Name it and Claim it

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet." Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2) by William Shakespeare

 Blam! The head of the plant exploded in a shower of petals. The POOF of pollen emitted by the concussion glistened golden in the morning sun. Another hydrangea bloom had sacrificed itself for the sake of my boyish imagination. To the natural world, a lush bloom had been obliterated. But to me, Roberto Clemente (the Great Roberto) had just hit another homerun.

It had all started a day or two earlier when my Dad had brought home a new wiffle ball bat from W.T. Grants. This one was special. Unlike the thin jaundice yellow ones I was use to; this one was bright red with a fat barrel. It looked more like one of Fred Flintstone’s clubs than a baseball bat.

 I quickly tired of hitting the wiffle ball that came with the bat. Its light plastic construction was perforated with holes, which minimized the distance the ball traveled even with my best swing. Abandoning the disappointing and unresponsive ball I went in search of more satisfying projectiles.

Rocks work well, but they left marks on the bat. Green apples leapt off the bat traveling a good distant. They had to be carefully selected however. Those that were too ripe exploded on contact leaving fruit pulp all over the bat (and me).

However, there was a certain satisfaction generated by the exploding apples. I realized that destruction could be as much fun as distance. So next I experimented with dirt clods. The exploding “POOF” they created was exciting, but I was constantly getting dirt in my eyes from the plume of dust created at contact.

That was when I spied my Grandmother’s hydrangea bushes.

The other targets with which I had experimented required that I release the bat with one hand, toss the projectile into the air, then re-grip the bat and swing away, all in one swift motion. On the other hand, the round, puffy blooms of the hydrangea bushes were stationary, held at the perfect height by the stems. Because I could stand facing the target, with both hands on the bat, swinging at my leisure, it enhanced by ability to play out my big league fantasies.

There I stood. Bat in hand. It’s the bottom of the ninth with two on and two out. The count is three balls and two strikes. The great Roberto is at the plate. Here’s the wind up and the pitch: “BLAM.” Another bloom was blown to smithereens.

“JAMES THE LESS!”  

Hearing my Grandmother shout brought me quickly out of my big league fantasy. Her voice was coming from the front porch, where she was undoubtedly standing in her blue flowered house dress and favorite apron; her hands fisted on her hips. I turned around scanning my path of destruction: four or five shattered plants lay behind me. The remains of purple and pink blossoms were scattered everywhere.  “James the Less!” came her voice again. I knew immediately I was in trouble.    

“What’s in a name?”  In Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” Juliet rationalizes that a “rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” So if Romeo could only change his last name he would no longer be a member of the family which opposes Juliet’s family, paving the way for their marriage. So she asks the question: “Where for art thou Romeo?” (Why are you named what you are named?)

What we call things is, in point of fact, very important. I was named James after my Grandfather. Normally my family addressed me as Jimmie. But when my Grandmother really wanted to make a point, she differentiated me from my Grandfather by addressing me as “James the Less.” It was not intended to be derogatory, but rather, definitive.

To my mind, we “make a point” every time we address someone. Expressions such as friend, beloved, son, daughter, wife, husband, mother, father, et cetera should convey respect as well as a deep and deepening relationship.

On the other hand, if we resort to addressing others with terms such as stupid, clumsy, worthless, jerk, or a variety of other terms, which are not fit to print, we are not only being unkind; we can inflict permanent damage. If a child is told they are worthless they will ultimately see themselves as worthless. If however, we address them as beloved (or as a loved one) they will come to know they are loved.

We are stewards of one another and one of the ways we steward others is how we address them. In other words, what we call them.

How do you think of those around you? Is your child “my stupid kid” or “my wonderful son or daughter?” What you call them may make the difference.

(Epilogue: James the Less’ bat was confiscated. The Great Roberto hit no more home runs that summer…at least not hydrangeas.)

Dear God: Remind me that what I call people makes a difference in their lives.

“And so with all things: names were vital and important.”  ~Algernon H. Blackwood, English short story writer and novelist (1869-1951)

©2012 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”© 2012 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 “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Without Exception

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” ~Martin Luther King, Jr., American clergyman, activist and civil rights leader (1929-1968) 

It was the best clubhouse ever. Our Dad had helped us build it out of scrap wood and tar paper from his contracting business. At first we had hoped for a tree house, but none of the trees on our property was particularly suitable. Not to mention that our Grandmother was not keen on the idea of our driving nails into her Golden Delicious apple trees. Especially since we had already made a habit of using the crab apples she used to make jelly as projectiles in our make-believe war games! 

