receive in return. The more grateful we are and the happier we become. Jesus loved banquets and I am sure he enjoyed ours that evening.

Buon Natale or should I say Maligayang Pasko!!!!

Either way…MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Dear God, teach me to give of myself.

"Love is when someone gives you a piece of your soul, that you never knew was missing." ~Torquato Tasso, Italian Poet (1544-1595)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Minister Ministry

“The human contribution is the essential ingredient. It is only in the giving of oneself to others that we truly live.” ~ Ethel Percy Andrus, American Educator and first woman principal in California (1884-1967)

Situated strategically between the steam table of white meat and the vat of cream gravy stood my wife Teresa, her large metal spoon poised over mounds of mashed potatoes and stacks of stuffing. It was the day before Thanksgiving and the St. Monica Thanksgiving dinner and clothes boutique for the less fortunate was in final preparation mode. A kind of ordered chaos had descended on the place. You know you’ve got a large scale ministry event when people volunteer to feed the volunteers.

Gerard to her left and Ana to her right Teresa and her partners were serving up lunch for the first wave of 600 volunteers. Gerard ran his non-stop patter of “white meat or dark” while Ana swirled gravy onto anything that wasn’t moving.

I was in line, approaching like a supplicant, my white paper plate extended in both hands. Having made sure Gerard served me only my prescribed portion of dark meat I gave my wife a wink to assure I got extra stuffing. And, before I could give her direction, Ana covered everything on my plate with gravy.

As I turned to leave a heavily accented voice stopped me, “You- haven’t-a-come-to-my-a-table-yet.” Turning toward the voice I came face to face with a spectacled, grandmotherly countenance. Her nickname was Meemee (short for Immaculata no doubt). She looked like something out of a greeting card: flowered house dress, a crocheted sweater, wire-rimmed glasses and sensible lace up black shoes. “Where are you from,” I asked? “Napoli,” she replied rhythmically. “You-needa-some-sweet-a-potatoes.” I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. “Sure,” I responded without thinking.

In the midst of the gravy, a generous portion of candied sweet potatoes landed on my plate. I turned to leave a second time. “You-don’t-a-have-a-no-pumpkin-pie.” After 30 plus years of Italian in-laws I knew better than to argue with Meemee over food or portions. Nothing makes an Italian happier than preparing food and serving it (unless it’s winning the world cup). “There’s no room on my plate,” I apologized. “That’s-a-no-problem,” Meemee said with a smile handing me a second plate. “You like serving food,” I observed. “I-a-do. But-it-would-be-a-better-if-a-I-had-a-little-glass-of-wine.” As I walked away I smiled to myself thinking they had put the perfect person in charge of that food table.

The contemporary church rests at a tipping point between the spiritual and the material worlds. God, in the unfolding of His creation, has blessed us with technology and management techniques to make us more efficient. When we apply these to the stewardship of time and talent (or what the secular world calls volunteerism) it gives us the ability to do more with less.

There is, however, an inherent danger here. Secular not-for-profit organizations often rationalize and frequently emotionalize their causes, but they rarely, if ever, spiritualize their efforts. We too, in our efforts to be more efficient and effective, run the risk of failing to nurture those who are of service to others…failing to spiritualize and even ritualize what we do. It is at this razor thin line of demarcation where simple volunteerism is delineated from ministry.

Like many things in our lives our efforts to do good works in the world more efficiently have resulted in our adopting business models of management. Volunteers are recruited, trained and managed just as we would recruit, train and manage employees. In this rush to be more efficient are we truly being more effective, or are we losing the human quality which distinguishes our efforts?

There is a difference between being an organization to which people donate their time and one which provides emotional and spiritual nourishment through active participation in ministry. Ministers are invited, formed and affirmed. Volunteers are recruited, trained and hopefully thanked.

We receive spiritual nourishment from being of service which nothing else can duplicate. It fills a hole in our soul no amount of possessions can. People need to be of service rather than simply providing service. We have an innate desire to do good works in the world. People need to do ministry more than we need people for ministry. Those of us who coordinate others (ministers or volunteers) should be constantly mindful of this need.

There is an indescribable mirth and excitement when people can sense they are making a difference in the lives of others. I saw it in the eyes of those who served me food that day. They had a sense of something “bigger than themselves”. It was not just about dishing out food, but about serving others.

Those of us who are the stewards of those who offer their time and talent for the betterment of the world have a responsibility to assure they are spiritually nourished and cared for. Often this means cherishing them and affirming them. Other times it means picking them up when things go horribly wrong. We are stewards of the stewards because sometimes ministering to the ministers is the ministry. Even if it means making sure they have an occasional “little glass of wine.”

Dear God: Help me to nourish the spirits of those who nourish the bodies and minds of others.

“If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French writer and aviator (1900-1944).

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

On a Mission

“I expect to pass through this life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” ~William Penn, English real estate entrepreneur, philosopher, and founder of the “Province” of Pennsylvania (1644-1718)

“What do you think about us going to the mission and feeding the homeless for Thanksgiving?” I asked my dubious daughter. “I guess it’s OK,” she replied with a shrug. I could tell she had no idea what she was getting into. Frankly, neither did I.

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and I was feeling particularly parental. My daughter was in fourth grade and I got the bright idea it was time to give her a “positive life experience.” My plan was to go to the local mission, feed the homeless Thanksgiving dinner for a couple hours, then go to a nice hotel brunch for our Thanksgiving dinner. There was a particularly lavish one I had wanted to try out.

(No good deed goes unpunished it seems. Particularly when it is our idea of a good deed and we have strings attached to it.) Leafing through the yellow pages I quickly found what I was looking for; the number of our local mission. Punching the numbers into the wall phone I waited expectantly; anticipating a cheerful “hello” followed by effusive gratitude. The phone rang for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, there was a click on the other end.

I half expected a dial tone or an answering machine. Instead, I was momentarily stunned by a gruff voice on the other end. “Mission!” was the only word they spoke. “Is this the city mission?” I asked pleasantly. “Yeah,” came the monosyllabic response. “My family and I would like to volunteer to help at your Thanksgiving Dinner.” Before I could even give my well rehearsed speech about how it would be a good experience for my daughter the curt voice on the other end of the phone cut me off, “We’re full…you’re the twentieth person whose called today.” My plans melted in front of me. “What about Christmas?” The “mas” wasn’t even out of my mouth when the response came. “We’re full then too…why don’t you call back in July when we really need help” (click).

I stood there staring at the lifeless receiver in my hand. My expectation of an ego boost from a grateful and gracious response had been doused with the ice water of reality. Everyone wants to volunteer at the holidays. Everyone wants to be a good person when “tis the season” to do good works. Though I promised myself I would, I never called back in July.

