90 Second Stewardship

Today, I'm a Christian

2012-01-27T12:48:00.000-08:00

“Let your love for one another be constant, for love covers a multitude of sins.” ~ 1 Peter 4:8

We had reached a level spot on the rough stone street. Turning left we entered St. Mark Street. The streets we walked were not the streets to which we were accustomed, but the streets of another time; another place; another world. St Mark Street was only wide enough to accommodate two to three people walking abreast.

Small shops lined both sides. They were not so much shops as small spaces; stalls, one right next to the other. At night heavy, dull green, metal doors were used to secure them. We were walking in the old city of Jerusalem.

It was Sunday morning. Teresa and I were headed for the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, for Sunday services. In a city, which is predominantly Jewish and Muslim, Sunday is like a Monday in the western world; even at this early morning hour shops were beginning to open.

A pleasant, rotund gentleman stepped out of his “stall” into our path. Around his head he wore a banded white cloth with a red pattern. A day’s growth of beard covered his cheeks and chin.

“Good morning!” he said with a smile. “You are my first customers of the day.” “I have a special price for you.” We had been in Jerusalem long enough to be accustomed to saying: “thanks, but no thanks.”

“We’re on our way to services,” I responded, picking up a little momentum.

“Please, it will only take a moment,” he persisted. “It will do you no harm to look,” he said pointing upward. Reflexively, I looked up. There, across the top of his stall, were a number of beautiful stoles (a vestment worn by both deacons and priests). I had been looking for one as a gift.

Teresa and I glanced at one another. After 35 years of marriage our communications are often instinctual. Into the shop we went without a word. His jovial patter continued as we headed to the back of store. “You will be my first sale of the day.” “I will give you good price.” “You will give me a good start to the day.”

I examined the stoles as he laid them out on the counter in front of me. None really interested me even though he was already negotiating the price. Preparing to make my escape, my eye suddenly fell on a beautiful white stole with red Jerusalem crosses, hanging farther in the back on the wall. I indicated the stole to Teresa by an imperceptible nod of my head. “Will you sell us that one for the same price,” she asked pointing to it. “Well,” he began with feigned thoughtfulness. “Of course, but you know it’s much better than these.” “You are getting a very good deal.”

The stole was quickly folded, bagged and the necessary shekels handed over. “You have given me a good start to my day,” the man said, handing me the bagged stole.

“Would you like me to give you a blessing as well?” I had said it before I had even thought about what I was saying. He looked at me for a moment. “Yes, I would,”he responded with a smile. “What is your name,” I asked. “You can call me Sam.” “What faith do you practice, Sam” I inquired? There was a brief pause.“Today…I'm a Christian.”

I placed my hands on Sam’s shoulders and he responded in kind. The blessing proceeded as one would expect. I prayed to God that Sam have a pleasant and profitable day. Then, mid-blessing, something changed in Sam’s demeanor. His look became serious.

I paused to take a breath and in that moment Sam stopped me. “Please, please pray for our children,” he blurted out. “Pray that all our children might live in peace.” We prayed together for peace.

And, for that moment, at least, there was peace in Jerusalem.

Nations negotiate truces, but people make peace. Truces are not about making things right, or leveling the playing field. They are about getting what you want. Often, terms are dictated by the stronger of the two parties without much concern for the long range impact of those terms. Negotiating a truce implies leveraging as much as possible and giving up as little as possible. In short, nations negotiate to win while often nothing is really resolved.

Peace, on the other hand, is about taking the time to step out of our frame of reference; or world and into the world of another. It requires taking the time to understand what it means to be them; to walk a mile in their shoes and experience their burdens. It is about relinquishing our biases, and identifying our blind spots.

In short, it is about searching for all the commonalities while being accepting of the differences.

Sam gave me the greatest gift he could have given me. He chose to stand in my shoes, if only briefly. He chose to see life through my eyes, to give me the opportunity to bless him. For that moment, he was a Christian. When he realized how little difference there was between us, he asked for the most important thing any of us can ask for: Peace for our children…Peace for our world.

Dear God: “Make me a channel of your peace.”

“If one harbors anywhere in one's mind a nationalistic loyalty or hatred, certain facts, though in a sense known to be true, are inadmissible.” ~George Orwell (pen name for Eric Blair), English author and journalist, known for 1984 and The Animal Farm, (1903-1950)

“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.

A Very Different Road

2012-01-06T07:13:00.000-08:00

"Recent scholarly research has definitively proven that the Magi were undoubtedly women. There is no other way to explain the fact that they stopped and ask for directions." ~Anonymous

The story of the Magi (or the three Wise Men) is one of two scriptural accounts of the birth of Christ. In 288 words, the Gospel writer known as Matthew provides a remarkable allegory of our modern day search for Christ. It is the story of a group of intelligent and well-to-do people searching for a new direction in their lives. A magus (singular) is a practitioner of magic, including astrology, alchemy and “other wisdom.” We assume they were men, but they could just as easily have been women.