In later years I occasionally came across an old black and white photo of the structure. Inevitably it brought back warm memories. Even though it looked like a condemned shanty-town structure, to me and my two brothers it was magical. In our imaginations it could become anything we wanted it to be: a fortress, a cave, a secret hideaway or just our private clubhouse.

Since it was OUR clubhouse, “membership had its privileges.” My best friend, Herbie Matyas, was always welcome.  Well, usually welcome…. On the other hand, my younger brothers and I spent our summers excommunicating one another from the structure. Some days it was peace on earth, other days it was like the Gaza strip. 

However, amidst all our turf wars, real and imagined, there was one thing we all agreed upon…  No girls! Specifically this meant the next door neighbor girl, Peggy Lou Signorella. Peggy Lou was older than the rest of us and therefore smarter (in later life she became a medical doctor), but it didn’t matter. It was a hard and fast rule; no girls. It never dawned on us that she probably didn’t want to come into our clubhouse anyway. 

If I had only known then, at ten years of age, what I would know later at eighteen, I probably would have invited Peggy Lou in and tossed my brothers out. 

In last Sunday’s reading from Ezekiel (17:22-24), the prophet writes about restoring the nation of Israel and uses the metaphor of a Cedar tree. In the Gospel reading from Mark (4: 26-34), Jesus tells the parable of the mustard seed.  

Both stories reminded me of my childhood playhouse. Trees produce fruit and provide shelter. Certainly we are all called upon by God to produce “fruit” by the way we use our gifts of time, talent and treasure. Do we produce “good fruit” in the world or do we keep these gifts for our own personal use benefitting no one but ourselves? 

The other questions are “who do we shelter” and how. Simply put, we shelter people by loving them. This love can manifest itself in acts of kindness (what some would call works of mercy) or it may only be a matter of being present to or paying attention to others. 

Figuratively speaking, like my childhood clubhouse, who do we let into our lives and who do we exclude? Who we love is often a matter of what makes us comfortable. Just as we hold on to our “gifts” because it gives us a false sense of security or comfort, we often love first and best those familiar or close to us.  

Loving the familiar, like family and friends, gives us a sense of security. If we love them we assume they will love us back. But what happens when we invite the unfamiliar into our clubhouse? What if we invited someone of a different religion, political party, cultural group, sexual orientation or simply of a different social stratum?

(Jack Jezreel once said we “like to call it the bad part of town because we don’t want to call it what it really is… the poor part of town.”) It’s not going to be comfortable – at least at first. 

God planted the great trees we call “our lives” so that others could be invited into them – to be sheltered, to be cared for, to be loved without exception. 

And just like my clubhouse, everyone should be allowed to enter, even Peggy Lou Signorella.

Dear God: Remind me to always be inviting and to love without exception. 

“When you really know somebody you can’t hate them. Or maybe it’s just that you can’t really know them until you stop hating them.” ~Orson Scott Card (from “Speaker for the Dead”), American author, critic, public speaker, essayist, columnist, and political activist (b 1951)

©2012 Deacon James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by Deacon James E. Carper of Simi Valley, a Deacon in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 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 “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Distractions

“I don’t think we realize how fast we go until you stop for a minute and realize just how loud and how hectic your life is, and how easily distracted you can get.” ~Meg Ryan (Margaret Mary Emily Anne Hyra), American actress and producer (b1961)

It was a quiet Wednesday evening.  Teresa returned home from work and prepared a simple meal of spaghetti with red sauce and meatballs, a side salad and bread. It was a meal which harkened back to her childhood. 

 Every Sunday, her father (a first generation Italian coal miner) prepared the same meal for the family. It was their tradition to go to Mass and then return home for spaghetti, meatballs, rustic homemade bread, and lettuce salad. These dishes brought back fond memories.

We sat at our dining table looking out a pair of double doors into our back yard. Teresa loves the back yard. It gives her a sense of peace and calm. So there we sat, enjoying each other’s company, savoring a simple meal while gazing at God’s creation. 

Without warning the strains of an electronic tune came from nowhere. It drifted in between the words of our conversation. After a moment or so, I realized Teresa’s cell phone had erupted from inside her purse which was sitting in the front hall. To my surprise, Teresa continued with our conversation without even acknowledging the electronic interruption. The noise stopped. 

Moments later the phone erupted again. Though it was impossible, it seemed more insistent this time. The noise brought the statement I was making to a halt, but Teresa remained focused on me. Again, the noise stopped. 

