Dying to Live

 “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” ~Norman Cousins, American essayist and editor (1912-1990)

He was seated at the foot of his bed, legs crossed, staring out the window.  “Hi Bobby,” the nurse’s voice chimed as she came through the door, announcing her arrival.  “How are you feeling” she asked, adjusting the IV bags.  “I feel a little queasy,” Bobby replied glancing away from the window.  “The chemo will do that sometimes,” Nurse Johnson responded reassuringly. 

She finished her cursory inspection and, after giving the room a last once over, she headed for the door.

“Nancy,” Bobby said abruptly.  Nurse Johnson turned in the doorway meeting Bobby’s gaze.  The boy’s luminescent blue eyes shone from his hairless face and scalp. “What is it Bobby?”  After a moment, Bobby swallowed hard; “Am I going to die?” Bobby asked quietly, his blue eyes glistening.  The nurse paused for a moment; she walked to the bed and sat on the edge next to Bobby.  She cradled Bobby’s hand in both of hers.  “Yes,” she said simply, “It looks that way.” 

Bobby thought for a moment, staring at the ceiling.  “Please don’t tell my parents,” he said finally, and before Nurse Johnson could respond, “They couldn’t handle it,” he concluded.

Nurse Johnson sat there staring at the eight-year old boy who seemed wise beyond his years. With his hairless head and his eyes like deep, quiet pools, he resembled a Buddhist Monk quietly contemplating eternity.  The nurse helped Bobby take a drink of water, patted him on the shoulder, then rose, adjusted his pillow, and headed for the door. 

“Nancy,” Bobby stopped her with his voice.  Nurse Johnson turned.  “Can I go home?” he asked.  Nancy Johnson looked at him for a moment.  “It would be better if we could treat you here,” she offered.  “I think I want to go home,” Bobby said to the ceiling.  Then he turned his head to look at Nancy. 

“I would rather die at home living my life than die here fighting for my life.”

The Christian mystics had a secret. Simply put: Today might be your last day. While this may sound morbid, the Gospel writers spend a good bit of time talking about “preparedness” and what happens to those who are not prepared.  Five times in the Gospels Jesus says, “Stay awake!”

As Christian Stewards, how do we act out this understanding that “Today might be our last day?” First, we must to come to the realization that time is precious and not to be wasted. We waste time being jealous, holding on to resentments, trying to satiate our egos and our appetites. Pursuit of self-gratification is wasteful, too.

Not wasting time is only a first step. Spending time well is the second step. Bobby was right when he chose to stop “fighting for his life.” Many of us spend our time “fighting for our lives.” One Saint spoke of the “four distractions” – pleasure, power, prestige and possessions. Struggling to acquire these things because they make us feel validated is, in effect, fighting for our life. 

There is an expression: “Every glass must break.”  Things which are fragile and valuable will ultimately cease to exist.  By accepting that their existence is finite, we stop taking them for granted and learn to enjoy them more fully. In so doing, we help eliminate regret and can more readily accept when they do finally “break.”     

Life is like that and Christian Stewards recognize it.  It is only when we grasp the inevitability of death that life takes on its full value and meaning.  When we see life for the gift that it is, when we see it as something of great value, we treat it with the attention and respect it deserves.  We love more deeply, we speak more kindly, and we offer forgiveness we would otherwise deny.

If we can learn to take care of our lives, we can also learn to enjoy them as well.  And we learn to accept the finality of life without regret.

Bobby, with the untainted wisdom of an eight-year old, understood this too.  He spent the last six weeks of his life with his parents and his brothers and sisters.  He played ball with his dogs and felt the green grass under his bare feet.  He played board games with the neighbor kids and had dinner at the dining room table every evening with his parents.  He died living his life – a very valuable life.*

Dear God: Help me to live!