The Magi set out to find new meaning in their lives — to find a “new born King,” to have an epiphany: “A new perception of reality by means of a sudden intuitive realization.”

With all their wealth and intelligence, the Magi’s search is not an easy one. They struggle to find the baby Jesus (the Messiah). Their search undoubtedly took months, requiring intelligence and persistence, not to mention money.

This is in sharp contrast to Luke’s depiction of the poor shepherds who do not have to “read the stars,” do research, ask directions from a king, or set out on an extensive, costly journey. The poor shepherds get the message first-hand, up close and personal, complete with a heavenly choir. There is a subtle message here that brains and bucks are not the answer to our salvation. Property, possessions, and position can often be obstacles to our seeing life’s simple truths, creating detours on the road to eternal life.

Initially the Magi’s understanding is somewhat vague; they detect a star in the east (which is not enough for map quest). They see a glimmer of the truth, but have not yet grasped the meaning, the direction.

This does not stop them however. Not only are the Magi smart and affluent, they are connected. When they cannot find the Messiah, rather than turn to God for help, they begin “networking.” They make an appointment with King Herod.

King Herod’s response is to form a committee: “Gathering together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born” (Matthew 2:4). In a contemporary setting, this part of the story would likely take place in a board room, at a large conference table, surrounded by a bunch of “suits.”

The networking produces the desired information: the Messiah is to be born in Bethlehem. The information does, however, come with a price; the Magi leave with promises made and strings attached. "Go and search carefully for the Child; and when you have found Him, report to me, so that I too may come and worship Him" (Matthew 2:8). Even 2,000 years ago, knowledge was power.

At this point in the story, something remarkable happens. “After hearing the king, they went their way; and the star, which they had seen in the east, went on before them until it came and stood over the place where the Child was” (Matthew 2:9).

Once they leave behind the bright lights of the city and the King… Once they are on their way to Bethlehem… Once they follow the star, not the crowd and not their intellects, things begin to change: They are no longer trying to lead, but are being led.

We all have control issues, many of which arise out of fear. Those of us who deny God often do so in an effort to get God out of the way. If God does not exist, it means we are in control… Or we think we are. Once the Magi leave the world of power, of intellect, of money and influence – once they relinquish control and turn toward Bethlehem – their lives fundamentally change. God takes over;the star appears and leads them.

Now that they were on the right road, the Magi “rejoiced exceedingly with great joy” (Matthew 2:10). Thanksgiving is an important part of our faith and of stewardship. All of God’s gifts, such as a spiritual awakening, should be received with gratitude.

Finally arriving in Bethlehem they find Mary and Jesus. The Magi’s response is that they “fell to the ground and worshiped Him” (Matthew 2:11). This unqualified act of faith is also remarkable. These contemporary intellectuals, who are practitioners of the sciences of their day, had fundamentally relied on their knowledge and influence (at least until they allowed the star to lead them) to get them this far. When they encounter the Messiah, they do not find a king per se.

What they find is a poor family holed up in a cave. The “new king” is a baby lying in a feeding trough. Most of us would probably begin second-guessing ourselves, but the Magi immediately prostrate themselves and “worship Him.” This is faith in a very pure form. Rationality does not get in the way. There is no demand for an explanation. They do not ask why and do not hesitate.

After reverencing Jesus, they present their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Why is it we do not know the names of the Magi (from scripture anyway), but we do know the names of their gifts?

What does this imply? Is it that we need to be careful not to allow ourselves to be defined by what we own, rather than who we are? Is it a caution about the dangers of possessions? Does it foreshadow some of Jesus’ later teachings in which He carefully warns us not to seek recognition when we give or pray, and cautions that these things are better done in private?

Or, is it because God loves us all uniformly, intensely, without qualification, to the point of anonymity? In other words, it matters not to God who we are; He loves us just the same. From our side of the relationship, what is important is what we return to God – our “gold, frankincense, and myrrh” which are our “treasure, talent and time”.

In the end, “the magi left for their own country by another way.” Having experienced Christ, having encountered Christ in acts of thanksgiving, gratitude, sacrifice, prayer, worship and stewardship, the Magi’s lives are forever changed. They have had their epiphany. Their lives have been changed by their search for, and encounter with, the Christ Child. They go home a different way; their lives take a different road.

Dear God, save me from this road I’m on. Lead me home by a different road.

“Jesus take the wheel
Take it from my hands
Cause I can't do this on my own
I'm letting go
So give me one more chance
Save me from this road I'm on.”

“Jesus Take the Wheel” by Carrie Underwood

© 2009 & 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

No Matter What!