I searched Teresa’s face for some recognition that her phone had been ringing. There was none. Our pleasant meal and conversation continued uninterrupted, though I had to admit my curiosity was now piqued.  Who was calling at dinner time?

We finished dinner and were enjoying a cup of tea when the electronic noise resumed. “Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked. “No,” Teresa replied simply. “Whoever it is, I can call them back later.”  

“But what if it’s important?” I responded. “They’ve called three times.” 

“Right now I’m having dinner with my husband,” she said with a smile. “What could be more important than that?” 

According to Webster's Dictionary, the word distracted means, “drawn apart; drawn in different directions; diverted from its object.” The devil doesn’t need to convince us he is right. All he really needs to do is draw our attention from God -- to distract us.

Modern culture has cultivated the fundamental fear in us that we might miss something important in life, the fear that we may not be as “up to date” or “in the know” as we should be. Take for example the television commercial in which people are ridiculed for not being up to date with the phrase: “Oh, that’s so 27 seconds ago.” 

We have become a society where an electronic device, and what it represents, can distract us from our spouse, our children, our grandchildren, our friends, driving a vehicle (or a train) at high speeds, or from our Creator. 

Certainly there are times when we need to just get things done, and multi-tasking may be the best way to accomplish that. But being a good steward of our time does mean compressing as many activities into a given time frame as possible, nor being current and “up to the second” on everything. Rather, it means focusing our attention on those who deserve it most. 

After all, what could be more important than that?

Dear God: Help me to stay focused on the important things in life.

 “One of the points about distractions is that everything that they do is destabilizing.” ~Michael Bruce Sterling, American science fiction writer (b1954)  

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper of Simi Valley, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 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 “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Believing is Seeing

“Every closed eye is not sleeping, and every open eye is not seeing.” ~Bill Cosby, American comedian, actor, author, television producer, educator, musician and activist (b 1937)

We had finally set aside enough money for Teresa to purchase a pair of contact lenses. Her sight had never been very good and she wore a strong prescription to make the necessary correction. They were the same glasses she had worn since before our wedding, so even the prescription was no longer correct. Today was the “final fitting” for her new “gas permeable” lenses. 

The car glided into the parking space at the Sawmill Plaza shopping center. The plaza was a quaint little strip mall near our home in Dublin, Ohio. Teresa was headed for Buckeye Optical. Our daughter, Angela, and I were headed for “Doubles,” a family bar and restaurant, for chili and the football game. The name Doubles was not due to double size drinks, but because it had televisions at both ends of the bar. 

Once we were safely on the sidewalk, we discussed the logistics as to how we would “meet back up” after our respective tasks. Then we headed off in opposite directions. 

The bar was busy and the Ohio State Buckeyes were winning. On game day, practically every television and radio in Columbus, Ohio, was tuned to the game. College football was a religion in this town and Woody Hayes was their saint. 

Angela and I sat at the bar eating eastern-style chili (with beans) and munching on peanuts. Annie, who ran the place and was particularly fond of Angela, paid special attention to her, always making sure her Pepsi was filled. Checking my watch, I realized that the appointed time of our rendezvous had passed. I left the money on the bar with the check. The two of us headed out the door and onto the sidewalk slipping on our jackets as we went. 

We turned left in the direction of Buckeye Optical, which was only a few doors away. To our surprise we saw Teresa standing in the middle of the sidewalk staring straight down at the concrete. “Oh no, I hope she didn’t lose a brand new contact,” I thought.  “Teresa, are you OK?” I asked, quickening my pace. 

Teresa looked up at us, beaming. “Do you know there are designs in this concrete?” she asked, almost mystified. “Huh?” came my less than thoughtful response. She walked past us staring at the sky. “And there are all kinds of detail in the clouds.” Slowly I began to realize that my wife’s eyesight had been so bad that she had only been able to see general outlines and little detail.  

She examined Angela and me for a long time, as if seeing us for the first time. “Are you ready to go?” I asked finally. “Yes, I guess,” she responded in a surreal tone. 

On the way home she pointed out details in objects she had not seen before. And I wondered if she would have married me if she had known what I really looked like! 

Several weeks ago, I found myself in an awkward position. I was asked to describe someone I had known for a long time and I realized that, although we had been acquainted for years, I was unable to provide an accurate description of the person. When I encountered him again recently, he caught me staring at him. “What are you doing?” he asked in surprise. “I’m trying to actually see you,” I replied. 