"And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter,  And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying. An' he said: "Some day, I hope you get the chance, To live like you were dyin'."  ~Tim McGraw:  “Live Like You Were Dying”

*Special thanks to all those who work in Children’s Hospice and Palliative Care.

 ©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.

Where You Live?

“Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do.” ~Voltaire (nom de plume for François-Marie Arouet), French writer, historian and philosopher (1694-1778)

Brittany Utopia, the real estate agent assigned to us by my company to handle our relocation, was talking non-stop as she had been since picking us up at LAX, the Los Angeles International Airport. We had quickly tossed our bags into the spacious trunk of her pearl-colored, double-parked luxury sedan. I was directed to sit in the front seat while Teresa had been relegated to the back. 

We were provided with folders full of information about Simi Valley, replete with listings of houses for sale at prices which all seemed above the price range we had identified. Brittany’s constant patter was punctuated by her repeatedly gesturing toward me with her right hand.  

No amount of persuasion was going to reassure us at this point, however. We were moving from Columbus, Ohio to Southern California. Nothing could soften the impact of the sticker shock we were experiencing. We had already resigned ourselves to an hour-long commute just to find a community we might be able to afford to live in. 

Brittany, on the other hand, seemed to have ignored the questionnaire we had completed and was following her own agenda. At every listing visited, we received the usual realtor-speak: spacious kitchen, wonderful light, great neighborhood, a park nearby, convenient shopping, a great fixer-upper, etc.  Each time we had to ask, “How much is this one?” only to be disappointed by the response. 

Jet-lagged and dejected, we were finally being driven to our hotel room by our captor, but only after we promised to resume our “quest for the perfect home,” the next morning. 

“What about Moorpark?” I asked casually. “What about it?” was Brittany’s retort, her veneer cracking ever so slightly. “Isn’t it the next community over?” I inquired. “Well, yes it is,” came the response. “But, you don’t want to live there. It’s just not right for you.”  She seemed to be driving faster, as if she was in a hurry to get us to our hotel. 

“I read that the house prices might be a little better there,” I continued. “Well, of course they are, because no one wants to live there! Moorpark doesn’t have a great reputation, and you want a house in a good community with a good reputation… Don’t you?” And before I could ask another question, she chirped, “Oh look, there’s your hotel. Isn’t it nice?” 

The car swung abruptly into the parking lot and came to a sudden halt under the canopy. Brittany popped the trunk and hopped out of the driver’s side. She had pulled two of our three suitcases out of the trunk before we reached the back of the car. “My card has my pager number on it if you need to reach me before tomorrow.”  

“See you tomorrow morning bright and early and I’m sure we will find you the perfect house right here in Simi Valley.” 

As she drove off, I couldn’t help but wonder if Brittany Utopia was her stage name.  

What’s in a name? For that matter, what’s in the name of a town? Particularly, if it is the town in which we grew up. In the Gospel of John, the disciple Nathanael, who we know today as St Bartholomew, asks the question: “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:46) 

Why does the place where we came from or the place with which we are associated make a difference?  How many stores or businesses add locations like Beverly Hills, London, Paris, and Hong Kong just to enhance their prestige? Why do companies pay exponentially more for addresses on Park Avenue, Rodeo Drive, or Wilshire Boulevard because it “sends the right message”? 

What if instead of Jesus of Nazareth, Our Savior was Jesus of Beverly Hills or Jesus of Santa Monica or Jesus of Wall Street? Somehow we have come to believe the locations with which we are associated add or detract from us.  

This thinking is not necessarily sound. Even the Magi made the mistake of looking for “the newborn King” in a big city rather than in a tiny town called Bethlehem. Our value as a human being and our contribution to the common good is no better if we come from a rich suburb and no worse if we hail from an unknown, small town.  

Nazareth, in Jesus’ time, was a small working-class village of less than 500 people. There is a certain reassurance that God chose to appear to us in the midst of a poor working-class family. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  Yes, Jesus came out of Nazareth and he was more than good! 