“If our entry into heaven required a letter of reference from the poor, would we be able to get one?” There are 1.02 billion hungry people in the world today. Every day over 16,000 children (1 every 5 seconds) will die from hunger. But how can there not be enough food to go around? The combined net worth of the three richest people in the world is greater than the combined net worth of the 48 poorest nations, representing one quarter of the world’s population. Hunger is a daily reality for most of the world.

Stewardship is not a seasonal occurrence. It is the lifelong response of a faithful disciple; a response which calls us to be grateful and giving year round. Am I suggesting the people who only volunteer during the holidays are misguided or unworthy?

No, all volunteers deserve our gratitude and affirmation. But, what if we, as a society, approached sheltering the homeless, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoner and providing for needy children with the same gusto, through out the year, as we exhibit during the holidays. What if we brought all that intensity, excitement and commitment to bear 24/7/365? How much suffering could we alleviate?

My gruff friend was right…Call back in July!

Dear God: Remind me I am called to be a full time steward not just a part time volunteer.

“Sometime in your life, hope that you might see one starved man, the look on his face when the bread finally arrives. Hope that you might have baked it or bought or even kneaded it yourself. For that look on his face, for your meeting his eyes across a piece of bread, you might be willing to lose a lot, or suffer a lot, or die a little, even.” ~Daniel Berrigan, American poet, peace activist and Catholic Priest (b1921)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Spiritual Conviction

“In prison, those things withheld from and denied to the prisoner become precisely what he wants most of all.” ~Eldridge Cleaver, American radical intellectual and author (1935-1998)

“Could I speak with you a minute?” is never a comforting prelude to any conversation. I followed the president of our Catholic men’s organization out the door of the parish center to a secluded spot in the exterior courtyard. “The Executive Council met last week to discuss your ministry proposal,” he began hesitantly. “We had a really good discussion and there are a lot of us who support your idea.” (The unspoken “BUT” hung over the conversation like a mist.) “I’m personally in favor of what you’re trying to do.” “BUT, after all was said and done we voted not to support your KAIROS weekend.” My brain wasn’t processing what he had just said. I stood there, my head cocked to one side, blinking.

Over a month earlier I had brought our Deacon to a meeting to enlist the group’s help with a Detention Ministry weekend (*KAIROS). Our requests were modest: Prayers during the weekend, chocolate chip cookies (as many dozen as possible), semi-anonymous letters written to the detainees and a coloring book picture of Jesus to be duplicated and colored (semi-anonymously) by whatever children we could muster.

“But, Bob!” I finally blurted out. “The weekend is less than two weeks away.” “You’re leaving me in a tough spot here.” Bob’s conciliatory tone turned defensive, “I’m sorry Jim!” “But the Executive Council doesn’t think we should be helping convicts.” “Besides, what possible good can cookies and coloring books do anyway?” The words were out before Bob realized he had said them. I allowed the intervening silence to be my response. “I am sorry,” Bob said finally and he departed without further conversation.

The drive home was dismal. Earlier that week another “Christian” organization had bailed on my grand plan for much the same reason. “The mothers don’t want their children writing to felons,” the coordinator had shared. “I’m sorry.”

Now what was I going to do?

The next morning my mood had not improved much. I arrived at my job at the YMCA in a storm cloud of a mood. “What’s up with you?” Flo, the Membership Director finally asked. I relayed the long, excruciating version of my sad story. “We can have the “Child Watch” color pages for you and as for the letters why don’t you talk to teens in Youth and Government?” “They are always looking for projects.”

Three days later I was in front of the Youth and Government teens. They cranked out fifty plus letters that same evening. I added another ten and the coordinator, whose group had bowed out, produced a pile of letters her and her daughter had written.

On the Wednesday before the KAIROS weekend the Child Watch coordinator proudly presented me with a two hundred “crayon covered” pages, many with small hand prints traced on the back replete with hugs and kisses (x’s and o’s). Notes such as “Jesus loves you” were scrawled in various places. “We ran out of the copies you gave us,” the coordinator said apologetically. “So we used our own.” She handed me another pile of coloring book pages. Mickey and Minnie smiled up at me from the paper. “I hope these are OK?” she asked. “I’m sure they are OK,” I responded with a smile.

Teresa spent the previous weekend baking dozens of her favorite chocolate chip cookies. We bagged them in sleeves of a dozen each. Thursday afternoon I delivered my boxes of cookies, letters and crayoned masterpieces to the appointed drop off site. As I pulled out of the parking lot I realized the irritations of the previous week had all but faded. How precious little it had taken to make a difference.

Jesus never asked who was worthy of his attention. Whether it was a scoundrel of a tax collector out on a limb or ten lepers blocking the road shouting his name, Jesus treated everyone with the same grace, compassion and love. He lived and worked in the tough part of town, on the wrong side of the tracks rubbing elbows with society’s discardable people. His actions are a contemporary template for our approach to ministry.

Ministry is, or should be, based on who needs help as opposed to who deserves help. We tread on dangerous ground when we start passing judgments predicated on worthiness or deservedness. Thank God our God is loving and compassionate toward us and none of us get what we really deserve.

The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds us it matters not who is lying in the ditch. It matters even less what station in life we hold. What does matter is that we bring our gifts of time, talent and treasure to bear to help the people God puts in front of us. The Priest and the Levite head off to the safety of their church, but the Samaritan goes down into the ditch with his sworn enemy to minister to him. Not a comfortable situation.

Yet, it is not about what makes us look good, feel comfortable or what is socially acceptable that matters. Somehow it has become easy to ignore the over 7.3 million people in the US who are on probation, in jail or prison, or on parole; perhaps because they are not always in plain sight. As stewards we are called to go looking in the ditches to see who needs our help. After all, if we choose, not to go looking in the gutters and ditches of life; if we choose not to minister to the prisoner who would we be avoiding? Paul? Nelson Mandela? Daniel Berrigan? Sir Thomas More? Anne Frank? Max Kolbe? Dorothy Day?

If we “shouldn’t be helping convicts” who should we be helping? We are not simply called to “visit” Jesus in church; we are called to visit him in prison as well.

Dear God: Teach me to minister to all who are in need.

“In prison, you get the chance to see who really loves you.” ~Marion Knight, Jr. Co-founder of Death Row Records. (b 1965)

*Kairos Prison Ministry International is a Christian, ecumenical, volunteer, lay-led, continuing ministry to prisoners incarcerated in maximum or medium facilities.

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Misery to Ministry

“We are always more anxious to be distinguished for a talent which we do not possess, than to be praised for the fifteen which we do possess.” ~Mark Twain, American writer and humorist (1835-1910) from “Mark Twain’s Autobiography”

The bright morning sun glittered on the fresh dew. The sliding glass door closed behind me rattling slightly as it clicked home. I stood there pondering what had just happened…sensing a change in my life’s direction.