2011-12-29T10:41:00.000-08:00

“Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired,”
~Terri (age 4)

(Email dated 11/17/2011)

From the heart:

From the time my first son turned 14, I soon realized that putting a guitar in a boy’s hand (and perhaps girls too, I just don’t have any girl children) is just like giving them their first dump truck… They take to it like a duck to water!! But, when I looked into the price of guitar lessons, I soon realized that was not in my disposable income price range… The braces on my children’s teeth took care of that!!

My oldest son took free lessons in a guitar class held by his High School but my younger son had no such opportunity. I heard about a national program called “Guitars Not Guns.” This program gives children a creative outlet to showcase their talents in a positive way as well as gives them mentors and builds their connections to the community.

The first class that I took my son to was amazing! It was taught by a 16-year old with a Mohawk!! My kid was hooked, this wasn’t some adult saying… play this, this was a cool dude sporting a Mohawk!! To top it off, I found out if each participating child attends all 6 classes, they walk away with a guitar of their very own to bring home and to keep them motivated to play guitar rather than roam the streets.

This is all great, right? But… something else happened… there were two little boys, one was 11 and one was 13. The 13 year old hovered over the 11 year old (as in protecting) and did all the talking. I introduced myself to the boys and of course gravitated right to the shy one.

After exchanging a few smiles, and getting closer and closer to him… he spoke to me. He asked me, “Are you going to be here next time too?” If you want me to be then I will, is what I told him.

Before class was over, a disheveled woman with sadness and pain in her eyes and features, rushed in to collect these two boys as though they were laundry being picked up in a rush from the cleaners. It was awkward and sudden and felt wrong to me. I also thought it was a shame that she couldn’t wait 15 minutes and let her sons finish class. I wanted to help her, but felt powerless.

When she left, the program director told me that she had just gotten custody back and the boys had been in foster care for several months until just a couple days prior.

My heart went out to those boys, especially the shy one. Before the little one left, he ran up to me and wrapped his arms around my leg… of all things, as in a kind of awkward and low hug… it was adorable and I melted! He said, “See you next time!”

I came into work the next day and told everyone about this class and these two adorable boys that I couldn’t wait to see next session!! I could still feel the little squeeze of a hug on my leg and those brown eyes looking up at me, almost pleading like.

The next class I was there with treats even!! Some granola bars and some juice to surprise my new friends with… I waited and waited. My son sat and played and learned from the cool teen instructor… And I watched out the window. Those boys never came back… Ever…

A couple weeks later after doing my best to investigate the situation and find these boys… I was told that once again they were in foster care. Due to confidentiality, that was all I could know. I quickly sent a “Guitars Not Guns” program brochure and schedule to every foster care agency in my area… but I have never seen either of those boys again…

Tragedy, right??? Not so much because somewhere there is a little boy that knows that the Y is here to support him and the people that work for the Y and wear the funny Y logos are here to love him. I vow to be that one source of light, even if it’s fleeting…. to every child who needs to know that someone cares. I will never stop caring, even if I never see Joshua again.

And that’s from my heart!! XO ~Taurie, Golden State YMCA

Stewardship is not about taking time out to do stewardly things. Rather it is about living our lives as Christian Stewards 24/7/365. This comes from the recognition that all our time on this earth is God’s time. But even the best of us need reminders.

One of those reminders comes through our signs and symbols. Symbols are not always specifically religious however. Because of Taurie, the Y logo became a symbol of something good, reassuring and meaningful to an eleven year old boy.

As Christians we often display crosses or a crucifix. Our crosses remind us that God loves us, NO MATTER WHAT, profoundly demonstrated by allowing His Son to die for us. In turn, we too are called to love others, NO MATTER WHAT.

As we enter this new year, let us resolve ourselves to be like Taurie - to be a light to others, to the world. To care when no one else seems to and to know, that sometimes no matter what we do, or how hard we try, things will not play out the way we had hoped. But above all, to NEVER STOP CARING! We may well be the only light in the life of another.

Dear God: Bless everyone in whatever it is that you know they may need this day.

“Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.” ~Bobby (age 7)

Are All Welcome?

2011-12-22T08:39:00.000-08:00

“A smile is the universal welcome.” ~Max Eastman, American author, journalist and writer (1883-1969)

John Q was a Catholic in name only. Baptized in a Catholic church, his parents had forced him to attend confirmation classes even though they never really went to Mass themselves. Occasionally they would attend a Christmas Midnight Mass or an Easter service.

John’s dad was fond of having a few too many “toddies” during Christmas Eve dinner. Then off they would go to Mass. His dad, still smelling of booze, would always nod off during the sermon. One year, he snored so loudly, the priest actually stopped mid sentence. That was the last time they ever went to Midnight Mass.

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

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

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

“What am I doing here anyway?” he thought. The answer came back quietly but distinctly: “I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.” People were rushing in through the church doors now. Mass was about to begin. He could hear the organ playing and a familiar hymn being sung. His right foot rested uneasily on the bottommost step.

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

Will John Q go in? More importantly, how will he be received if he does?

