“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.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
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.
“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.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Spiritual Nutrition
“Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.” ~M.F.K. Fisher, American Writer (1908-1992)
Our hostess took my hand and led us through the streets of the city. Teresa, Zafar and Jeanne were close by. Though the streets were busy with people there were no cars and only a few bicycles. Strange smells embraced us…unidentifiable foods frying. We passed numerous sales stalls…household utensils, used clothes, hand made items, a makeshift barbershop and bars…strains of unfamiliar music reached our ears. Our protectress guided us carefully along; avoiding ruts and debris in our path, my hand clasped carefully in hers.
“What is the name of this street?” asked Zafar casually. “Name?” She looked at Zafar somewhat puzzled. “The street doesn’t have a name.” “Why name a street?” she continued. “How do people know where you live?” Zafar persisted. She stopped for a moment and looked up at him. “Everyone knows where we live.” We paused a moment then continued on, turning left down a side street.
“Mzungu, Mzungu,” the children called out behind us, trying to get our attention. Laughing and waving when we turned to look. Stepping up onto a large concrete pad which resembled a loading dock, we headed down a narrow passageway between two tiny residences. Turning left we came to a dead end…two doorways to our left and one to our right…we had arrived. Removing our shoes we stepped inside the first door on our left. It was the home of our hostess.
The room was the size of my office. It was one of two such rooms the family of six occupied. There were two small settees and a tiny easy chair surrounding a coffee table leaving just enough room for our legs. Two heavily used wooden chairs were placed near the door we had entered for two women from the same parish as our hostess. Holy Cross Parish is divided into nine small faith sharing communities or districts. The three women (our hostess and the two who sat by the door) were district leaders.
We were in the heart of Dandora, Kenya…
The next one and one half hours were spent pleasantly. After meeting our hostess’ children we stepped outside for a photo opportunity. Then we returned to the house. Food appeared on the coffee table: pineapple, melon, red skinned peanuts, catsup flavored potato chips and soda in glass bottles (Coke, orange and ginger flavored). As we snacked we chatted about our lives, our church, our faith, our worlds. I had forgotten what it was like to share food with others, flavored with rich conversation, and without the rush of having to be somewhere or feeling pressured to do something.
Before we knew it, it was time to go. Outside the door we pulled on our shoes. With our three newest friends we walked back the way we had come, along unnamed streets to the church building from which we had started. We said goodbye and stepped onto our bus. Our friends waved a farewell then turned and headed home.
There is something sacred about food. Breaking bread; sharing food with one another, is not simply about nourishing the body. It is also about nourishing ourselves spiritually and emotionally. The visit we made to a small home in Dandora was not just about making friends, being missionaries or learning how our Kenyan brothers and sisters live and survive. In many ways it was about renewing our connection to the spiritual universe thereby renewing ourselves. The sharing of food and taking time for others means sharing something of ourselves and receiving something in return. It means sharing our spirits and experiencing the spirits of others.
We need this spiritual nutrition. Sustenance is not simply food and drink it is about sharing our being, our life force with one another. This spiritual nutrition can only come through interaction: sharing, presence and participation…communion with others. We can’t get spiritual renewal at the drive up window of our local fast food restaurant or by eating in our car on the way to our next appointment. There is no "spiritual fast food". Spiritual nutrition comes from eating and drinking together and experiencing one another anew each time.
What I am suggesting isn’t easy. We live in a fast paced world. I often arrive home late from work. Even though Teresa has already eaten, she sits down at the dinner table with me while I eat so we can share our day’s experiences. Being good stewards of our time means taking the time to sit down to meals with one another…to be present to them…to interact with them…to share our lives with them.
Just as we should set aside time each week to pray and to worship; we must set aside time to renew ourselves spiritually by sharing food with our families and friends. I know life is busy and there is much to do. As a working couple we have struggled with this for a long time. Several years ago Teresa and I made a pact: Thursdays and Sundays are sacred. Those two evenings each week, we sit down to dinner together: sharing food and sharing our life experiences. Sharing is loving and being loved nourishes our spirits.
Dear God: Help me to take the time to nourish my body, mind and spirit.
“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien, English writer, poet, philologist and university professor; author of "The Lord of the Rings" Trilogy (1892-1973)
© 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.
Our hostess took my hand and led us through the streets of the city. Teresa, Zafar and Jeanne were close by. Though the streets were busy with people there were no cars and only a few bicycles. Strange smells embraced us…unidentifiable foods frying. We passed numerous sales stalls…household utensils, used clothes, hand made items, a makeshift barbershop and bars…strains of unfamiliar music reached our ears. Our protectress guided us carefully along; avoiding ruts and debris in our path, my hand clasped carefully in hers.