It should not be the place that defines us; rather it should be we who define the place. The answer to the question “What good can come out of this place?” should be “The good that is within us and our willingness to make it so.” Ask yourself what good can come out of your country, your state, your town, your parish…  

Dear God: May this place be better because of me. 

“Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” ~John Wesley, Anglican cleric and Christian theologian; founder of the Methodist movement (1703-1791)

 ©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is Deacon 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. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

Spread it Around

“Never dig up in unbelief what you have sown in faith.” ~ J. Gordon Lindsay, American revivalist preacher, author, and founder of Christ for the Nations Institute (1906-1973)

When we first moved into our new house in Columbus, Ohio I started thinking about the garden I had always wanted. As soon as the spring weather cleared, I found myself in the backyard stripping the sod with a mattock. My garden patch was sixteen feet by the width of our lot along the back fence line. Then I turned the earth by hand with a spade. It was slow, back-breaking work.

Throughout my childhood, my grandparents had lived next door. They had a gigantic garden with a variety of veggies. I was often called upon to help harvest the produce, but the details of preparing the soil, planting and growing had somehow never been communicated. On the other hand, perhaps I just wasn’t listening.

Now I found myself wishing I had paid closer attention. My shovel work finished, I proceeded to try to make rows and plant seed. The ground was hard, lumpy and pale, not soft and dark like my Grandparent’s garden. It was difficult, if not impossible to make nice, straight furrows for planting. It was a wonder anything grew at all.

In mid-summer, my in-laws drove out from Pennsylvania to visit. My father-in-law, Pete, had been an avid gardener for many years. Early on I had bragged about putting in a garden. Now, I was hoping he would forget I had said anything. It was, however, impossible to avoid noticing something which covered the entire back third of the lot. Within minutes of their arrival, he poured himself a cup of coffee and headed out the back door toward the garden with me trailing behind.

He stood staring at the lumpy dirt and scrawny plants for a very long time. “What do you think?” I asked finally.  Pete scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Did you add any topsoil when you started?” “No, why?” was the only answer I could muster. “Did you add any soil amendment?” “What’s soil amendment?” I asked sheepishly. Pete glanced at me sideways for a moment then returned to studying the garden. “You don’t happen to know the pH of the soil, do you?” By now I was wondering how I could steer him back to the house.

“The contractors strip the topsoil when they grade for these housing developments,” he said finally. “What you have here is mostly clay and backfill. I hope you at least used a roto-tiller…” My silence answered his question. “You did this by hand?” He looked at me with an expression that was a mixture of pity and admiration.

“Let’s see if we can fix this,” he said finally. “Get me a sandwich bag from the kitchen so I can take home a sample to test.” Dutifully I went off to retrieve the bag, wishing I had spent my summer playing golf.

For the rest of the summer I followed his careful instructions. A truckload of top soil and bags of soil amendment were tilled into the garden using a rented tiller. Papa Pete checked the pH before and afterwards, recommending some additional nutrients to balance the acidity.

When I finished, the local garden supply mega-store still had some bedding plants in stock, so I was able to get a few plants in the ground before fall and managed to reap a late harvest of tomatoes and peppers. So much for all the money I was going to save growing my own produce!

We are sometimes critical of those who leave our faith tradition or don’t “get it” the way we do. Then we wonder, are shocked, or put off because another faith tradition provides them with a simpler solution to their belief in Christ.

Our faith is a garden with wonderful opportunities and capacity to produce in abundance. But this does not mean that faith happens by itself. Our “garden” needs tending; it needs to be nurtured and we need the help of others to provide guidance and direction.

I grew up in the midst of a wonderful garden with grandparents who knew just about everything there was to know about gardening. And yet, my own attempts were misguided and unproductive. I knew how to go through the motions (digging and putting seeds in the ground) but I knew nothing about what it meant to plant and nurture.

