“If you say that the history of the Church is a long succession of scandals, you are telling the truth, though if that is all you say, you are distorting the truth.” ~Gerald Vann, British Roman Catholic theologian and philosopher (1906 – 1963)
“What do you mean by THE CHURCH?” snarled the Deacon to my left. “I guess I mean Church with a big ‘C’” I responded rather timidly. “Shocked” would be the word which described my state of mind however. Teresa and I were attending our monthly Deacon Deanery meeting. We were in the midst of a contemplative reflection on John 21*…or so I thought. The concept is simple enough. The scripture passage is read aloud then, those who feel moved to do so, share whatever comes to mind. (*John 21: The Miraculous Catch of Fish)
Leaning on some recent reading, I had suggested Peter’s fishing boat could be seen as a symbol for “the church” and the turning of the boat toward Jesus on the shore indicated the importance of keeping “the church” focused in the direction of Christ. I had also thrown in some choice factoids regarding the symbolism of the “153 fish” in the catch and that Peter “throws on clothes” before entering the water. Admittedly, I was showing off a little.
“We all know the symbolism in the story”, grumped the Deacon. “But I’ve got people in my office everyday complaining about the Church.” “The Church is in trouble…” His rant continued.
It would not be unusual for someone to ask a clarifying question during a scripture meditation, but a confrontational diatribe is a bit like bringing a hand gun to a garden party. I put on my best conciliatory smile and listened, though I admit, not very attentively. Several times I tried to interject an explanation, but it didn’t really matter what I said. The script for the lecture we were receiving had undoubtedly been fixed in the Deacon’s mind before he arrived that evening. I had simply made myself a convenient target by trying to demonstrate my scriptural prowess. Finally… he was finished.
The meeting broke up shortly thereafter. As we headed for the parking lot I grumbled under my breath “This is the last one of these meetings I’m going to attend.” Teresa just smiled and patted me on the back. That’s her code for, “Yes Dear.”
“What do we mean when we refer to “the church”? When we complain about “the church” who or what do we identify as “the church”? Undoubtedly, to many of us, “the church” is in Rome or, no closer than the Archdiocesan Offices in downtown LA. We institutionalize the church believing it is represented by the guys in pointy hats, red beanies and black suits with backwards collars. However, as stewards of “the faith” we are, for all intents and purposes, stewards of “the church” as well. In other words, “we are the church”. Vatican II said as much.
Regardless of how one defines “the Church” our church is currently being severely criticized and not without provocation or precedence. For most of its 2000 year history, the Church has been in conflict. We have experienced periods of great persecution and confrontation. Surprisingly, the times of great persecution have also been times of great evangelization. Look at the first 300 years of Christianity.
While today’s institutional church fights press releases with press releases…trading punches with the media like a couple of heavyweight boxers, how do we, as the stewards of the faith, respond? The perfunctory response would be to “circle the wagons” to protect ourselves from attack. We envision this as a war and we are under siege. So we turn inward in an attempt to defend ourselves…to protect ourselves
In point of fact, our response should be quite the opposite. Taking our queue from Christ we must turn ourselves outward and open ourselves to the world. Christ never defended himself. Our principle image of Him is nearly naked, arms outstretched, nailed to a cross…defenseless, vulnerable. If we are to see our current state of affairs for the gift that it is…we must acknowledge it is an opportunity to reform and renew, to go deeper in our faith. Only then can we return this gift to God with increase, but we can not do so from a protectionist posture.
Closed, fisted hands can neither give nor receive. We must open ourselves compassionately to the world allowing it to engage us…to experience our faith at street level. Society can not see into our churches. Society can only see those of us who come out into the light of the world. We can ill afford to allow our church to be defined by the 6:00 news. Therefore, we need to “stop doing church and start being the church” (Albert L. Winseman).
In our very secularized culture our lives may be the only scripture others read or the only homily some people hear. Our behaviors may be the only liturgy they experience. Only 28% of the American population is Catholic, so we may well be the only version of Catholicism the general populace will ever encounter, except for the New York Times…scary thought.
Christ does not call us to be protectionists, but evangelists. This time of confrontations and sometimes persecution is a time for evangelization. Evangelization is not about indoctrination, it is about conversation. We are not called to educate but to demonstrate. To be stewards of our faith we must begin by being present to our faith in the world as well as in our churches. Our lives are our best advertisement.
Jesus stumbled and fell often on his way to Calvary only to be ultimately resurrected. As the face of Christ to our communities we must come to expect that we too will stumble and fall on the way to our reward. There is no reason to believe otherwise. St Paul reminds us that all things are possible through Christ; but he never said things would be easy.
Dear God: Help me to make my life a homily.
“Church isn’t where you meet. Church isn’t a building. Church is what you do. Church is who you are. Church is the human outworking of the person of Jesus Christ. Let’s not go to Church, let’s be the Church.” ~Bridget Willard, contemporary American author
© 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.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Night and Day
“In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening, love can hear the rustle of a wing.” ~Robert Ingersoll, Civil War veteran, American political leader and orator (1833-1899)
It was 6:55 AM Wednesday morning and Monsignor went flying past my open office door. “Tell me the days are worth the nights Jim” he called out over his shoulder, never breaking stride. “The days are worth the nights Monsignor,” I shouted back. He continued on. Our Parish Administrator’s wife had died tragically only three days earlier and we were all pondering that same question. Are the days worth the nights?