Two weeks earlier, in my capacity as Capital Campaign Chair I had met with Monsignor to discuss the parish capital campaign and the upcoming building project. Monsignor had agreed to consider my recommendation to hire a full time development coordinator.

Yesterday he had called and asked me to meet with him following the 7:30 AM Mass. We carried our steaming cups of coffee to his office. After a modicum of chit chat we got down to business. I quickly recapped my original proposal; then folding my hands I asked, “What do you think?”

“What about you?” he asked simply. “What about me?” I responded, not grasping what he was inferring. “What about you for the job,” he clarified his eyes twinkling.

“Yes…of course I’ll do it,” I replied, hearing the words, but not realizing I had said them. “Fabulous,” Father Gary said with a grin. We agreed to a start date, shook hands and I left.

Now outside in the cool, clear morning air, the brevity of what I had just done began to sink in. The career I had nurtured in the insurance industry for over twenty years would forever be in my rear-view mirror. Not to mention I had neglected to ask what I would be paid. What was I thinking? How was I going to explain this one to my wife? “Teresa will think I’ve lost it!” I headed for the car trying to devise the best possible explanation why I had done, what I had done.

Four and a half weeks later I found myself ensconced in my new desk, located where the dining area use to be. (The parish office is in a converted house. “Even our office was a Catholic convert,” someone once quipped.)

The insurance agency where I worked had negotiated a four week notice rather than two. In the interim I shared my concern about the probable drop in income with Chris the Fitness Director at the YMCA where I taught classes. Chris arrange for me to teach additional classes, and pick up some fitness coach and life guarding hours. The real miracle was that I was now doing two things I loved (teaching classes and working for the Church) which ultimately resulted in no change in annual income.

Why is it we can be so critical when we think someone “threw away a perfectly good career” to do something meaningful they felt compelled to do. There is tremendous joy, energy and fulfillment in doing what God created us to do. As stewards of our talents we are called to discover and develop that special blend of abilities which makes us who we are.

Yet we are often distracted from our life’s work by the siren’s song of power and prestige. We shoulder and elbow our way into so-called careers with the expectation that income alone is the answer to our happiness or we buy into a bad case of “job title fulfillment”. But with each promotion and/or pay raise we still find ourselves wanting. Wondering why we are not happy even though we “have a good job.”

Pay, power and prestige provide no lasting answers. Life long satisfaction comes from doing what we are called to do, not what makes us look good or succumbing to the latest fad profession (Crime Scene Investigators are currently trendy).

It comes as no surprise many of our saints share this story. People like Francis, Ignatius, and Augustine, finding no satisfaction in their chosen careers, yearned for something more meaningful and fulfilling. You know the rest of the story.

So, why do we persist in working for “the bread which fails to satisfy” when, as unique creations of a loving God, we were put here with a purpose in mind? When we gratefully accept our God-given talents, work to develop them and use them for this purpose, improving the world around us, happiness and satisfaction will ultimately be ours. Then and only then will our work become an outward expression of our faith and being, rather than the inward validation of our ego.

Who would have thought going from the corner office to the corner of a dining room could be fulfilling…but it was!

Dear God: Fulfill the work you have begun in us Lord.

“Your talent is God’s gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God” ~Leo Buscaglia, PhD, American professor, author and motivational speaker (1924-1998)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Make it Work?

“I’m so busy I don’t know if I found a rope or lost my horse.” ~Tee Shirt slogan

Sister Catherine poked her head into the doorway of my office. “What are you still doing here?” She asked in her clipped Irish brogue. The question was not unfamiliar. It was well past 7:30 PM on a Wednesday evening. As was my custom I had been at my Parish Center office since 5:00 AM. My eyes were dry and gritty from staring at the computer screen. “I have just a few things to finish up,” I replied with a weary smile. “Then I’ll be going.” (It seemed I always had something to “finish up” I thought to myself.)

“Couldn’t it wait till the morning?” she inquired gently. I responded with my well rehearsed litany of excuses: “It needs to be done first thing in the morning when Monsignor comes in.” “I have another project I have to work on tomorrow, besides I’ll feel better if I finish this before I leave and the traffic will be lighter anyway.” Sister listened patiently, an understanding smile on her face. “Well don’t stay too long, you’ve got a long drive home,” and with that she disappeared down the hall.

I returned to the computer screen wondering what it was I had been thinking about before Sister’s well intentioned interruption. Pecking aimlessly at the keys, Sister Catherine’s question kept coming back to me: “What was I doing here?” This could wait till tomorrow couldn’t it. What was I worried about.

A “ding” sound aroused me from my thoughts alerting me of a new email in my electronic “inbox”. I left what I was doing and checked to see what it was. An email ad for a Christian Book site was bolded at the top of the list. I clicked the “delete” icon. Returning to my work I tried to concentrate for a few more minutes then decided to check the weather and the traffic. It was the same as it had been a half hour earlier. I glanced at the time on the lower right side of my screen: 7:59 PM glowed in white letters across a blue field.

Enough! I could finish this in the morning. I shut the computer down. Shrugging on my sports coat I put the remnants of the day’s meal in my gray soft-sided lunch box. Tossing a few items into my briefcase (a briefcase which would sit in the foyer at home unopened until I left again in the morning) I turned off the desk lamp and headed out my office door locking it behind me.

Halfway down the hall I remembered something else I needed to do. Reluctantly returning to the office I unlocked the door and went in. Rather than wait while my computer booted up again I jotted a note on a “post-it” and stuck it on my screen as a reminder to do it in the morning. Out the door I went again and down the hall having locked the door behind me a second time. As I went my unfinished work seemed to trail me down the hall.

Ever since we got ourselves tossed out of the Garden of Eden we have had to work for our daily bread: “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food” (Genesis 3:19). It is easy to forget work was the penalty for our transgression of eating the forbidden fruit. Yet we often behave as if this punishment were our sole purpose in life.

Work, however, is not the panacea we envision it to be. Most of us work because we have to, not because we want to. While it’s different for everybody fear often plays a major role in our obsession with work. Work gives us a false sense of security. It makes us feel as if we have our destiny within our control. Trust me…we don’t! There are plenty of disasters, economic downturns, layoffs and the like to remind us we don’t.

Discipleship calls us to something more than work. It is not surprising therefore, when we hear Jesus’ call; we drop our nets, put down our water jars by the well and take leave of our counting chambers. This is not to say work is bad or evil, but obsessions are, particularly when our obsessions are attempts to insulate us from irrational fear. A fear easily eliminated by our belief in a supreme being who loves us unconditionally.