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

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

Nor did Jesus hang out in the suburbs with nice “normal” church-going families. He was a blue color, single guy. He saved an adulteress from stoning. The Samaritan woman he engaged at the well lived with a man out of wedlock.

Jesus ate with tax collectors and prostitutes. He even hung out at the docks and in the rough part of town. In short, Jesus broke boundaries, he didn’t create them. He welcomed and engaged everybody, regardless of who they were or how it reflected upon him.

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

As Christian stewards, what are we doing to welcome those “CEO’s”? How are we communicating to them that they are welcome at our parish or in our homes? Are we the loving father of the prodigal son, welcoming them with open arms, running out to greet them? Or, are we the resentful older brother, who, because we never left (our church), feel entitled. Are we breaking boundaries, or are we creating artificial ones?

This Christmas I ask you – I challenge you – to say hello to someone you don’t recognize at church. Greet people outside, as well as inside.

Does John Q go up the stairs and enter the church on Christmas Eve? It might be your greeting or “Merry Christmas” or a thoughtful “How are you?” that makes the difference. We need to be like Jesus, welcoming everyone. We need to be the face of Christ to the world.

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

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

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 & 2011James 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 & 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Scrooged

2011-12-16T06:39:00.000-08:00

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

Why do we keep returning to this endearing tale of the reformation of the irritable miser, Ebenezer Scrooge? It is because, beneath the sarcasm and cruel remarks (“then let them die and reduce the surplus population”), he is us. He is obsessed with work and the acquisition of money.

Scrooge is defined by his work to the point of sacrificing his one true love. “And as your business prospered, Ebenezer Scrooge, a golden idol took possession of your heart, as Alice said it would” (The Spirit of Christmas Past).

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

When the World Trade Center Memorial Foundation announced that victims' names would be displayed, without specifying the company they worked for, a group of their families denounced the plan, saying it robbed victims “of the human qualities that rallied and sustained the nation.”

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

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

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

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

Jesus, however, reminds us we have no control. “But God said to him, ' You fool! This very night your soul is required of you; and now who will own what you have prepared?' (Luke 12:20).

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

After this epiphany, what changes on Christmas morning for Ebenezer? He is just as wealthy. He still owns his business, to which he will undoubtedly return the next day. What makes him go from miserable and miserly to merry and generous overnight?

HE BECOMES A STEWARD!!! A Christian Steward is “One who receives God’s gifts gratefully, cherishes and tends them in a responsible and accountable manner, shares them in justice and love with others, and returns them with increase to the Lord” (Stewardship, A Disciple’s Response).

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

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

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

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

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

“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2008, 2009, 2010 & 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the”© 2008, 2009, 2010& 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Living to Work

2011-12-09T15:34:00.000-08:00

“Work is the refuge of people who have nothing better to do.” ~Oscar Wilde, Irish poet, novelist, dramatist and critic (1854-1900)

Babushka kept her son’s toys stored away in a cupboard. He had died unexpectedly in infancy. Daily she busied herself tending house – cooking, cleaning, baking, washing… One morning there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find the three Kings, the Magi.

Since they traveled by night (to follow the star) they asked if they could sleep at Babushka’s house for the day as there was no inn in the small town. Babushka fed them and gave them a place to sleep until the sun set and the star reappeared.

As the Magi were preparing to leave that evening, Balthazar invited Babushka to come with them to find a new king they were seeking. Unfortunately she was “too busy” and, after all, she would need time to find “an appropriate gift.”

After the Magi departed, Babushka resumed doing those things with which she was most comfortable – sweeping, polishing, dusting, cleaning – but Balthazar’s invitation continued to tug at her. A thought came to her. She went to the cupboard where her son’s toys were stored and opened the door.

After some consideration, Babushka decided the toys would make good gifts for the “new born King,” but, of course, they needed to be thoroughly cleaned first. She spent the rest of the night cleaning and polishing the toys. Once finished, she planned to leave in the morning, overtaking the Magi while they slept during the day.

Daybreak came. The toys looked like new, but exhausted from her work, Babushka fell asleep and did not awake until after nightfall. Realizing she was now almost two days behind the Magi, she quickly packed up the toys and rushed out to find the three Kings.

She followed their path from village to village, but arrived in Bethlehem too late. The Magi had “gone home another way” to avoid Herod. Likewise, Joseph had spirited Mary and the baby Jesus away to Egypt to escape the “slaughter of the innocence”.

Not knowing what else to do Babushka began to wander the world, and continues to do so every Christmas Eve. Still carrying her bag of toys, she gives them to small children in the hope that one of them is the Christ child.

Babushka, in modern terms, is a workaholic. When Balthazar offers Babushka the opportunity to come along to find the Christ child she is “too busy" with what she sees as important: her work.

Work is more than just work, however. As it is for most of us, it is her security blanket. Going to find the baby Jesus means doing something with which she is unaccustomed. It means stepping out of her comfort zone.