For more than a year prior to her death, every time I left my mother’s bedside, I reminded myself it might be the last time I saw her alive. For this reason, I tried to make each departure count by telling her repeatedly I loved her. When someone is in hospice care we are super-attentive to the proximity of death. However, if we left the house on a beautiful, sunny, Sunday afternoon to run a few errands, we would not expect to be called to the local emergency room, only to discover our spouse had died.
So often when we experience the death of another, particularly those who are closest to us, we envision enveloping darkness…the end of life. Death, however, can produce a response, an innate light, so kinetic as to be illuminating.
After a death, the first thing we often experience is raw, unbridled emotion. The insulation of decorum, image and civility are stripped from the wires of our being. The raw grief, despair and hopelessness rises in us unfiltered and unfettered often coming unexpectedly in fits and sparks. In a way we are being reconnected with the purest state of our emotions.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is purgative, purifying. It allows us the opportunity to “vent” our grief, relieving the emotional pressure of trying to hold it in. “The grief that does not speak whispers to the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break” wrote William Shakespeare. We may wish, at times like these, to try to keep up appearances. But this is not a time when appearances should be expected, requiring energy which we do not possess. This is undoubtedly why certain cultures openly wail at funerals and wakes. It is a way of “getting it all out.” Dumping the grief as it were.
Experiencing the death of another also provides us with perspective, clarity. What a friend of mine calls a “reality check”. The petty, superficial and unnecessary blanch when illuminated by the harsh reality of death. Petty grievances or disagreements which previously irked or disturbed us simply fall away. We see them for what they were and wonder why we held onto them so tightly in the first place.
Possessions, power and prestige cannot protect us from the grave, nor insulate us from our grief. Real grief is an opportunity to reconnect with who we are, what we should be and what is really important to us. There is a reason why so many return to the church after the death of a loved one. What they thought was important in their lives pales in the face of death.
As stewards we acknowledge everything is a gift. Within the illuminating night, which is death, we recognize the extent to which the deceased was a gift to us. As mourners come together there is a growing recognition of the extent to which the deceased was a gift to all. This is why communal events, times when mourners can come together to share (such as wakes, vigils or Bethany meals), are so important. There is a communal and complete exposition of the gift…the deceased.
Grief not only looks backward at the gift which is no longer, but looks forward as well. It helps us to see the gifts in others and of others. That which we have lost we can find again in other people, though perhaps not in exactly the same way. Those things which we had wished we had done we are now called upon to do again.
The last time I spoke with my friend Michael I made a perfunctory offer: “If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know and I will do it gladly.” Mike didn’t hesitate with his response: “There is one thing you can do for me,” he began. “You can make sure and tell your wife you love her every morning.”
The days are worth the nights, but it is the nights which illuminate the days.
Dear God: During these dark nights remind me of the gifts lost and the gifts to be discovered so my days may be ever brighter.
“They, who have gone, so we but cherish their memories, abide with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living.” ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French writer and aviator (1900-1944)
In loving memory: Mary Trudeau-Mottola and Alvin Hopkins
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
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 was 6:55 AM Wednesday morning and Monsignor went flying past my open office door. “Tell me the days are worth the nights Jim” he called out over his shoulder, never breaking stride. “The days are worth the nights Monsignor,” I shouted back. He continued on. Our Parish Administrator’s wife had died tragically only three days earlier and we were all pondering that same question. Are the days worth the nights?
For more than a year prior to her death, every time I left my mother’s bedside, I reminded myself it might be the last time I saw her alive. For this reason, I tried to make each departure count by telling her repeatedly I loved her. When someone is in hospice care we are super-attentive to the proximity of death. However, if we left the house on a beautiful, sunny, Sunday afternoon to run a few errands, we would not expect to be called to the local emergency room, only to discover our spouse had died.
So often when we experience the death of another, particularly those who are closest to us, we envision enveloping darkness…the end of life. Death, however, can produce a response, an innate light, so kinetic as to be illuminating.
After a death, the first thing we often experience is raw, unbridled emotion. The insulation of decorum, image and civility are stripped from the wires of our being. The raw grief, despair and hopelessness rises in us unfiltered and unfettered often coming unexpectedly in fits and sparks. In a way we are being reconnected with the purest state of our emotions.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is purgative, purifying. It allows us the opportunity to “vent” our grief, relieving the emotional pressure of trying to hold it in. “The grief that does not speak whispers to the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break” wrote William Shakespeare. We may wish, at times like these, to try to keep up appearances. But this is not a time when appearances should be expected, requiring energy which we do not possess. This is undoubtedly why certain cultures openly wail at funerals and wakes. It is a way of “getting it all out.” Dumping the grief as it were.
Experiencing the death of another also provides us with perspective, clarity. What a friend of mine calls a “reality check”. The petty, superficial and unnecessary blanch when illuminated by the harsh reality of death. Petty grievances or disagreements which previously irked or disturbed us simply fall away. We see them for what they were and wonder why we held onto them so tightly in the first place.
Possessions, power and prestige cannot protect us from the grave, nor insulate us from our grief. Real grief is an opportunity to reconnect with who we are, what we should be and what is really important to us. There is a reason why so many return to the church after the death of a loved one. What they thought was important in their lives pales in the face of death.
As stewards we acknowledge everything is a gift. Within the illuminating night, which is death, we recognize the extent to which the deceased was a gift to us. As mourners come together there is a growing recognition of the extent to which the deceased was a gift to all. This is why communal events, times when mourners can come together to share (such as wakes, vigils or Bethany meals), are so important. There is a communal and complete exposition of the gift…the deceased.