As stewards of the 24 hours God gave us today we are called to a state of balance, not a state of compulsion, obsession or suppressed fear. God’s most frequent biblical command is “Be not afraid”. It reminds us we have no reason to hide from our fears and insecurity by submersing ourselves in work. We work to make a living, but work does not our life make.

Dear God: Help me to pray as though everything depended on you, rather than work as though everything depended on me.

“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.” ~Bertrand Russell, English logician and philosopher (1872-1970)

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Hindsight

"Patience with others is love. Patience with self is hope. Patience with God is faith." ~ Adel Bestavros, Egyptian supreme court lawyer, preacher and scholar of the Coptic Christian faith (1924-2005)

Bert stepped away from his large, expensive oak desk and walked decisively past me to his office door. I didn’t turn around, but I heard the door shut and the thumb lock ram home. This didn’t bode well. “Now we can have some privacy,” he said in a business- like manner returning to his desk. He plopped into the plush leather office chair steepling his hands. Briefly making eye contact he casually glanced out the window. “You think you’re really something don’t you?” he began. “Excuse me?” came my knee-jerk response. “You heard me,” he continued. “You think you’re really something special, don’t you?”

The last two words rang like gunfire. Stomach acid started rising into my throat. “No, not particularly,” I responded carefully. “Yes, you do!” he said quickly rising to his feet. Suddenly the words started tumbling out of him faster than I could keep up. “You think you’re special because you’re a Christian don’t you?” “You think you’re better than everyone else.” “Well I’m here to tell you you’re not.” “You’re no better than anyone else here…especially me.” “You think you’re better than me?” “Let’s go out in the parking lot and see who the better man is.”

Bert’s neck was turning red and his hands were fisted at his sides. His tirade went on, only occasionally interrupted by my weak attempts to apologize for whatever mysterious offense I had committed. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” “No, I would never think that.” “I am grateful for my job.” “I appreciate all you do for me.” …and so on.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the rant ended as suddenly as it had begun. “Now get out of my office and close the door behind you.” Relieved I gently unbolted the door, stepped into the foyer and quietly closed it. A moment later I heard the bolt thrown shut behind me.

I stood there shaking. Somewhere to my right lay the door to the outside… tempting me. To my left was the path back to my office. “God! Why in the world did you put me here?”After a moment, I turned left and headed back to my office and away from Bert’s lair.

It was Christmas Eve afternoon three years later. I was sitting in a different office, with a different organization when my cell phone rang, “CALLER UNIDENTIFIED.” Without a thought I clicked on. A cheery, but unknown voice greeted me. “Heh Jimbo, how ya doin’?” “Merry Christmas.”

Caught off guard I proceeded to engage in one of the stupidest phone conversations of my life. In a vain attempt to determine the identity of the mystery caller I gave vague responses and asked even vaguer questions, but to no avail. Finally, after a particularly obvious conversational misfire I outed myself. “I’m sorry.” “Your voice is very familiar, but I’m not sure who you are.” The response came like a bucket of ice water. “This is Bert!!!”

“ Bert? Oh, Hi Bert (gulp)” “How can I help you?” “Help me?” he responded “You’ve already helped me.” “Thanks to you I found Christ.” This has to be a joke I thought. Maybe this isn’t really Bert. “How did I do that?” I asked cautiously. “Lots of things, but mostly the way you acted.” “Even the times I had you in my office you never got upset or angry” (little did he know). I let him finish his explanation. After a few more conversational niceties he extracted a promise from me to have coffee sometime. Then he wished me the best of the season and clicked off. I sat there staring at the cell phone display, wondering what had just happened. “God has a strange sense of humor,” I mused.

All too often we see God in our rear view mirror rather than in the driver’s seat. We wonder why things happen in our lives even to the point of bemoaning our fate. “Why is this happening to me?” we ask (with heavy emphasis on the “TO ME?”) only to find out days, weeks, months or even years later that our “best laid plans” were subverted by a higher power with a larger and longer range goal in mind. God does have a sense of humor, but he also has foresight with a range which is infinite and planning abilities to match.

On the other hand our foresight is minimal. In the confusion and stress of daily life we become upset or disenchanted because God isn’t making it easy on us. This is the “If God would just let me win the lottery everything would be OK” kind of thinking. Life should be green lights and blue skies. There should be no stop signs in our lane and no Berts in our lives to trouble us. There are, however, “Berts” in our world and we are called to be there for them, even if we have to wait awhile to find out why. “The times we find ourselves having to wait on others may be the perfect opportunities to train ourselves to wait on the Lord.” (Joni Eareckson Tada)

Admittedly, many is the day I wish God would just send me a copy of his strategic plan or that I could at least win the lottery (just a small one). In the end, however, rather than having things my own way, it is much more gratifying to believe there is a supreme and benevolent being who has a master plan in place and, in which I play a supporting role.

Dear God: Remind me that life is worth the wait.

“Biblically, waiting is not just something we have to do until we get what we want. Waiting is part of the process of becoming what God wants us to be.” ~John Ortberg, Jr., American evangelical Christian author, speaker and senior pastor (b 1957)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Prayer Connection

“Rich is the person who has a praying friend.” ~Dr. Janice Hughes, American speaker and writer

Travis was running…hard. “Hail Mary full of grace.” … heading for the thump, thump, thump sound of the rotors. “Hail Mary full of grace.” “Hang in there RJ!” “Hang in there!” “Hail Mary full of grace.” All he could do was run, head down, fast as he could. “Hail Mary full of grace.” RJ had taken two rounds in the chest and was bleeding out. “Hail Mary full of grace.” The Medevac was just up ahead. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Corpsmen were shouting at him, waving him on. “Hail Mary full of grace.” “Hang in there RJ!” “Hail Mary full of grace.” Without realizing it he was at the Medevac chopper. “Hail Mary full of grace.” The Corpsman hauled RJ in, waved Travis off and signaled the pilot. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Travis saw RJ’s gangly looking legs partially protruding from the chopper as it lifted off. “Hail Mary full of grace.” For an instant he wished he could hold onto those goofy legs and fly along with him. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Pulling his weapon from his shoulder he turned and headed back into Hell: the hills of Afghanistan. “Hail Mary full of grace.” RJ didn’t make it. He bled out in the Medevac. “Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”

It was July 23, 2009, more than a year earlier. Teresa and I sat in the parish hall, attending a Bethany. Bethany’s are meals of remembrance which follow funeral services. The funeral had been for our good friend Joan, Travis’ grandmother. Several of the young men from the 3-7 (3rd Battalion, 7th Marines out of 29 Palms), Travis’ unit, were there. In addition to Lance Corporal Travis Ford, there was Lance Corporal Steven Wright and Lance Corporal Andy Kuether. Their very presence was impressive. Uniformed in “Dress Blues” with creases so sharp you could cut your fingers on them, hair cuts high and tight, they stood together in a quiet calm; their presence almost regal.