As Americans we often define ourselves by our work. Like Babushka, work makes us feel secure because we know what we are supposed to do and how we are supposed to do it. It is also a coping mechanism. Babushka addresses the pain of losing her infant son by distracting herself with work.

The difficulty is that we are often so busy with our work, with what we think is important, that we fail to hear God’s call. Sometimes we are called to set aside life’s distractions, particularly our work: “‘Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed Him.” (Mark 4:18)

As good stewards of our time, we are called upon to find a balance in our lives. If we are going to follow Jesus we are, at times, going to have to set some things aside. In a way, Jesus is saying, “Put down your nets before you get tangled in them.” We can become entangled in the net we call work, so much so that we do not know any other way to function.

As Christian Stewards we know time is a gift from God and how we use that gift is important. How will we spend Christmas this year? Will we be too busy with other things to notice our greatest gifts? Will we become entangled in our own nets and complain we are too busy?

Will we allow old resentments, fears and hurts to hold us back from experiencing the love which is readily available to us? Will we be like Babushka who is so distracted by her work she ultimately encounters an empty stable and spends the rest of her days trying to find happiness?

Put down your nets this Christmas and come to the manger. Jesus is waiting for you.

Dear Lord, remind me your Son calls me to something greater than myself.

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

(Babushka is the Russian version of Santa Claus.)

“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, Director of Development for the Southeast Ventura County YMCA in Ventura County, California All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Rich in Gratitude

2011-12-02T06:20:00.000-08:00

“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” ~G.K. Chesterton, English journalist, novelist and essayist (1874-1936)

The king was riding in the northern woods of his kingdom when he came upon his old gamekeeper Yorick. Yorick was as ancient as the woods themselves. Kneeling on his cloak he appeared to be praying. The king’s horse snorted, startling the old man.

At once he came to his feet, turned and bowed to greet his master. “Milord,” he said with a crinkled smile. “My apologies, I did not hear you ride up.” “I was preparing to eat my mid day meal and was busy thanking our good and wonderful God for my many blessings.”

On the old man’s cloak lay a single piece of crusty bread, a bit of cheese and a small portion of dried jerky. “Is all well here in my woods?” asked the king. “Yes, Milord,” came the response. “Then return to your meal old man,” he replied.

“Thank you Milord.” Yorick turned, fell to his knees, and returned to his prayers.

The king watched him for a few moments, marveling how someone could be so grateful for so little. Then reining his horse around, he left.

The king returned to his castle near dusk. As he was dismounting his horse his Seer came running out into the courtyard.

“Milord, I must speak to you immediately.”

“What is it fortune teller?” the king asked bruskly.

“I have had a dream, a vision.”

“What has this to do with me?”

“I dreamed the richest man in the kingdom would die tonight.”

The king paled. “This could only be me.”

Dismissing the Seer, he immediately retreated to his chambers summoning the royal physician and the priest. The priest was instructed to pray while the physician performed a complete examination. It yielded nothing. “There seems to be nothing wrong with you,” he kept repeating.

Through the night the king paced, the priest prayed, and the physician made periodic examinations. Nothing happened.

Finally, as the sun was rising, the king dismissed the priest and the physician and ordered a hearty breakfast. As he was eating, a knock came at the door. “Enter!” he barked.

The door opened and a servant stepped into a bedroom chamber. “Milord,” he said with a curt bow. “Your faithful gamekeeper, old Yorick, died during the night. We thought you should know.”

“Make sure he is properly buried. Now let me finish my breakfast in peace.”

“Yes, Milord.” Another curt bow and the servant vanished through the doorway.

As he ate the king pondered the fate of his misguided Seer. “How could he have gotten it wrong?” “How foolish to confuse the ancient gamekeeper with the richest man in the kingdom!”

Positions, power, possessions and prestige may provide us with temporary satisfaction, but in and of themselves they can never make us happy. More often than not we are materially rich, but spiritually poor. To fully experience the richness of life we must first develop a sense of gratitude for everything we have. Wealth may give us a false sense of security, but it doesn’t give us joy.

To be happy we must first cultivate a sense of gratitude within ourselves. All too often, gratitude is replaced with a sense of entitlement. We tell ourselves we deserve something; after all we earned it didn’t we? But entitlement can only lead to unhappiness when we don’t get what we think we deserve.

What if tomorrow you awoke to discover that the only things you had, were the things for which you had been grateful the day before? Everything we have is a gift from God. Gifts require our gratitude. The power of love is that we are loved though we do not deserve it nor are we entitled to it. God’s love is our greatest gift.

The Seer wasn’t wrong. Yorick was the richest man in the kingdom, not because of the sum total of his possessions, but because his gratitude exceeded even those who had much more than he.

It is our gratitude which, in the end, brings us joy and makes us rich.

God, make me grateful today…for everything.