Grief not only looks backward at the gift which is no longer, but looks forward as well. It helps us to see the gifts in others and of others. That which we have lost we can find again in other people, though perhaps not in exactly the same way. Those things which we had wished we had done we are now called upon to do again.
The last time I spoke with my friend Michael I made a perfunctory offer: “If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know and I will do it gladly.” Mike didn’t hesitate with his response: “There is one thing you can do for me,” he began. “You can make sure and tell your wife you love her every morning.”
The days are worth the nights, but it is the nights which illuminate the days.
Dear God: During these dark nights remind me of the gifts lost and the gifts to be discovered so my days may be ever brighter.
“They, who have gone, so we but cherish their memories, abide with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living.” ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French writer and aviator (1900-1944)
In loving memory: Mary Trudeau-Mottola and Alvin Hopkins
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
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.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Meltdown
“Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before, how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way, and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatever…” ~Isak Dinesen, (pseudonym of Baroness Karen Blixen), Danish author (Out of Africa), 1885-1962
“Honey! I’m home!” My wife’s voice wafted into my electronically induced coma. “Are you asleep or watching TV?” Her voice came from somewhere far away. “Just a minute,” I responded. On TV in HD the “perp” was starting to sweat. I was not going to miss this, even though I had recorded the program weeks earlier and could pause it any time I wanted.
“Where’s the basket of food we had blessed at the church this afternoon?” My wife’s voice was now emanating from the kitchen. “It should be there,” was my perfunctory response. “I don’t see it,” she said as she came around the corner. At that point the fog lifted and I remembered. “Oh, it’s in the back of the car,” I replied offhandedly, looking away from the TV, but only for an instant. “I hope not,” responded Teresa as she headed for the front door. It must be 85 degrees outside.
The unsuspecting suspect finally fell prey to the detectives’ clever mental gambit. The perp collapsed into a fit of heaves and sobs, between which he blubbered out a confession, which conveniently explained the entire plot. Teresa returned with the basket. “I think the chocolate has liquefied,” she observed heading for the kitchen…and the refrigerator. The credits were running so I quickly deleted the program and followed her into the kitchen.
“How is everything,” I asked casually. Teresa had finished her triage and was undertaking a salvage operation transferring the deformed chocolate bunnies and eggs to a shelf she had cleared in the frig. “It’s not looking good.” “They are kind of deformed,” she remarked working quickly and carefully. She was right. The bunnies’ tummies, were no longer round and nicely formed, now they had big dimples in the middle. The ears were laid back having been weakened at the base and the brightly colored foil had taken on a rumpled appearance. The chocolate eggs were similarly dimpled and had flattened on one side.
Teresa stood in front of the open refrigerator with her head cocked to one side contemplating the condition of her chocolate creatures. Easter is a big deal for my wife. She takes pride in the Easter baskets she assembles for our daughter, son-in-law, her mom (and me). In her world chocolate is to be purchased from purveyors of fine chocolate, not chain stores or pharmacies. For her it is a labor of love.
It had been my responsibility to bring home the basket of food (which contained the foil wrapped chocolate) from the church where the food had been blessed for Easter. Teresa departed the blessing ceremony to run errands, but I had headed home and gone straight to the couch. Now I was trying to think of some really good excuse other than, “I forgot.” Thank goodness we didn’t have the usual lamb, sculpted out of butter, in the basket. Teresa was still looking into the refrigerator when the laughter started. “God they look awful,” she said shaking her head in amusement. I started to apologize, but realized as long as she was laughing I was safe. Teresa shut the refrigerator door and returned to the other, less perishable, items in the basket.
Quickly weighing my options; should I ask if she was mad at me (even though she was laughing) or attempt an apology. I took the high ground. “So you think they’ll be alright,” I asked? “No,” she replied still laughing. “They look hideous,” she concluded. “Maybe no one will notice,” I suggested. “Hun, chocolate turns white from heat…they’ll notice, trust me.” At this point, I was quickly running out of options. “Should I go back and buy more bunnies?” I offered, hoping she would say no…and she did. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied, turning toward me with a smile. “Besides…this will make a good story for you to tell.” Teresa, still laughing, turned back to the basket. I headed for the safety of the sofa.
There was a time in our marriage when the molten chocolate creatures would have provided an opportunity for a vigorous argument. Fortunately we approach things differently these days. When seemingly bad things happen, one of us will undoubtedly say “well at least nobody died.” Compared to world hunger, global financial collapse and catastrophic natural disasters a few melted chocolate rabbits and eggs are not of much concern. But as stewards of time, acknowledging every moment we have on earth is a gift from God, it seems somehow inappropriate to cope with life’s events by simply characterizing all the potentially annoying ones as insignificant.
The “don’t worry because it’s not important” approach can be dangerous because it requires us to make a determination between significant events and insignificant ones. As stewards we are called to recognize every moment of our life as precious. Therefore, we must treat all our time as being of value. Arguing over my mental lapse would not have been a very valuable use of our time. Further, if it had become a point of contention, every time we returned to the event, the memory would have been painful. On the other hand, seeing the humor in the situation, not only strengthened our relationship, but produced a pleasurable moment in our life. One we will fondly recall over and over again.
This does not mean we should fill every second of our lives with what we perceive as significant events. There is a difference between something being “of value” and being “significant”. When time is “valued” our cup is full and our heart is light. Seemingly small things take on new meaning. This “value” can never be taken from us like laughter over melted chocolate. “Significance,” on the other hand, can be taken away from us at any time. Even if I broke a world record, eventually that achievement will be eclipsed, rendering it less significant.