We poked at our meals. They were about to be deployed, we wondered what we could do for them. Finally, we timidly walked over and asked a simple question: “Can we pray with you?” For an uncomfortable moment they remained expressionless. But then slight smiles broke onto their faces. “Yes, sir, ma’am, Thank you sir.” We stood in a circle, laid our hands on their shoulders and prayed a simple prayer of intercession and ask God to send His archangel, Michael, to protect them. (RJ wasn’t there at the time.) They thanked us simply, but profoundly. We promised to continue to pray for them and returned to our meals.

Prayer is an extremely important part of stewardship. Yet it is often the last thing we think about and the first which we abandon. But it is prayer (along with regular worship) which carries us for the long term. Prayer provides us with spiritual nutrition. It is medicine for the soul and can provide great comfort in difficult times. In other words, it sustains us.

This spiritual sustenance is an important aspect of prayer. Most of us serve in ministry part time. We do what we can when we can. The poor we serve, the bereaved we comfort and the children to which we teach scripture are only encountered on an occasional and often irregular basis. These ministry experiences are important to our lives as stewards; not just to those we serve, but to us as well.

Experiencing the gratitude of the poor and the needy first hand helps to make us more grateful. But, if we are often separated from the people we serve, for which we care or for whom we care about, how do we sustain that experience? How do we stay connected to those we serve and those we love? The simple answer is we pray for them. By placing them spiritually in our midst, through the power of prayer, it helps to keep them in our hearts and minds. It is an opportunity to experience our relationship to them daily or whenever we want.

Prayer is itself a ministry. Praying for people and there needs regularly is not simple. It takes some work and planning. Early on I told lots of people I would pray for them, and then promptly forgot to do so. Now I carry a small notebook everywhere I go so I can jot down prayer requests: names and needs. Over the years I have created a few categories to make it easier: my family, those who are sick, those who have died, those in the military, etc. I even have a category for those for whom I promised to pray and forgot.

Prayer is not only personally therapeutic, but it is socially beneficial as well. It makes it easier to remember those who are in need, hurting or ill and therefore reminds us to ask family members how the person is doing. Knowing someone made the effort to remember and ask provides remarkable healing results and comfort.

Case in point, Teresa and I would never profess RJ would not have died if he had been under the protection of our prayer…far from it. But those young men, for whom we prayed, have been in our prayers every day since that day in July of 2009. We have asked their families often how they are doing and listen attentively to their responses. This is the most important gift we can give them…to stay connected.

The 3-7 will be coming home soon and while RJ didn’t survive, his family will be there to greet the others. Pray for RJ’s family and pray the 3-7 doesn’t have to go back.

Dear Lord: Keep me connected.

“There is nothing that makes us love a person so much as praying for them.” ~William Law, English Cleric (1686-1761)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Warm Hand, Pure Heart

“You matter because you are you. You matter to the last moment of your life and we will do all we can, not only to help you die peacefully, but also to live until you die.” ~ Dame Cicely Saunders, OM, DBE, Founder of the Hospice Movement (1918-2005)

Madeline had been with her mother for almost two full days. It was the last leg of a long life. The painful treatments, which only seemed to cause discomfort, had ended weeks ago. Now, it was just a waiting game. The staff at the skilled nursing facility was attentive, kind and efficient. But they too could only wait.

Helen’s eyes fluttered open. “Madeline?” she whispered. “I’m here Mum,” Madeline replied quietly. “How are you doing?” “I’m just a little tired,” Helen responded feebly. She took a sip of water with Madeline’s help, then her eyes fluttered closed again. This had been the sum total of the past two days: Helen’s eyes opening briefly then closing again.

There was a rustle behind her. Madeline turned to find Mary, the Hospice volunteer, shrugging off her coat. Mary had been a Godsend ever since here mother had entered hospice care several weeks before. The last two days she had been there almost as much as Madeline.”Need a break?” Mary said with her infectious smile. “Yeh,” Madeline replied rubbing her neck. “How’s she doing?” Mary continued. “Same old, same old.” “She occasionally opens her eyes then closes them again.” “The nurse said it could go on like this for hours…or days.”

“I need to run a couple errands” Madeline thought out loud. “Go ahead,” said Mary. “I can stay for a while.” “Would you?” Madeline said hopefully. “I won’t be long.” She grabbed her jacket and bag and headed out the door, a sense of urgency in her step.

Mary pulled a chair to the bed and settled in. Like Madeline she had made it a habit of placing here right hand underneath Helen’s with her left hand on top thus cradling Helen’s right hand in between. “A hand sandwich,” she mused. Time crept by.

Mary thought of the hours she had spent with her husband Bill doing just this. It had been weeks before the pancreatic cancer had finally taken him, but it seemed like years. Mary was brought suddenly out of her daydream. Without any warning, Helen took a deep breath of air in through her nose and then she relaxed. Mary felt a strange sensation, that something, or someone, had passed through her. There was a lingering sweetness as if a loved one had just hugged her. Slowly, the sensation quietly dissipated. What had just happened?

Helen punched the call button and in moments the nurse appeared at the door. “What’s up?” she asked. “I think something…happened” Mary replied slowly. The nurse came to the bed, placed the stethoscope in her ears and slipped the metal disc through the opening in Helen’s nightgown. “She’s gone,” she said quietly. “I’ll make the calls.” She started out the door, then stopped. “Where’s Maddy?” “She just stepped out to run a few errands,” replied Mary, still a little shaken. “She should be back soon.” And with a nod of acknowledgment the nurse left.

The nurse made the necessary calls, then went about her business. Time flew by in this job. She was always busy, checking vitals, answering questions, but she had sensed from the beginning, it was what she was meant to do in life. Working her way back up the wing toward Helen’s room she glanced at her watch. It had been nearly two hours since she had been there. Someone in the room cleared their throat. “Madeline must be back,” she thought.

Up the hall and into the room she went, prepping herself for the conversation she knew she would have with “Maddy”. As she turned into the doorway she was greeted by a strange sight. There sat Mary, right where she had left her, now two hours later, still cradling Helen’s hand between her own. She was gazing at Helen’s peaceful face. The nurse went quietly to Mary’s side and put her hand on her shoulder. “We can handle it from here.” “You don’t have to stay.” “No, I want to stay,” Mary replied with a sad smile. “I want to be here when Madeline comes back…just so I can pass on a warm hand to her.”

The great Broadway showman, George M. Cohan was fond of saying, “Make it big, do it right, give it class.” This phrase could be a mantra for modern life. We are expected to do things of great significance, flawlessly executed and with a sense of style. It is irritating when our lives aren't validated , our birthdays unacknowledged or our accomplishments unnoticed. In short, we want to make a big splash in the world…and a nice looking one too.