What I needed was someone like Papa Pete to patiently walk me through the process, carefully explaining and showing me the “why’s” and the “wherefore’s.” Sometimes we need to be that same patient person in the faith journey of others.

We are called to be “productive” Christians. It is not enough to be secure in the fact that our Faith-garden is cared for and thriving. We must share the secrets of growing our faith with others.  Faith is like fertilizer; we need to spread it around to make things happen.

Dear God: Show me how to help others grow in faith.

“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant.” ~Robert Louis Stevenson, Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, travel writer (1850-1894)

©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.

Friendly Competition

“Friends are part of the glue that holds life and faith together.” ~Jon Katz, American journalist and author (b 1947)

Professional sports are almost always about the winners: the strongest, the fastest, the toughest, the cleverest, the quickest, the most resourceful and sometimes the devious.  In the Olympics we applaud athletes for their efforts as well as their successes, and sometimes even for their brokenness and failed attempts.  Perhaps it is easier for us to relate to those who do not appear to be super-human, but who are trying to do their best, in spite of their humanness. 

On September 5, 1972, in Munich, Germany, Yossef Gutfreund, an Israeli Wrestling Official placed his 300 pound body between his Israeli teammates and a group of Palestinian terrorists known as Black September.  He saved some of his friends, but eventually died in the process along with 10 other Israeli athletes and coaches and a West German policeman. Five of the eight Palestinian terrorists were killed in the hostage crisis.  Gutfreund means “good friend.”

This year’s 2012 Olympics in London mark the 40^th anniversary of that tragedy.  

Jesus placed His body between us and the sin of the world. He did so to save us from death.   

Being a good steward is about being a “good friend.”  

The tragedy in Munich would not be the first, nor the last time, that the Olympics would be leveraged to make a political statement. It is hard to resist a forum which provides an audience of over a billion people.   

However, though they have been sometimes used as a political instrument the Olympics may be the single greatest opportunity for world peace — a peace which arises out of friendship and mutual respect.  Prior to the 2008 Olympics, Russia and Georgia were on the verge of all-out war.  And yet Russia's Natalia Paderina and Georgia's Nino Salukvadze hugged and kissed each other on the cheek after winning silver and bronze medals in the women's 10-meter air pistol competition.  

Afterward Salukvadze said simply: "If the world were to draw any lessons from what I did, there would never be any wars."  

Being a good steward is about being friends with the people with whom you are not supposed to be friends.    

This year there has been much attention given to double-amputee runner, Oscar Pistorius, who did not reach the finals of the 400 meter event. After Pistorius failed to qualify, world champion Kirani James walked over to him and asked to trade name bibs, to keep as a souvenir. The pair shook hands and hugged. ''He's an inspiration for all of us,'' James said. ''He's very special to our sport. He's a great individual — it's time we see him like that and not anything else.'' 

Being a good steward is about seeing everyone as being of value — as gifts from God.

Elie Weisel, a Holocaust survivor and writer, once wrote: “…the duty of our generation… is solidarity with the weak, the persecuted, the lonely, the sick, and those in despair. It is expressed by the desire to give a noble and humanizing meaning to a community in which all members will define themselves, not by their own identity, but by that of others.” It means being friends with everyone.

Friendship is not simply a state of being. It is a call to action — a call to be stewards of one another. When we are called daily to be stewards, God is telling us to get off the sidelines, to reach out to those with whom we don’t feel comfortable, to be a hall monitor to the world, to not worry about perfection, to do the best we can, to be a “good friend,” to not be a bystander.

Dear God, never let me look on and do nothing, even if all I can do is be a friend.

“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” ~ Henri Nouwen, Dutch-born Catholic priest and writer (1932-1996) from The Road to Daybreak: A Spiritual Journey

 

©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

Itza Miracle!