Like my loving wife, I want to have a full cup and a light heart. It is not simply a matter of surviving potentially emotional situations, like melted rabbits, by deeming them to be insignificant (small stuff). Rather, it is about seeing these incidents as something of value…something to be approached joyfully. Teresa turned her attention away from herself and saw the humor in the situation: the chocolate cadavers laid out on the glass shelf of the fridge looking as if they were on a slab in the morgue. She returned the time to God with increase, full of warmth and laughter.
It is not about surviving life by rendering most of our lives as insignificant, nor is it about filling our lives with things we deem to be of great significance. Rather it is about approaching life realizing all our time is a gift of great value, to be approached reverently and joyfully…traversing each day with a full cup and a light heart.
Dear God: Remind me time is free, but priceless. I can not own it, but I can use it. I can not keep it, but I can spend it and once I have lost it, I can never have it back.
“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” ~Henry Van Dyke, American short-story writer, poet and essayist (1852-1933)
© 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.
“Honey! I’m home!” My wife’s voice wafted into my electronically induced coma. “Are you asleep or watching TV?” Her voice came from somewhere far away. “Just a minute,” I responded. On TV in HD the “perp” was starting to sweat. I was not going to miss this, even though I had recorded the program weeks earlier and could pause it any time I wanted.
“Where’s the basket of food we had blessed at the church this afternoon?” My wife’s voice was now emanating from the kitchen. “It should be there,” was my perfunctory response. “I don’t see it,” she said as she came around the corner. At that point the fog lifted and I remembered. “Oh, it’s in the back of the car,” I replied offhandedly, looking away from the TV, but only for an instant. “I hope not,” responded Teresa as she headed for the front door. It must be 85 degrees outside.
The unsuspecting suspect finally fell prey to the detectives’ clever mental gambit. The perp collapsed into a fit of heaves and sobs, between which he blubbered out a confession, which conveniently explained the entire plot. Teresa returned with the basket. “I think the chocolate has liquefied,” she observed heading for the kitchen…and the refrigerator. The credits were running so I quickly deleted the program and followed her into the kitchen.
“How is everything,” I asked casually. Teresa had finished her triage and was undertaking a salvage operation transferring the deformed chocolate bunnies and eggs to a shelf she had cleared in the frig. “It’s not looking good.” “They are kind of deformed,” she remarked working quickly and carefully. She was right. The bunnies’ tummies, were no longer round and nicely formed, now they had big dimples in the middle. The ears were laid back having been weakened at the base and the brightly colored foil had taken on a rumpled appearance. The chocolate eggs were similarly dimpled and had flattened on one side.
Teresa stood in front of the open refrigerator with her head cocked to one side contemplating the condition of her chocolate creatures. Easter is a big deal for my wife. She takes pride in the Easter baskets she assembles for our daughter, son-in-law, her mom (and me). In her world chocolate is to be purchased from purveyors of fine chocolate, not chain stores or pharmacies. For her it is a labor of love.
It had been my responsibility to bring home the basket of food (which contained the foil wrapped chocolate) from the church where the food had been blessed for Easter. Teresa departed the blessing ceremony to run errands, but I had headed home and gone straight to the couch. Now I was trying to think of some really good excuse other than, “I forgot.” Thank goodness we didn’t have the usual lamb, sculpted out of butter, in the basket. Teresa was still looking into the refrigerator when the laughter started. “God they look awful,” she said shaking her head in amusement. I started to apologize, but realized as long as she was laughing I was safe. Teresa shut the refrigerator door and returned to the other, less perishable, items in the basket.
Quickly weighing my options; should I ask if she was mad at me (even though she was laughing) or attempt an apology. I took the high ground. “So you think they’ll be alright,” I asked? “No,” she replied still laughing. “They look hideous,” she concluded. “Maybe no one will notice,” I suggested. “Hun, chocolate turns white from heat…they’ll notice, trust me.” At this point, I was quickly running out of options. “Should I go back and buy more bunnies?” I offered, hoping she would say no…and she did. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied, turning toward me with a smile. “Besides…this will make a good story for you to tell.” Teresa, still laughing, turned back to the basket. I headed for the safety of the sofa.
There was a time in our marriage when the molten chocolate creatures would have provided an opportunity for a vigorous argument. Fortunately we approach things differently these days. When seemingly bad things happen, one of us will undoubtedly say “well at least nobody died.” Compared to world hunger, global financial collapse and catastrophic natural disasters a few melted chocolate rabbits and eggs are not of much concern. But as stewards of time, acknowledging every moment we have on earth is a gift from God, it seems somehow inappropriate to cope with life’s events by simply characterizing all the potentially annoying ones as insignificant.
The “don’t worry because it’s not important” approach can be dangerous because it requires us to make a determination between significant events and insignificant ones. As stewards we are called to recognize every moment of our life as precious. Therefore, we must treat all our time as being of value. Arguing over my mental lapse would not have been a very valuable use of our time. Further, if it had become a point of contention, every time we returned to the event, the memory would have been painful. On the other hand, seeing the humor in the situation, not only strengthened our relationship, but produced a pleasurable moment in our life. One we will fondly recall over and over again.
This does not mean we should fill every second of our lives with what we perceive as significant events. There is a difference between something being “of value” and being “significant”. When time is “valued” our cup is full and our heart is light. Seemingly small things take on new meaning. This “value” can never be taken from us like laughter over melted chocolate. “Significance,” on the other hand, can be taken away from us at any time. Even if I broke a world record, eventually that achievement will be eclipsed, rendering it less significant.