“What is the name of this street?” asked Zafar casually. “Name?” She looked at Zafar somewhat puzzled. “The street doesn’t have a name.” “Why name a street?” she continued. “How do people know where you live?” Zafar persisted. She stopped for a moment and looked up at him. “Everyone knows where we live.” We paused a moment then continued on, turning left down a side street.
“Mzungu, Mzungu,” the children called out behind us, trying to get our attention. Laughing and waving when we turned to look. Stepping up onto a large concrete pad which resembled a loading dock, we headed down a narrow passageway between two tiny residences. Turning left we came to a dead end…two doorways to our left and one to our right…we had arrived. Removing our shoes we stepped inside the first door on our left. It was the home of our hostess.
The room was the size of my office. It was one of two such rooms the family of six occupied. There were two small settees and a tiny easy chair surrounding a coffee table leaving just enough room for our legs. Two heavily used wooden chairs were placed near the door we had entered for two women from the same parish as our hostess. Holy Cross Parish is divided into nine small faith sharing communities or districts. The three women (our hostess and the two who sat by the door) were district leaders.
We were in the heart of Dandora, Kenya…
The next one and one half hours were spent pleasantly. After meeting our hostess’ children we stepped outside for a photo opportunity. Then we returned to the house. Food appeared on the coffee table: pineapple, melon, red skinned peanuts, catsup flavored potato chips and soda in glass bottles (Coke, orange and ginger flavored). As we snacked we chatted about our lives, our church, our faith, our worlds. I had forgotten what it was like to share food with others, flavored with rich conversation, and without the rush of having to be somewhere or feeling pressured to do something.
Before we knew it, it was time to go. Outside the door we pulled on our shoes. With our three newest friends we walked back the way we had come, along unnamed streets to the church building from which we had started. We said goodbye and stepped onto our bus. Our friends waved a farewell then turned and headed home.
There is something sacred about food. Breaking bread; sharing food with one another, is not simply about nourishing the body. It is also about nourishing ourselves spiritually and emotionally. The visit we made to a small home in Dandora was not just about making friends, being missionaries or learning how our Kenyan brothers and sisters live and survive. In many ways it was about renewing our connection to the spiritual universe thereby renewing ourselves. The sharing of food and taking time for others means sharing something of ourselves and receiving something in return. It means sharing our spirits and experiencing the spirits of others.
We need this spiritual nutrition. Sustenance is not simply food and drink it is about sharing our being, our life force with one another. This spiritual nutrition can only come through interaction: sharing, presence and participation…communion with others. We can’t get spiritual renewal at the drive up window of our local fast food restaurant or by eating in our car on the way to our next appointment. There is no "spiritual fast food". Spiritual nutrition comes from eating and drinking together and experiencing one another anew each time.
What I am suggesting isn’t easy. We live in a fast paced world. I often arrive home late from work. Even though Teresa has already eaten, she sits down at the dinner table with me while I eat so we can share our day’s experiences. Being good stewards of our time means taking the time to sit down to meals with one another…to be present to them…to interact with them…to share our lives with them.
Just as we should set aside time each week to pray and to worship; we must set aside time to renew ourselves spiritually by sharing food with our families and friends. I know life is busy and there is much to do. As a working couple we have struggled with this for a long time. Several years ago Teresa and I made a pact: Thursdays and Sundays are sacred. Those two evenings each week, we sit down to dinner together: sharing food and sharing our life experiences. Sharing is loving and being loved nourishes our spirits.
Dear God: Help me to take the time to nourish my body, mind and spirit.
“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien, English writer, poet, philologist and university professor; author of "The Lord of the Rings" Trilogy (1892-1973)
© 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, September 3, 2010
Never Forget
“…good planets are hard to find.” ~ Time Magazine
Their friend had died. He had lived a long time, over seventy years, but the weight of those years and a hard life in the fields, had finally brought him to a quiet end. His friends surrounded his body, and honored him with heartfelt mourning. They carefully touched the body. A tear trickled from the eye of the smallest of the group. Finally, after remaining still and quiet for a long time, they carefully covered his body; slowly, respectfully, almost religiously.
When they had finished they paused one last time, reverenced his place of rest, then quietly departed. Every few months they would return to the place, and each time they paused and reverenced the spot where their friend lay.
Elephants are the only species, other than humans, who have a recognizable death ritual. They show a unique respect for their dead, carefully burying their bodies (covering them with leaves or branches) and mourning their loss. Like us, elephants revisit the graves of their dead. They exhibit this same respect for the bodies of humans. Following the 2004 earthquake and tsunami elephants were used to locate bodies. Rescue workers were surprised by the elephants’ response when a corpse was discovered. They reverenced the body by allowing their trunk to droop, standing very still, sometimes making a wailing sound; mourning the human dead just as they mourned their own.