“As each day comes to us refreshed and anew, so does my gratitude renew itself daily. The breaking of the sun over the horizon is my grateful heart dawning upon a blessed world.” ~Terri Guillemets, American quotation anthologist (b. 1973)

Recommendation Letters

2011-11-23T07:28:00.000-08:00

“If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one.” ~Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Roman Catholic nun, Nobel Peace Prize recipient, founded the Missionaries of Charity (1910-1997)

It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving and at the Parish Center things were humming. Two rows of turkeys, stuffed, seasoned, slathered with herb butter, bagged, and lying in pans, lined the length of the marble-green counter waiting their turn in the oven.

Marcus and Kristine systematically removed turkeys from the oven and loaded in fresh ones. The cooked turkeys rested on a separate counter for an appropriate interval before their carcasses were stripped of their succulent meat, which was transferred to metal pans for storage.

Thomas was shuttling donations of turkeys from the parking lot to the kitchen door in a gray pushcart. Marcus divided his time between cooking and helping Thomas carry the uncooked birds from the cart to a temporary storage location.

Every time Marcus thought he had emptied the cart it would reappear, replenished with turkeys. “Aren’t we ever going to run out?” Marcus asked Thomas. “It’s a cornucopia” smiled Thomas. “Or the miracle of the multiplication of the turkeys,” chuckled Marcus. Sunday afternoon came and went. Even as the winter California sun dipped below the horizon, the turkeys kept coming.

In Mark’s version of the “Feeding of the 5,000” (Mark 6:35-44), it is evening and the crowd, which has spent the day listening to Jesus preach, is famished. The disciples come to Jesus and ask him to send the people away so they can get something to eat.

Jesus’ answer is short and to the point: “You give them something to eat,” he says. But the disciples respond, “We don’t have enough.” Jesus reply is again succinct, “How many loaves do you have?” The disciples’ search produces five loaves and two fish. Jesus receives the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and distributes it. As it turns out, there was more than enough.

Like the disciples, we often ask God to send our problems away. We find ourselves asking God to change our circumstances rather than thanking Him for the abundance we already enjoy. How often do we hope someone else will handle the problems of the world, the community, or even our family?

“Someone ought to do something about that!” we say. “But not me,” we mutter quietly to ourselves. We subliminally respond, “We don’t have enough?”

“If [however] our entry into heaven required a letter of reference from the poor, would we be able to get one?” There are 1.02 billion hungry people in the world today. Every day

over 16,000 children will die from hunger, 1 every 5 seconds.

How can there not be enough? The combined net worth of the three richest people in the world is greater than the combined net worth of the 48 poorest nations, representing one quarter of the world’s population.

The real miracle of the “feeding of the 5,000” is God working through us when we think “we don’t have enough”. Marcus’ and Thomas’ turkeys didn’t appear by magic, but the Holy Spirit was definitely on duty that day. It is Jesus speaking to us in our heart of hearts and saying, “What do you have?” and our realizing that what we have is more than enough, and then acting upon that realization.

Come share in the miracle; not just now, but all year round. The poor are waiting out there with our recommendation letters.

Dear God: Remind me daily that I have more than enough.

“If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your night will become like the noonday.” Isaiah 58:10

“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, Director of Development at Southeast Ventura County YMCA's. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Civilly Convicted

2011-11-18T12:01:00.000-08:00

“What is objectionable, what is dangerous, about extremists is not that they are extreme, but that they are intolerant. The evil is not what they say about their cause, but what they say about their opponents.” ~ Robert F. Kennedy, U.S. Attorney General and advisor (1925-1968)

My finger hovered over the enter key. With a single stroke I could send the offending “friend” away into “unfriended” oblivion. I paused.

The whole thing had started innocently enough with an obtuse religious slur camouflaged by a joke of sorts. I sent, what I thought was, a “diplomatic” clarifying response. “Just because I’m a Christian doesn’t mean I’m a member of any particular group,” I had commented.

The electronic “pile-on” started almost immediately. Like an electronic nightmare the terse one-liners came. The more I responded the more the comments flew back at me, the hostility and negative energy escalating. Comments were coming from people I didn’t even know and who didn’t know me and yet I was being convicted for my convictions.

(My brand new piece of technology had promised me the ultimate in an electronic experience, an unbridled capacity to communicate. Unfortunately this was not the experience for which I had been looking.)

So there I sat, about to electronically remove someone from my life. Someone I had known for over thirty years. Would the instant gratification quickly give way to a mountain of regret? The blue box with white letters “REMOVE FROM FRIENDS?” glowed at me. “ARE YOU SURE…?” it asked. No, I wasn’t.

I quickly closed the site promising myself I wouldn’t return to it for awhile.

It seems we need to assure ourselves we have villains so that we might be heroes. But life isn’t so simple. I am not the demographic average of a particular group who shares one or more of my beliefs.