Like my loving wife, I want to have a full cup and a light heart. It is not simply a matter of surviving potentially emotional situations, like melted rabbits, by deeming them to be insignificant (small stuff). Rather, it is about seeing these incidents as something of value…something to be approached joyfully. Teresa turned her attention away from herself and saw the humor in the situation: the chocolate cadavers laid out on the glass shelf of the fridge looking as if they were on a slab in the morgue. She returned the time to God with increase, full of warmth and laughter.
It is not about surviving life by rendering most of our lives as insignificant, nor is it about filling our lives with things we deem to be of great significance. Rather it is about approaching life realizing all our time is a gift of great value, to be approached reverently and joyfully…traversing each day with a full cup and a light heart.
Dear God: Remind me time is free, but priceless. I can not own it, but I can use it. I can not keep it, but I can spend it and once I have lost it, I can never have it back.
“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” ~Henry Van Dyke, American short-story writer, poet and essayist (1852-1933)
© 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.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Coincidence
"Miracles are unexpected joys, surprising coincidences, unexplainable experiences, astonishing beauties... absolutely anything that happens in the course of my day…" ~Judith M. Knowlton, American author and Doctor of Psychology
My left hip began to vibrate. A moment later my Blackberry erupted with a familiar bling-bling-bling. Glancing at the screen, I didn’t recognize the sender, but, out of curiosity, I opened the message anyway. Interesting… The email had come from Elder Diane Takata Powell of Covenant Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, North Carolina. At that moment I was in a hospitality suite at a Religious Education Congress in Anaheim, California. However, in only a few weeks, I would be in Charlotte, attending a YMCA Development Conference. Diane requested a phone conference. I countered with an offer, to her surprise, to meet with her and her committee face to face. What a coincidence.
The hospitality suite emptied quickly as people headed for their next workshop. Leisa Anslinger, a friend and colleague was conducting a workshop that afternoon. I would be in attendance. She greeted me at the door when I arrived. Still fresh in my mind, I mentioned the workshop in Charlotte. “You’ve got to visit with Don Garbison from St Matthew’s,” Leisa responded and she recited his email address from memory.
Less than three weeks later I sat down to coffee with Don in Charlotte. We had so much in common you would have thought we met through StewardshipMatch.com. The time flew and as the conversation was ending Don offhandedly mentioned Jim Kelly’s office was four or five blocks away. Jim is the current President of the Board of Directors of the International Catholic Stewardship Council, the Director of Development for the Diocese of Charlotte and one of the foremost stewardship authorities in the US. Don had Jim's phone numbers in his cell phone and shortly thereafter…so did I. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Before the afternoon was out I had contacted Jim. He was away for the week, but the Associate Director, Barbara Gaddy, was in, and a mutually convenient lunch-time appointment was set for the next day. We could meet without any disruption in either of our schedules. That evening I fulfilled my promise to Elder Diane and her committee. The next day I met with Barbara at lunch time as planned. What an incredible run of good fortune I was having.
It was the last evening of the conference and I was buoyant from the streak I was on. Teresa and I strolled into the International YMCA Reception honoring 21 foreign countries which had sent delegates to the conference. We rode the elevator to the fourth floor expecting only some cold drinks and warm appetizers. The doors opened. We stood face to face with Michael Bussey, Financial Development Consultant to the YMCA of the USA and the official greeter/host. He immediately introduced us to the guest speaker Forsan Hussein; the CEO of the Jerusalem International YMCA. A man dedicated to peace in the Middle East.
In our brief conversation I casually mentioned I was trying to arrange a trip to the Holy Land for my Deacon class. (We are to be ordained in 2012). Without hesitation Forsan produced a business card. “I would love to be your host in Jerusalem” he said. We chatted for several moments and then he was whisked away to his presentation. Needless to say I was stunned.
The next day I stood in the conference room, where I would be conducting my workshop, greeting attendees as they arrived. To my surprise Forsan appeared at the door. “I am very interested in your workshop,” he began. “We need this, but I can only be here for a little while.” “Do you mind if I stay through part of it?” “Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” I replied with a spontaneous hug. Halfway through the presentation Forsan quietly got up, waved from the doorway, then disappeared. We had previously agreed I would send him a copy of the presentation. How could I have been so fortunate?
“How could God have let this happen!?” is a familiar mantra. It is easy to blame God for all the bad things which happen in this world, particularly those things which affect us directly. But when it comes to those “happy accidents” which befall us we are equally quick to view them as luck, coincidence, or good fortune. God takes the blame for the flat tire on the way to work, but it was luck which gave us the unexpected parking place near the front door of the mall.
However, when we begin to acknowledge and accept there is no such thing as luck, coincidence, good fortune, or “being in the right place at the right time” new vistas open in our lives. It is as if some of the crud comes off the windshield through which we view life. God had a purpose for me to be in Charlotte. There was work to be done and yet nothing was simply handed to me during my trip. The opportunities were presented, people were placed in my path, but it was up to me to act upon them…to be proactive…to answer God’s call. I was responsible for making the arrangements; sending and responding to emails and phone calls; being attentive during the various meetings and encounters and even doing some note taking along the way. Not to mention there is still follow-up to be done.
There was also a need for me to set myself aside…to leave my ego at home and check my agendas at the door. Something, I humbly admit, I am not very good at. If I had approached these interactions (gifts from God) with a “what’s in it for me” attitude or thinking I had nothing to learn or, if I simply saw them as an opportunity to impress people with how much I knew, the purpose and benefit would have been lost or the impact diminished.
It was important to pay attention, because I didn’t know why I was there or who was to benefit. Therefore, there was only one thing to be done: proceed with faith that God had a plan in operation and, in so doing, I transitioned from one encounter to the next almost effortlessly.