Faith is about being "in relationship", whether that relationship is with God or with our fellow man (or woman). Often our relationships suffer from brokenness, due to sin, insecurity, or self-centeredness and must be restored. This cycle of broken relationships and their restoration, is what some of us call practicing our faith. Reconciliation, attending Mass, making amends are all directed toward this important task of healing our broken relationships.
It is fairly easy to see ourselves as being in a relationship with another person. Yet, very few of us see ourselves as being in a relationship with the rest of God’s creation. That is to say the world we live in and the other creatures which inhabit it. It is humbling to consider that elephants, arguably the second most intelligent creatures on earth, grasp this concept, when most of us don’t. They seem to intuitively understand that the death of another creature is a loss to them as well.
On the other hand, we tend to look at God’s world and its creatures more legalistically. Our viewpoint is one of ownership. We argue over “water rights,” “mineral rights,” “easements;” “we take possession” of property. We even go so far as to sell “air rights”, the empty space above buildings in large cities. In point of fact we really don’t own anything.
As stewards we acknowledge everything is a gift from God, gratefully received to be returned to Him with increase. We cannot view these gifts as something to be owned; rather we must see them as a means by which we build a relationship with our God through their care and proper use. This means working to constantly improve our relationship with God’s creation: To be “the caregivers of creation” God called us to be.
We, as Americans, love causes. We like to get behind things and do good works in support of them. Whether it is making others aware of global warming, recycling at home or spending a Saturday morning picking up trash at the local beach or park, putting things right gives us a sense of accomplishment, but our relationship to the world goes deeper than that. We are part of something larger and greater than ourselves: an ever-evolving creation in which we participate and to which we have a personal connection…a relationship. Even our elephant brothers and sisters recognize this fact, even though we often don’t.
Dear God: Help me to build a better relationship with your creation.
“We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.” ~ A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold
© 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.
Their friend had died. He had lived a long time, over seventy years, but the weight of those years and a hard life in the fields, had finally brought him to a quiet end. His friends surrounded his body, and honored him with heartfelt mourning. They carefully touched the body. A tear trickled from the eye of the smallest of the group. Finally, after remaining still and quiet for a long time, they carefully covered his body; slowly, respectfully, almost religiously.
When they had finished they paused one last time, reverenced his place of rest, then quietly departed. Every few months they would return to the place, and each time they paused and reverenced the spot where their friend lay.
Elephants are the only species, other than humans, who have a recognizable death ritual. They show a unique respect for their dead, carefully burying their bodies (covering them with leaves or branches) and mourning their loss. Like us, elephants revisit the graves of their dead. They exhibit this same respect for the bodies of humans. Following the 2004 earthquake and tsunami elephants were used to locate bodies. Rescue workers were surprised by the elephants’ response when a corpse was discovered. They reverenced the body by allowing their trunk to droop, standing very still, sometimes making a wailing sound; mourning the human dead just as they mourned their own.
Faith is about being "in relationship", whether that relationship is with God or with our fellow man (or woman). Often our relationships suffer from brokenness, due to sin, insecurity, or self-centeredness and must be restored. This cycle of broken relationships and their restoration, is what some of us call practicing our faith. Reconciliation, attending Mass, making amends are all directed toward this important task of healing our broken relationships.
It is fairly easy to see ourselves as being in a relationship with another person. Yet, very few of us see ourselves as being in a relationship with the rest of God’s creation. That is to say the world we live in and the other creatures which inhabit it. It is humbling to consider that elephants, arguably the second most intelligent creatures on earth, grasp this concept, when most of us don’t. They seem to intuitively understand that the death of another creature is a loss to them as well.
On the other hand, we tend to look at God’s world and its creatures more legalistically. Our viewpoint is one of ownership. We argue over “water rights,” “mineral rights,” “easements;” “we take possession” of property. We even go so far as to sell “air rights”, the empty space above buildings in large cities. In point of fact we really don’t own anything.
As stewards we acknowledge everything is a gift from God, gratefully received to be returned to Him with increase. We cannot view these gifts as something to be owned; rather we must see them as a means by which we build a relationship with our God through their care and proper use. This means working to constantly improve our relationship with God’s creation: To be “the caregivers of creation” God called us to be.
We, as Americans, love causes. We like to get behind things and do good works in support of them. Whether it is making others aware of global warming, recycling at home or spending a Saturday morning picking up trash at the local beach or park, putting things right gives us a sense of accomplishment, but our relationship to the world goes deeper than that. We are part of something larger and greater than ourselves: an ever-evolving creation in which we participate and to which we have a personal connection…a relationship. Even our elephant brothers and sisters recognize this fact, even though we often don’t.
Dear God: Help me to build a better relationship with your creation.
“We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.” ~ A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold
© 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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