Dr Richard Mouw, in his book, Uncommon Decency, quotes Martin Marty: "One of the real problems in life is that the people who are good at being civil often lack strong convictions and people who have strong convictions often lack civility." Dr. Mouw suggests we need both a civil outlook and a "passionate intensity" about our convictions. What we need is a "convicted civility."

This is easy to proclaim and very difficult to do. To love and care about someone while they are ranting against a belief or beliefs we hold sacred is challenging. And yet, it is not our ability to convince another that what we believe is right. Rather it is our ability to affirm our convictions while remaining civil, kind and loving even to those who passionately (and even aggressively) disagree with us. This action will speak louder than our words.

The measure of who we are will not be taken by our ability to verbally wrestle another to the ground, or to “out-clever” them, or to “out-post” them. Rather, in the face of all things, we are called to love them. After all, isn’t that what Jesus did?

Dear God: Teach me convicted civility.

“It takes a disciplined person to listen to convictions which are different from their own.” ~Dorothy Fuldheim, American journalist and anchor(1893-1989)

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

One on One

2011-11-11T08:46:00.000-08:00

“There is no greater calling than to serve your fellow man. There is no greater contribution than to help the weak. There is no greater satisfaction than to have done it well.” ~Walter Reuther, American Labor Organizer (1907-1970)

It was Wednesday afternoon and the indoor basketball court at the local Y was bustling with activity. Two half-court pickup games were in full gear, just a bunch of guys burning off nervous energy and testosterone. It was the shirts versus the skins. They banged and bumped, shouted and shot, razzing their opponents and rooting for their team mates. Basketball shoes chirped against the wooden floor.

The two half courts were separated by only a narrow expanse of floor: little more than a wooden-floored alley-way with invisible walls. There, in the midst of this cacophony of physical activity, was a solitary woman.

Her hair was mousy brown and she had a slight overbite. She was dressed in light pink belled stretch pants and an ill-fitting white polo shirt. On her feet she wore white, high-top, lace-up tennis shoes. Her movements were jerky and looked particularly awkward compared to the grace and physical acumen of the players who surrounded her.

The woman was attempting to slap-dribble a regulation NBA basketball. Rather than “pumping” the ball, keeping it as low to the ground as possible, she would slap it on top to make it bounce and then try to slap it down again on each rebound. At the same time, she took halting steps forward as if she were attempting to dribble down court. Her movements were graceless, none seeming to coordinate with the others.

Suddenly the ball bounced particularly high. She reached up to slap it down, but instead, her slap launched the ball into the middle of one of the pickup games. Everything came to a sudden and abrupt halt. Her ball came to rest at the feet of a particularly burley participant. Two crosses were tattooed on his chest and a day’s growth of beard shadowed his face.

He looked down at the ball and then across the court at the woman who stood there staring at him, a worried look on her face. Bending over, he plucked the ball from the floor. Then, cradling it in his left arm, he strode purposefully toward the woman. She continued to stare at him expectantly until he reached her. Then her gaze went to the floor.

By now the other game had come to a halt as well as they all looked on. The burly basketball player reached out with his right hand and placed it gently on the woman’s back. “You OK?” he asked softly. The woman looked up from the floor and nodded with a toothy grin.

With his left hand he carefully presented the ball to her. She curled her arms upward embracing the ball as she did so. “You be careful now,” he said kindly. “We don’t want you to get hurt.” Again, she looked at him nodding with the same toothy grin.

He smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and then returned to his game. The gym came alive again: two hotly-contested pickup games and a solitary woman, slap-dribbling a basketball down the middle between them.

Amidst the bustle and confusion of life, it is often easy to miss or ignore the individuals who most need our loving attention. In a world of mega-charities (over 3 million in the United States alone), we often abrogate our responsibility for our fellow travelers on this earth, assuming our donations will take care of it all. We give generously of our wealth. But do we give generously of ourselves?

Perhaps the greatest gift we can share is our humanity – our humanness. Human necessities, such as food and clothing, can be provided, but how much more important it is for us to nurture the human person.

It might surprise some to know this story relates only one of many such occurrences; this same scenario repeats itself often on this particular basketball court. The woman’s ball is retrieved for her regularly. Once she was hit by an errant pass. The players surrounded her to make sure she was OK; to reassure her and to comfort her.

As stewards we are reminded that the care of others can never be fully delegated to an organization and that donations of our treasure are only a partial fulfillment of our responsibility to the rest of humankind. Rather, we are called to love and nurture one another, one-on-one.

Dear God: Who needs my time, attention and comfort today?

“How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and the strong. Because someday in your life you will have been all of these.” ~George Washington Carver, American, started life as a slave and ended it as a horticulturalist, chemist and educator (1864-1943)

© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Quotation Confrontation

2011-11-04T07:43:00.000-07:00

“The first duty of love is to listen” ~Paul Tillich, German born American theologian and philosopher (1886-1965)

We had shared an office for less than two months. I knew her faith tradition and she knew mine. Both devout Christians, it seemed we had silently agreed to disagree, but what we actually believed had never been discussed.