As stewards of this life God has given us, we must come to accept reasons are rarely readily apparent, but opportunities abound if we open our eyes to them. But it requires a sacrifice and that sacrifice is ego…the belief we have a better way. This does not mean we wait around for an inspiration or divine intervention. There will be no burning bush or mysterious visitation. Rather we are called to make the best beginning we can.
The more we do, driven by love and not by ego, the more we will sense a direction. When we go with God’s flow things seem to move along with minimal disruption, but when we think we have a better plan…when we insist on having things our own way, the green lights and blue skies quickly fade and are replaced by blank walls, dead ends and blind alleys. The Lord is making miracles all the time. Your life is one of them. Continue to make it so.
Dear God: Thank you for this miracle you have shown me today.
“Coincidence is God's way of staying anonymous.”
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Director of Stewardship 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.
My left hip began to vibrate. A moment later my Blackberry erupted with a familiar bling-bling-bling. Glancing at the screen, I didn’t recognize the sender, but, out of curiosity, I opened the message anyway. Interesting… The email had come from Elder Diane Takata Powell of Covenant Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, North Carolina. At that moment I was in a hospitality suite at a Religious Education Congress in Anaheim, California. However, in only a few weeks, I would be in Charlotte, attending a YMCA Development Conference. Diane requested a phone conference. I countered with an offer, to her surprise, to meet with her and her committee face to face. What a coincidence.
The hospitality suite emptied quickly as people headed for their next workshop. Leisa Anslinger, a friend and colleague was conducting a workshop that afternoon. I would be in attendance. She greeted me at the door when I arrived. Still fresh in my mind, I mentioned the workshop in Charlotte. “You’ve got to visit with Don Garbison from St Matthew’s,” Leisa responded and she recited his email address from memory.
Less than three weeks later I sat down to coffee with Don in Charlotte. We had so much in common you would have thought we met through StewardshipMatch.com. The time flew and as the conversation was ending Don offhandedly mentioned Jim Kelly’s office was four or five blocks away. Jim is the current President of the Board of Directors of the International Catholic Stewardship Council, the Director of Development for the Diocese of Charlotte and one of the foremost stewardship authorities in the US. Don had Jim's phone numbers in his cell phone and shortly thereafter…so did I. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Before the afternoon was out I had contacted Jim. He was away for the week, but the Associate Director, Barbara Gaddy, was in, and a mutually convenient lunch-time appointment was set for the next day. We could meet without any disruption in either of our schedules. That evening I fulfilled my promise to Elder Diane and her committee. The next day I met with Barbara at lunch time as planned. What an incredible run of good fortune I was having.
It was the last evening of the conference and I was buoyant from the streak I was on. Teresa and I strolled into the International YMCA Reception honoring 21 foreign countries which had sent delegates to the conference. We rode the elevator to the fourth floor expecting only some cold drinks and warm appetizers. The doors opened. We stood face to face with Michael Bussey, Financial Development Consultant to the YMCA of the USA and the official greeter/host. He immediately introduced us to the guest speaker Forsan Hussein; the CEO of the Jerusalem International YMCA. A man dedicated to peace in the Middle East.
In our brief conversation I casually mentioned I was trying to arrange a trip to the Holy Land for my Deacon class. (We are to be ordained in 2012). Without hesitation Forsan produced a business card. “I would love to be your host in Jerusalem” he said. We chatted for several moments and then he was whisked away to his presentation. Needless to say I was stunned.
The next day I stood in the conference room, where I would be conducting my workshop, greeting attendees as they arrived. To my surprise Forsan appeared at the door. “I am very interested in your workshop,” he began. “We need this, but I can only be here for a little while.” “Do you mind if I stay through part of it?” “Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” I replied with a spontaneous hug. Halfway through the presentation Forsan quietly got up, waved from the doorway, then disappeared. We had previously agreed I would send him a copy of the presentation. How could I have been so fortunate?
“How could God have let this happen!?” is a familiar mantra. It is easy to blame God for all the bad things which happen in this world, particularly those things which affect us directly. But when it comes to those “happy accidents” which befall us we are equally quick to view them as luck, coincidence, or good fortune. God takes the blame for the flat tire on the way to work, but it was luck which gave us the unexpected parking place near the front door of the mall.
However, when we begin to acknowledge and accept there is no such thing as luck, coincidence, good fortune, or “being in the right place at the right time” new vistas open in our lives. It is as if some of the crud comes off the windshield through which we view life. God had a purpose for me to be in Charlotte. There was work to be done and yet nothing was simply handed to me during my trip. The opportunities were presented, people were placed in my path, but it was up to me to act upon them…to be proactive…to answer God’s call. I was responsible for making the arrangements; sending and responding to emails and phone calls; being attentive during the various meetings and encounters and even doing some note taking along the way. Not to mention there is still follow-up to be done.
There was also a need for me to set myself aside…to leave my ego at home and check my agendas at the door. Something, I humbly admit, I am not very good at. If I had approached these interactions (gifts from God) with a “what’s in it for me” attitude or thinking I had nothing to learn or, if I simply saw them as an opportunity to impress people with how much I knew, the purpose and benefit would have been lost or the impact diminished.
It was important to pay attention, because I didn’t know why I was there or who was to benefit. Therefore, there was only one thing to be done: proceed with faith that God had a plan in operation and, in so doing, I transitioned from one encounter to the next almost effortlessly.