True perception goes well beyond making visual contact with something. Speed reading, fast-forwarding, Cliff Notes and the like have provided us with edited versions of the world. But in our rush to see more, do we really perceive less?   

Would we run through the Louvre or the Getty museum and then confidently pronounce that we had “seen it”?  What details are we missing in life? Are we closing our eyes or are we just moving too fast? There are reasons they put observation benches in galleries and museums rather than jogging trails! 

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God's handwriting.” Teresa’s experience with her new contact lenses taught me that we should not only stop and smell the roses, but that we should take a good look at them as well.  

God put many beautiful things in our world for us to enjoy and marvel over. They can be as grand as sunsets, vistas and oceans or a simple as the veins in a leaf or a single flower. We only need to stop and see them.   After all, seeing may be believing, but believing is also seeing.

Dear God: Remind me to admire your creation today.

You can become blind by seeing each day as a similar one. Each day is a different one, each day brings a miracle of its own. It's just a matter of paying attention to this miracle. ~Paul Coelho, Brazilian lyricist and novelist (b 1947)

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper of Simi Valley, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 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 “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

The Whole Package

“Now that I know I’m no wiser than anyone else, does this wisdom make me wiser?” ~ Hugh Prather, American writer, minister and counselor (1938-2010)

My Internet connection was down at home and I needed to send out emails for a variety of reasons. So I found myself camped out at the local coffee and pastry emporium chugging through my email wondering what we did before the wonders of technology ever gave us email to use.

I will admit, there is something to be said for the immediate gratification of receiving responses almost instantaneously, but the expectations of others is heightened as well. I know people who, if you don’t respond to their email within the hour, call to see if you got it.

So there I sat slugging down what seemed like gallons of black coffee and answering email, in the order of what I can only describe as most interesting to least interesting. As I pecked away at my computer, I noticed a group of men filtering in, each with the same book. They were quickly occupying a large table nearby. It seemed to be a men’s discussion group of some sort.

I did my best to focus on the tasks at hand, but as their numbers grew, so did the noise level. Their meeting kicked off around 6:15 am and the discussion quickly turned to the book they were reading.

For my part, the necessary email responses had been sent and I was skimming through the rest of the emails when I overheard two words: “those Catholics.”

Now I understood. The men’s group was from a nondenominational parish in our community. The man continued, “All they [those Catholics] talk about is that they have the ‘best product.’” I never hear them talk about what Jesus is doing in their lives. They just talk about their product. I want people to tell me how Jesus is affecting their lives.”

My face felt flush and the tips of my ears were burning. The dismissive tone of voice when “those Catholics” was spoken had set my teeth on edge. My initial reaction was to walk over and engage the man in a discussion, pointing out to him that he had all but admitted “we Catholics” do have “a very good product.”

Common sense prevailed, however, and prevented me from confronting the fellow regarding what I perceived as his inaccurate observations. First, my insinuating myself into the conversation would not be welcomed, and would undoubtedly be seen as the result of my eavesdropping. Second, entering into this type of debate is usually frustrating, often nonproductive, and almost always stomach-acid producing. And, after all, there were nine of them and one of me.

I opted for discretion being the better part of valor.

The meeting broke up a little after 7:00 following a brief prayer.

Realizing I would be late for 7:30 Mass, I quickly packed up my laptop. Musing to myself, I stepped out into the morning sunlight.  “What did God have planned for me for the rest of the day?”

What difference is Jesus making in our lives?  That is a foundational question. We do physical exercise and watch what we eat to improve the quality of our lives. If we are physically fit we can do more and experience more. Grandparents have shared with me that they work out to stay in shape so they can keep up with their grandchildren.

Doesn’t spiritual exercise have the same purpose? Doesn’t practicing our faith through prayer, liturgy, contemplation, forgiveness, etc. make us – and therefore our lives –better? Grandparents in good spiritual shape are happy, forgiving, understanding, and therefore more fun for their grandchildren to be around.

So if any of us were to answer the question “How is Jesus affecting my life?” what would the answer be? Religious practices are more than just practice. They should be making a difference in our lives – a difference which we can feel and a difference which is noticeable to others.

How is your life different as a result of your relationship with Jesus (God, Y*W*H, Allah, or whatever you call your higher power)? If your life is not different because of your relationship with God, then ask yourself if you need to spend more time with Him.

Face it, we all have the same product… we just package it differently.

Dear God: Would you be my exercise partner today?

“Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony.” ~Mahatma Gandhi, leader of Indian nationalism (1869-1948)

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” ”© 2012 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 “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.