As Christian Stewards we are not called so much to do things of great significance as we are called to do the insignificant things with great love. Mary’s act of incredible love would go unnoticed by the world except for the nurse, Madeline (and from my point of view, Helen).

Mary hadn’t been trained to do what she did. In fact, she had been excused from any further involvement by an expert…the nurse. Yet, it would be Mary’s simple act, the passing of a warm touch, the last vestiges of Helen’s earthly life, which would dissipate any guilt Madeline might have had for not being there at the “exact moment” of her mother's death.

Love doesn’t come with an instruction book. Nobody trained Mary to remain behind until a family member arrived, “to pass on a warm hand”, even if it took hours. She did so intuitively. Intuitive acts are not something we can be trained to do. Rather, intuitive acts of love only come at those times when we can step outside ourselves and in so doing allow ourselves to become insignificant.

Dear God: May the only significant thing about me be the intensity with which I love others.

“Somewhere deep within us our souls are crying out
‘We're here to help our neighbors out in their hour of pain and doubt.’
God gave us something special to help us see you through
We do it 'cause we love you, and we care about you too.” ~excerpted from the “EMS Prayer” Author Unknown

Special acknowledgment to our sisters and brothers who are Hospice volunteers; for walking the last mile with so many and for being “Stewards of the Door.”


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Livin' the Life

“Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.” ~ Desiderata by Max Ehrmann, Spiritual writer and attorney (1872 -1945)

It was raining. Not cats and dogs, but raining. I gazed out my office window trying to concoct an excuse for not leaving the building. There was none to be had. In a matter of hours a large “bulk” mailing would be delivered to the post office in Santa Monica. Sufficient postage had to be credited to our account before the trays of letters arrived or the mailing might be refused. The check for the postage lay on my desk having been cut earlier that morning. I was out of options. It was time to get this over with.

Shrugging on my navy blue blazer I slipped the envelope, with the check inside, into my inside breast pocket. Out the door and down the hallway I went stopping only long enough to borrow an umbrella from the receptionist. I headed out the front door, down the stairs and onto the street. It was a six block walk to the post office. Almost immediately I felt damp and cold.

Twelve minutes later I arrived at my destination. The government building was dank and dark. My shoes and pant legs were wet, but fortunately there was only one person in line in front of me. My business quickly and efficiently transacted I stopped to buy stamps at the vending machine. It was out.

Standing in the open doorway, wind and rain in my face, the umbrella poised in my hands I stared out at the gloom. The wind had picked up and it seemed colder. After a moment’s indecision I remembered there was a bakery, two blocks up, on the northeast corner of Wilshire. They serve a particular brand of dark roast coffee that I cherish. I would treat myself. That would be my reward. A few cold, wet minutes later I pushed through the door of the bakery.

The warmth was welcoming. The aromas of freshly baked bread and steamy brewed coffee assaulted my senses. The warm lighting and the music of many convivial conversations stood in sharp contrast to the dreary weather and the dank, dingy building I had left only minutes before.

There was a line of course, but I didn’t care. In a way, I was relieved. It gave me time to ease into the environment…acclimating myself, experiencing and observing. I stood in front of a large glassed-in-display gazing at a plethora of pastries and a bounty of baked goods. The aromas wafted gently over the glass partition.

A Japanese woman and her small son waited in line in front of me. He was eating an organic dried snack of some sort. It was amusing to watch him carefully examine each morsel before popping it in his mouth. He gazed with fresh eyes at everything still in wonder at the world he was experiencing.

Almost too soon it was my turn in line. The young, black woman behind the counter wore teal green nail polish which perfectly matched her teal green sweatshirt. I commented on it and she responded with a smile because someone had noticed. She handed me my cup and my change. I turned and headed for the bank of coffee urns. The dark roast was second from the right.

Steam rose from my cup as I filled it, the complex aroma of the coffee greeting me anew. I secured the cup with a no-spill lid and a heat collar then reluctantly went to the door. Stopping to open my borrowed umbrella I paused one last time to take in the warmth, the smells and the harmonies of many conversations. Then, with a sigh of resolve, I pushed through the exit door into the cold and rain, reminding myself of the many “important” things I needed to do.

Is life rushing by us? Or, are we rushing through life? Most of us measure ourselves against how much we do and what we accomplish. We make to do lists and check items off. If we accomplish something, that isn’t on the list, some of us may go so far as to add it, just so we can check it off anyway. Our electronic organizers and computers provide us with reminders of everything we need to do and accomplish even providing us with alarms or warning sounds.

This is not to say there are not things in our life which need to be done, but are our laundry lists really the measures of the fullness of life. Life is also experiential. It is about growth, reflection and perception. I recall a former boss of mine commenting on the experience of a fellow employee: “He doesn’t have ten year’s experience. He has the same year’s experience ten times.” Perhaps this describes our lives. Are we simply doing the same things each day without experiencing them? Does our fulfillment come from crossing things off our lists?

There is a big difference between leading a full life and a life which is simply cluttered with activities. A “full life” is one which engages our spiritual, mental, physical, emotional and even our sensual being. As stewards we are first and foremost stewards of our time on earth. In this regard we have choices to make as to how we spend our time. We can spend it in the cold, darkness and damp of repetitive activities and what seem to be accomplishments. Or, we can step into the light, smell the coffee, the bread, the pastries; sense the beauty around us, hear the music produced by our family, our friends, even strangers and experience God in all of it.

PS: Don’t put “live a full life” on your to do list!

Dear God: Help me to experience you in everything around me.

“Lift up my eyes from the earth, and let me not forget the uses of the stars…Let me not follow the clamor of the world, but walk calmly in my path” ~ A Prayer by Max Ehrmann, Spiritual writer and attorney (1872 -1945)

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

Guilt Isn't a Pleasure

“Guilt is the sorrow, ‘tis the fiend, the avenging fiend, that follows us behind, with whips and stings.” ~Nicholas Rowe, English dramatist, appointed Poet Laureate 1715 (1674-1718)

He sat on the cold marble floor hugging the body to his chest rocking rhythmically back and forth; like a mother quieting her new born child. Occasionally he would pull away from the blood smeared face intoning a pleading litany. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know; I’m sorry, forgive me.” Then he would hug the body tighter and rock even faster, repeating his litany. Sirens could be heard in the distance coming relentlessly closer. He continued to rock, begging the body for forgiveness: “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

The sirens stopped right outside the building, then fell silent. Four car doors slammed shut. Moments crept by. Suddenly the double doors at the back of the sanctuary burst open and in stepped four uniformed policemen. Glocks at the ready. They pointed their weapons in each direction they looked, methodically "clearing" the sanctuary, finding no one as they went.