As stewards of this life God has given us, we must come to accept reasons are rarely readily apparent, but opportunities abound if we open our eyes to them. But it requires a sacrifice and that sacrifice is ego…the belief we have a better way. This does not mean we wait around for an inspiration or divine intervention. There will be no burning bush or mysterious visitation. Rather we are called to make the best beginning we can.
The more we do, driven by love and not by ego, the more we will sense a direction. When we go with God’s flow things seem to move along with minimal disruption, but when we think we have a better plan…when we insist on having things our own way, the green lights and blue skies quickly fade and are replaced by blank walls, dead ends and blind alleys. The Lord is making miracles all the time. Your life is one of them. Continue to make it so.
Dear God: Thank you for this miracle you have shown me today.
“Coincidence is God's way of staying anonymous.”
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Director of Stewardship 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.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Final Journey
“I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues that there is something beyond the flat world we see.” ~Peggy Noonan, American journalist, author and political analyst ( b. 1950)
It was 1:15 am Wednesday morning and the phone was ringing in my sister’s bedroom…
We stared at each other across the width of the bed, both realizing what the ringing phone meant, but unwilling to acknowledge it to one another…
Less than forty eight hours earlier our mother, Marie, had suffered a stroke in her sleep and was unresponsive when the caregiver came to awaken her Monday morning. A rash of phone calls ensued and by late Tuesday morning I was on a flight out of LA connecting through Milwaukee to Pittsburgh. Amazingly I had booked a $310 round trip fare with less than 24 hours notice, two weeks before Christmas. “I think Mom’s waiting for you to get here,” Bonnie had said at the end of our last phone call.
Unbeknownst to me a major snow storm was pounding the Midwest. I reached Milwaukee on time only to find my connecting flight had never made it out of St. Louis. However, by some small miracle, a plane to Pittsburgh, connecting through Atlanta had been delayed by the snow and was still sitting at the gate. There was a seat available for me. The young man at the ticket booth jogged down the concourse with me to make sure I got to the correct gate on time. I didn’t get his name. I called and let Bonnie know I was coming. “I think she’s waiting for you to get home.”
My seat was next to an airline employee who assured me we would get there in time to catch my connecting flight. His phone had all the arrivals and departures directed to it so he updated me continually. We sat…time crept by…they de-iced the plane…more delay. Finally, we took off. It was then I realized there was a time change and I might miss the next flight. “No worries,” said the employee. The connecting gate number was on my ticket…it seemed to be in the next concourse from where we would deplane…I would run if I had to.
The plane landed with less than 15 minutes before my next flight departed from a gate which appeared to be in the next concourse. “I wonder where gate 15C is,” I said half out loud. There was a pilot in the seat in front of me. “Right there!” he said, pointing out the window. “We’re right next to it.” I dashed up the jet way, a U-turn and back down the other jet way I went. A quick call to my sister… “Fritz (our brother) will meet you at the airport.” “She’s waiting for you to get home.”
The plane landed at Pittsburgh International. It was late…I got confused and went to the wrong baggage carousel. Then realizing what I had done, I trotted across the baggage area to the correct carousel to be greeted by my brother and my nephew Marshal. We headed for home. Fritz and Marshal dropped me off at Bonnie’s house around 1:00 am…almost four hours later than expected. I took my luggage up to the spare room. A room I had come to know so well from previous visits. The bags still sitting unopened on the floor I walked across the hall to ask Bonnie, “what was the plan?”
It was 1:15 am Wednesday morning and the phone was ringing in my sister’s bedroom…
Bonnie picked up the phone and listened…mostly. I heard her say, “But my brother just got here.” She hung up. Mom had died without regaining consciousness from the stroke she suffered two days earlier. “I thought she was waiting for you to get home,” my sister said sadly. “She did,” I thought. She waited until I was safely with my brother and sister…safe in my sister’s home. My journey had ended…and so had Mom’s.
The media (whether it be movies, television or even news programs) has conditioned us to believe in, and hope for, the big event…that major, fortuitous, climactic moment which resolves everything and “sends ‘em home happy,” as one movie mogul once put it. In a well scripted climax, I would have arrived home in the nick of time. Mom would have regained consciousness at the appropriate moment and there would have been one last fond farewell. But as a good friend once shared with me, after experiencing her own mother’s death, “chances are you won’t be at your parent’s bedside when they die, but that doesn’t negate the previous 92 years” (or however many years of life it might have been).
Life is not a movie or a television show (reality or otherwise). Rather, as stewards of our world, we learn to recognize the many small, seemingly insignificant gifts which we encounter daily and to be grateful for them. They are those little miracles which occur constantly, often while we are waiting around for the big ones. I was blessed with many such miracles during that stressful 48 hours between my mother’s stroke and her final physical death. My list of God’s gifts began with finding a flight home on very short notice, during a holiday season, and at an affordable fare. The snow storm, which could have stranded me in Milwaukee, miraculously provided other opportunities, which assured my safe arrival home.
Along the way God sent any number of guardian angels, which, by the way, are not always fitted with wings or equipped with harps. The young ticket counter employee who jogged shoulder to shoulder with me down the concourse to assure I got to exactly the right gate. The airline employee who sat beside me, updating me, giving me peace of mind and the Air Trans pilot who pointed out my gate and any number of other people working in the background, out of sight, who got me home safely. Then there were my brother and nephew who came for me, in the middle of the night, in a snow storm and waited patiently at an empty baggage carousel until I found my way there.
My sister was right. “Mom was waiting for me to get home.” I didn’t need to be physically at her bedside when she died, but I was home and safely with my family. Her passing within 15 minutes of my arrival was therefore, not a disappointment, but a confirmation.