“…every time a blessing comes, not with trumpet and fanfare, but silently as night, you have witnessed a miracle.” ~Faith Baldwin, American author (1893-1978) from Many Windows, Seasons of the Heart

Adam’s right leg had been seriously injured in a skiing accident. Simply walking had been difficult if not impossible. Now, after months of rehab, he was again able to walk normally, unassisted. The only thing was nobody else knew it. John had kept his recovery a secret.

Though he knew it wasn’t exactly the right thing to do, he had become accustomed to the special treatment he received. Because of his handicap placard he always had a reserved parking space close to the building. People let him cut in line. He could leave early for lunch and come back late without scrutiny from the boss. In fact, his boss seemed to be treating him better and giving him less work since the accident.

Most of all, he liked being able to depart work “a little early,” since it allegedly took him more time to get to his car. This, combined with his “special parking place,” assured that he was always the first one out of the parking lot. 

Adam was in his cubicle “doing something close to nothing, but different than the day before.” As was his habit, he was nervously fiddling with his wedding ring with his right hand while pecking away at his computer with his left. His marriage had ended two years earlier, but the image of a stable married person had been another pretense he had chosen to maintain. In fact, he had been skiing with his girlfriend when he was injured.

Suddenly, without warning, the ring flipped out of his hand and rolled out the entrance of his cubicle. It was heading for an open AC register in the floor along the wall. Instinctively Adam leapt to his feet and gave chase. Three quick steps and he snatched up the ring just before it rolled into the register.

“YES!” he barked out triumphantly, holding his ring-laden fist high in the air. At that moment he felt the weight of many eyes upon him. Adam realized he was standing completely exposed in the middle of the open walkway. He looked around. Most of his fellow workers, including his boss, were peering over or out of the openings of their cubicles; staring at him.

Adam stared back at them for a moment. Then he looked down at his legs and back at them again. An instant later, he shot both fists into the air yelling: “It’s a miracle; I’m cured!!”

One could justifiably call this a “lame joke,” but it illustrates our sometimes ill-conceived notions about miracles. Miracles, or what the Bible calls “mighty deeds,” are not God’s magic tricks intended to astonish, confound and astound us.  Magic tricks leave us with a brief thrill and a touch of skepticism as we try to figure out: “How did they do that?” Miracles, on the other hand, are not random acts of manipulation, but significant events with great depth and meaning – events which deepen our relationship with our Creator.

Most of Jesus’ miracles are healings, but these “healings” are not simply Jesus curing illnesses. We don’t see him removing an appendix, doing heart by-pass surgery or stitching up a wound. When Jesus heals someone, it is done to facilitate their relationship with God. Eyes are opened so God can be seen. Ears are opened so God’s Word can be heard. Mouths are opened so the Word of God can be spoken. The lame are cured so they can walk in the ways of the Lord. The dead are raised and lepers cured so they can return to the community of believers.

These healings do not happen by chance. Those who are healed by Jesus ardently pursue Him. The blind beggar Bartimaeus cries out even though he is told to be quiet. One of the synagogue officials, named Jairus, risks public humiliation and possible censure by coming to Jesus in a crowd in broad daylight in order to save his daughter. Four men tear part of a roof off to lower their paralytic friend to Jesus. In all these examples, Jesus does not choose them; they choose Jesus and will not be denied.

There is an unwavering faith displayed by those involved. Our modern era has left us with a plethora of options for just about everything. If we are sick, we may try a physician or an acupuncturist or a homeopathic healer or an herbalist. If one thing doesn’t seem to work we try something else. This isn’t so in the healing stories.

The woman with hemorrhages fights her way through the crowd believing that all she needs to do is touch the cloak of Jesus. Mary and Martha cry out “Lord, if you had only been here our brother would not have died.”

Miracles are not the random acts of a capricious deity, rather they restore our relationship with a loving God and our community. We are called to be committed to this relationship.

Miracles only happen to those who believe in miracles.

Dear God: help me heal someone today.

 “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so God can heal you. When a believing person prays, great things happen.” (James 5:15, 16)

 ©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.