Then, from behind the altar, came what sounded like a whimper. They paused. The squad leader nodded toward the sound motioning silently with two fingers. Quickly, down the center aisle they went, glancing furtively into the rows of pews. Stopping at the base of the stairs leading to the altar, the squad leader motioned for two of the officers to make a wide berth around the outside of the staircase. With the remaining officer, up the stairs they went, guns poised, safeties off. Stealthily the two moved around the altar toward the place where they had heard the sound. Then, in one swift practiced maneuver, they slipped quickly around the altar pointing their guns at the open spot behind.

There sat 11 year old Jason Masterson. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with tears and his nose was running. A deep sob shook his body. Dressed in his school uniform, he was seated cross legged on the cold marble floor. Wrapped in his arms was, what appeared to be, a life sized wooden mannequin. One of the officers quickly noticed it was the corpus (the body of Christ), from the crucifix, which Jason was cradling in his arms. Jason had apparently pulled the spikes out of “Jesus’” hands and feet, torn the metal crown of thorns from his head and tossed it aside. Now he was holding the wooden sculpture and apparently apologizing to it. The police holstered their weapons.

A side door flew open, “That’s him officers, that’s him.” I want him arrested for vandalism.” A skinny man in an ill-fitted suit, Principal Atwater, strode up to policeman. “He needs to be arrested” he added for emphasis. “Is he a student here?” asked one of the officers. “Yes, he is…and not a very good one. Now arrest him.”

The officers glanced at one another and shrugged. Two helped Jason to his feet while a third gingerly removed the wooden body of Christ from his arms, laying it carefully on the altar. They handcuffed Jason and gently led him back up the center aisle.

The squad leader paused in front of Atwater. He removed a white business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to the blustering principal. “Call the boy’s mother and tell her where we’re taking her son.” “The address is on the card.” The policeman hesitated a moment, “I trust you’re going to drop the charges as long as the family makes restitution…aren’t you?” Surprised, Atwater stammered out a “Yes, of course.” The policeman gave a curt nod and without another word followed the others up the aisle and out of the church.

Jason was not a vandal, but a victim. Somewhere along the way Jason was told the reason Jesus was hung on a cross was because of his sins. The boy had taken this teaching literally making Jesus’ demise his personal responsibility.

For years we have made jokes about guilt: Catholic guilt comes from what you do and Jewish guilt from what you don’t do (like not calling your mother). Presbyterian guilt comes from not working hard enough, etc. “Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving” (Erma Bombeck), but it is no laughing matter. It is destructive and hurtful. It feeds addiction and incites neurosis. Practicing our faith should help us to alleviate the negative consequences of guilt. Yet sadly, there are those who, rather than eliminate guilt, employ it. Wielding it like a weapon.

There are those who cultivate guilt in the name of stewardship in an effort to increase offertory or to encourage others to support a particular campaign or cause. I have caught myself saying “we’ll guilt them into it,” only to feel “guilty” later for having said it.

This approach is misguided. Guilt should never be inflicted on another accidentally let alone purposefully. We already inflict enough of it upon ourselves. “Guilting” another into doing something is the equivalent of torturing them until you get what you want. And even the best results will be short lived. Healthy, sustainable, responsible actions can never be motivated by negative emotions like guilt.

Real stewardship grows out of gratitude, not guilt. It grows out of the healthy realization we are really not entitled to anything we have. That everything we have is temporary and we have it, not because we deserve it, but because a gracious and loving God wanted us to have it. We are called to be filled with gratitude because God sent His one and only child into the world to die for us; not to make us permanently neurotic, but because he loved us beyond our comprehension.

Christian Stewards are called to save the world. To do so we need to share the good news. And if that news is truly good, it will not make others feel guilty. Guilt needs to be left in the confessional where it belongs. The confessional is the place to say I’m sorry for what I have done and to be forgiven for it. Gratitude stands with us at the altar. Here, as we gaze upon the Cross, we can say, thank you for what you have done for me.

Dear God: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I knew it was you. Thank you!

“If it makes you feel guilty, it isn’t a pleasure.” ~Unknown

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

It's Not Just a Job!

“The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread.” ~Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Catholic Nun who founded the Missionaries of Charity (1910-1997)

The line of homeless people stretched the length of the serving table continuing out the door of the parish center. They went unnoticed by me. I was practicing pressing a #4 scoop against the side of a metal bowl so as to fill the delivery compartment completely. When the proper pressure was applied the 3 1/4 oz. scoop dispensed a perfect dome of mash potatoes. After its ejection onto the plate all that was needed was a ladle of gravy and the plate was good to go.

When I wasn’t scooping mashed potatoes my fellow servers were entertained with my clever anecdotes and stories which were always a bit too long. Only occasionally did I make eye contact with one of our “customers” (“our homeless friends” the ministry head called them). Even when I responded to their “hello” or “thank you” my focus was on the task of making the perfect mashed potato mound.

But heh, I was doing God’s work, right? Serving the poor, helping the homeless and I could tell everybody about it at lunch the next day. In the midst of my personal euphoria, Brian appeared. (Deacon Brian is an old friend). “Jim, how’s it going?” “Great!” I responded. “Here’s another person who will think I’m a good guy” I mused delivering another picture perfect pile of starch.

“I need you to do something for me” Brian continued. “What is it? I’m pretty busy right now,” I replied, not wanting to give up my well practiced position. “Give the scoop to the Cub Scout over there; he can handle your job.” Reluctantly relinquishing the scoop I followed Brian down the table toward the desserts, turning only once; just in time to see the scout plop a misshapen glob of potatoes on someone’s plate. I winced, then turned and followed Brian into the kitchen.

“What’s the job you have for me” I asked with a grin. “Get yourself a plate of food, then go out and sit down at a table and eat.” He could tell I was puzzled…eating a plate of food wasn’t ministry. “What’s the deal?” I asked. “The deal is you have to sit at a table with homeless people and eat dinner.” Again, he read my face. “One of the most important things we do here is treat our guests like…guests.” “If people avoid them by not sitting with them, they still sense the alienation they felt before they came in here.” “Your job is to make them feel welcome.” I stared at Brian for a moment, then reluctantly grabbed a foam plate from the counter, dished some food into it from the pots on the stove, and purposefully walked directly past Brian into the dining area.

Quickly scanning the room I located what appeared to be the “friendliest” table. Taking a deep breath I headed for it, glancing only briefly at the Cub Scout with the poor scooping technique. “Is anyone sitting here?” I asked, hoping they would say yes. A grizzled old face, framed with long white hair, and topped with a weather beaten, leather, broad brimmed hat, stared up at me through watery eyes. “We were sav’n it for you,” he said with a dingy smile and a throaty chuckle. For the next hour the man and his female companion shared their lives with me.