As faithful stewards we are not called to expect the miraculous or the spectacular rather, we are called to be witnesses to and grateful for the many gifts of daily life…the little miracles which occur right under our noses, all day, every day.
Dear God: Help me to see that my every day is filled with your miracles.
“The miracles of the church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.” ~Willa Sibert Cather, American author, winner of the Pulitzer Prize (1873-1947).
© 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.
It was 1:15 am Wednesday morning and the phone was ringing in my sister’s bedroom…
We stared at each other across the width of the bed, both realizing what the ringing phone meant, but unwilling to acknowledge it to one another…
Less than forty eight hours earlier our mother, Marie, had suffered a stroke in her sleep and was unresponsive when the caregiver came to awaken her Monday morning. A rash of phone calls ensued and by late Tuesday morning I was on a flight out of LA connecting through Milwaukee to Pittsburgh. Amazingly I had booked a $310 round trip fare with less than 24 hours notice, two weeks before Christmas. “I think Mom’s waiting for you to get here,” Bonnie had said at the end of our last phone call.
Unbeknownst to me a major snow storm was pounding the Midwest. I reached Milwaukee on time only to find my connecting flight had never made it out of St. Louis. However, by some small miracle, a plane to Pittsburgh, connecting through Atlanta had been delayed by the snow and was still sitting at the gate. There was a seat available for me. The young man at the ticket booth jogged down the concourse with me to make sure I got to the correct gate on time. I didn’t get his name. I called and let Bonnie know I was coming. “I think she’s waiting for you to get home.”
My seat was next to an airline employee who assured me we would get there in time to catch my connecting flight. His phone had all the arrivals and departures directed to it so he updated me continually. We sat…time crept by…they de-iced the plane…more delay. Finally, we took off. It was then I realized there was a time change and I might miss the next flight. “No worries,” said the employee. The connecting gate number was on my ticket…it seemed to be in the next concourse from where we would deplane…I would run if I had to.
The plane landed with less than 15 minutes before my next flight departed from a gate which appeared to be in the next concourse. “I wonder where gate 15C is,” I said half out loud. There was a pilot in the seat in front of me. “Right there!” he said, pointing out the window. “We’re right next to it.” I dashed up the jet way, a U-turn and back down the other jet way I went. A quick call to my sister… “Fritz (our brother) will meet you at the airport.” “She’s waiting for you to get home.”
The plane landed at Pittsburgh International. It was late…I got confused and went to the wrong baggage carousel. Then realizing what I had done, I trotted across the baggage area to the correct carousel to be greeted by my brother and my nephew Marshal. We headed for home. Fritz and Marshal dropped me off at Bonnie’s house around 1:00 am…almost four hours later than expected. I took my luggage up to the spare room. A room I had come to know so well from previous visits. The bags still sitting unopened on the floor I walked across the hall to ask Bonnie, “what was the plan?”
It was 1:15 am Wednesday morning and the phone was ringing in my sister’s bedroom…
Bonnie picked up the phone and listened…mostly. I heard her say, “But my brother just got here.” She hung up. Mom had died without regaining consciousness from the stroke she suffered two days earlier. “I thought she was waiting for you to get home,” my sister said sadly. “She did,” I thought. She waited until I was safely with my brother and sister…safe in my sister’s home. My journey had ended…and so had Mom’s.
The media (whether it be movies, television or even news programs) has conditioned us to believe in, and hope for, the big event…that major, fortuitous, climactic moment which resolves everything and “sends ‘em home happy,” as one movie mogul once put it. In a well scripted climax, I would have arrived home in the nick of time. Mom would have regained consciousness at the appropriate moment and there would have been one last fond farewell. But as a good friend once shared with me, after experiencing her own mother’s death, “chances are you won’t be at your parent’s bedside when they die, but that doesn’t negate the previous 92 years” (or however many years of life it might have been).
Life is not a movie or a television show (reality or otherwise). Rather, as stewards of our world, we learn to recognize the many small, seemingly insignificant gifts which we encounter daily and to be grateful for them. They are those little miracles which occur constantly, often while we are waiting around for the big ones. I was blessed with many such miracles during that stressful 48 hours between my mother’s stroke and her final physical death. My list of God’s gifts began with finding a flight home on very short notice, during a holiday season, and at an affordable fare. The snow storm, which could have stranded me in Milwaukee, miraculously provided other opportunities, which assured my safe arrival home.
Along the way God sent any number of guardian angels, which, by the way, are not always fitted with wings or equipped with harps. The young ticket counter employee who jogged shoulder to shoulder with me down the concourse to assure I got to exactly the right gate. The airline employee who sat beside me, updating me, giving me peace of mind and the Air Trans pilot who pointed out my gate and any number of other people working in the background, out of sight, who got me home safely. Then there were my brother and nephew who came for me, in the middle of the night, in a snow storm and waited patiently at an empty baggage carousel until I found my way there.
My sister was right. “Mom was waiting for me to get home.” I didn’t need to be physically at her bedside when she died, but I was home and safely with my family. Her passing within 15 minutes of my arrival was therefore, not a disappointment, but a confirmation.
As faithful stewards we are not called to expect the miraculous or the spectacular rather, we are called to be witnesses to and grateful for the many gifts of daily life…the little miracles which occur right under our noses, all day, every day.
Dear God: Help me to see that my every day is filled with your miracles.
“The miracles of the church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.” ~Willa Sibert Cather, American author, winner of the Pulitzer Prize (1873-1947).
© 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.
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