They were brother and sister, which clarified my first wrong assumption; one of many I would make that evening. A series of unfortunate events: lost jobs, illness coupled with no medical coverage had resulted in them losing their family home. They did odd jobs where and when they could. Thanks to the kindness and discretion of a local business owner, their current residence was a vacant storage compartment at a “U Store It” facility. They instructed me where to find the best price on food. Did you know the 99 Cent Store has a frozen food section? I also discovered two pairs of new socks and a well worn backpack were their most coveted possessions.

Finally it was time for them to go. They needed to get to their “sleeping place” before dark. “Thank you Mister,” the old fellow said. “For what?” I asked. “For break’n bread with us,” he responded simply. They hugged me and left.

I turned to see Deacon Brian leaning against the doorway to the kitchen; arms crossed and a smile on his face. The serving table was cleared and the Cub Scout (scoop, mashed potatoes and all) was gone; as were my misconceptions.

There is a big difference between performing job duties and doing ministry. In our ministerial world we have begun to adopt techniques from the secular business environment which make us more efficient in doing our “sacred business”. Computers, copy machines, cell phones have made us more efficient, but have they made us more effective?

There is an inherent danger when we try to run a ministry like a business. Jobs, for the most part, are task or process oriented. They are focused on activities. The three variables are simple: How fast? How well? And, for how much? Efficiency is not a bad thing; it helps us do more with less. But God calls us to be effective as well.

Running a dinner for the homeless it is easy to become focused on how many people are fed, how quickly they are fed and, as in my case, the appearance or quality of the food…but is this really ministry? The word “ministry” comes from the Latin word “ministerium” which means servant. There is a difference between simply feeding someone and serving them. There is a difference between fulfilling a person’s bodily requirements and being attentive to their “other” needs. In ministry we are called to something more…to function at a deeper level…to serve the whole person.

When I stopped shoveling food and started engaging our “homeless friends,” one-on-one, things changed for me. It was the seminal moment where ministry began. Serving food was important, but the meal became a vehicle for something much more important…developing community. It was not simply about doing right things (feeding a homeless person) it was also about doing things right (serving a fellow human being, one of God’s children, in need).

To serve means to be attentive and engaged: even the most mundane tasks can be a vehicle for great service; for giving of ourselves. And when we give much, in turn we receive more. Good stewards know we do not receive in order that we might give. Rather, we give so that we might receive. Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta often said, “Do small things with great love.” I know of no better definition of ministry.

Dear God: Teach me to serve the real needs of others.

“Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat.” ~Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Catholic Nun who founded the Missionaries of Charity (1910-1997)

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Celebrate Me Home

“The only thing better than singing is more singing.” ~Ella Fitzgerald, American jazz singer (1917-1996)

“Compound” would be a gracious description. The encampment was circular in shape with an enclosure wall comprised of bare branches woven together for support. Frankly, it looked more like a brush pile than a wall. The compound had seven gates; one for each family who lived there. “Does each family use only their own entrance?” I asked as we entered through one of the gates. “No, we enter through any gate,” our Maasai guide replied with a toothy smile. The Maasai people occupy parts of Kenya and northern Tanzania and are arguably the best known tribe in Africa.

“Be careful not to step in the cow dung!” someone warned. “You mean be careful not to step in the wet cow dung don’t you?” I replied. The Maasai are cattle farmers. Wealth is measured by the size of one’s herd and the number of children. A man must have both to be considered wealthy. By day their cattle graze in pastures outside the compound, but at night; they are brought inside to protect them from predators (mostly lions and hyenas). As a result, inside the compound, it is impossible to step anywhere that you are not stepping on dung. Even the exteriors of the hovels of our hosts were plastered and their roofs waterproofed with the stuff.

The remaining male members of the tribe appeared, clad in their traditional bright red blankets, in bold plaid patterns. One tall tribesman wore a blanket around his waist which bore images of the cartoon character Scooby Doo, though he had no idea who Scooby Doo was. Those who had earned their status as warriors, were easily identified by their distinctive headdresses and a sizable earlobe created by inserting a knife into the lobe and then twisting.

The men danced a “welcome dance”. Then all the men, guests included, engaged in “the jumping dance” or “adumu”; a jumping competition of sorts which is a demonstration of male prowess. In the distance we heard the sound of trilling voices. The women of the tribe, even more brightly clad than the men, processed into the compound as if their sudden appearance had been carefully orchestrated. They too danced and sang a welcome song followed by a chanted lullaby, and a song praising their sons. Their last song seemed to have a particular significance.

“What is that song?” someone asked our warrior host. “It is the song the women sing when they take the cows out in the morning.” “They also sing the same song when they bring them in at night.” “You mean you sing your cows into the field and home again…every day?” someone else asked. “Of course”, he replied with the same toothy grin. “Don’t you?”

We Americans spend billions of dollars each year on music and music producing devices so we can plug our ears, insulate our cars with sound and generally separate ourselves from the world. But the world was never intended to be masked or blotted out by music. Rather, it was intended to be experienced through the use of music. It should be our “ticket to ride” rather than a means of stopping our ears with electronic cotton.

Nor is music simply an accompaniment to our activities, like a movie sound track. It is not background noise. The Maasai women sing their livestock into the fields and home again, yet we seem to struggle with a few hymns at church. “Alleluia” might as well be “what’s it to yah?”

Why is this?

For much of the third world singing and dancing are a means of constant celebration, part of a daily ritual, whether it is welcoming guests, singing a child to sleep, a dance of courtship, or a song which carries one through the work day. Our “first world” culture has lost this ability to celebrate. When we do celebrate, we celebrate sporting events, successes, milestones. It is as if we are challenged to find reasons to celebrate. Celebrations are becoming a means of putting our success and wealth on display. We celebrate “things” rather than celebrating our daily lives.

Whether we choose to involve ourselves or not, our lives are a celebration: a celebration of our being, of our existence, of our humanity, of our journey. There is cause to celebrate failure as well. Failures often lead to personal growth and growth deserves to be celebrated. Even death is something which evokes celebration: Irish wakes, sitting Shiva or Dios de los Muertos celebrations for instance. Native American writer, Manitonquat, once described life as a “sacred mystery singing to itself, dancing to its drum, telling tales, improvising, playing.”

If we are to be truly happy we must learn to be good stewards of celebration. This means seeing life as a celebration of God’s gifts; a celebration occurring at all times; a constant renewal. We are called to celebrate this moment in time…and the next…and the next…even when we are singing the cows home at twilight.

Dear God: “Be with me and save me. Take great delight in me, quiet me with your love, and rejoice over me with your singing.” Zephaniah 3:17

“…singing induces in you a desire for experiencing the truth, to glimpse the beauty that is God, to taste the bliss that is the Self.” ~Sri Sathya Sai Baba, Indian Spiritual Leader (b. 1926)


© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.