All I knew for sure was she had been raised in a strict Southern Baptist home. Her father was, in fact, a Baptist minister. This essentially meant no singing, dancing, games or even music in the house.

Like most arguments, it was a stupid argument. Anything beyond a discussion is always unnecessary escalation, but so it went. It had started innocently enough; Just a simple question really. “Have you been saved?” she had asked. “Of course,” I responded, without really paying attention.

Then came my mistake. “I was saved when Christ died on the cross,” I added cleverly, almost as an afterthought. “That’s not all there is to it you know!” she retorted. “I know,” I replied dismissively. “It’s how you live out that commitment as well.” At this point I had moved on, but she hadn’t.

“It’s not about what you do, it’s about making Christ your personal Savior.” The expression was all too familiar. It was time to walk away, but I couldn’t. I was sitting at my own desk in the office we shared. “For me, it’s a little more than a simple declaration; I think it’s about how you live your life.”

Now I had passed the point of no return. I should have recognized the age-old argument of faith versus works. Instead I had run head long into one of the oldest debates in Christendom. Compromise had never been achieved between Protestants and Catholics on this subject, nor would it be on this day.

The curt discussion quickly degenerated into volleys of Bible text, mostly Romans on her side (Martin Luther’s favorite) and the Book of James on mine. I probably should have avoided quoting the line about faith without works being “thoroughly lifeless.”

Suddenly she was up and out of her chair and on her way out the door. “I have things to do,” she said curtly over her shoulder, then disappeared around the corner in the direction of the copy room.

We are fast becoming a world of “who can out-quip who.” The confrontation between my office partner and me related to religion, but it could have been about politics, social issues or even sports. Rather than engaging in frank honest discussion, it became a contest as to who could cite the more authoritative reference.

If you happen to be a fan of social networking you know that there are entire strings of authoritative “comments.” Some post seem to be the equivalent of verbal landmines just waiting for someone to “step on them.”

Not too surprisingly, there is a word for this. It’s called “proof-texting.” It occurs when you adopt a particular stance on an issue, then search for documentation (usually quotes) to justify taking that position.

My argument with my friend arose out of a smug self confidence in my own beliefs and the ill-advised belief that a discussion of this kind could be easily handled with a few choice comments. In other words, I tried to take a short cut where there was none to be taken.

True confidence in our beliefs cannot be demonstrated by reliance on a few pithy quotes or a download from YouTube. Confidence in our beliefs is truly demonstrated by our willingness to respectfully engage others in an effort to fully explore why they believe what they believe.

In my situation, how much better it would have been if I had responded with a genuine question like: “I’m not sure I understand that expression. What does it mean exactly?” Or, “How has that belief served you in your life?”

Rather than employing a bumper sticker mentality, we must try to respect and understand the beliefs of others, not out-quote them.

Dear God: Help me to listen first, ask question second and allow my brain to engage before my mouth is opened.

“(People) are respectable only as they respect.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson, American poet, lecturer and essayist (1803-1882)

The Meaning of Life

2011-10-28T07:19:00.000-07:00

“Action without a name, a "who" attached to it, is meaningless.” ~Andrea Yerger

Abby looked on as her mother carefully sliced off each of the ends of the beef roast. The roast had been marinating most of the day and was now ready for the oven. Abby’s mother nestled the hefty piece of beef into a roasting pan. Plucking the two “ends” from the cutting board she carefully placed them, one on each side, of the roast. “Why do you do that?” Abigail asked. “Do what?” her mother responded, placing the lid on the roasting pan and popping the roaster into the oven.

“You always cut the ends off the roast and stick them on the sides. Why do you do that?” My mother, your Grandma, always did it that way?” she answered absent-mindedly. “But why did she do it that way?” Abby persisted. “I don’t know,” her mother said finally. “Let’s ask her.”

Abby’s mother touched the screen of her Smartphone several times then placed it on the counter. The speaker magnified the sound of the ring; then a click sound. “Hello, Wilson residence.”

“Hi Mom,” Abby’s mother started to say, only to be drowned out by Abby, “HI GRANDMA!” she shouted. “Hi, honey,” replied the voice on the other end. “Grandma, we have a question. Why do you cut the ends off the roast?” There was a pause. “What do you mean, honey?” came the voice. “Mom, when you cooked a beef roast you always cut the ends off and put them on the sides before you put it in the oven… Why did you do that?”

Again there was a pause. “I don’t know exactly,” she replied finally. “My mother always did it that way.” “How can we find out?” asked Abby’s mother. “Well, we could drive up to the ‘home’ and ask Great Grandma Wilson. We’re overdue for a visit.” They all agreed to go that weekend. A departure time was arranged. Then Abby’s mother clicked off.

Sunday came and the three of them, Abby’s Mom behind the wheel, drove the 30 miles to a cozy sheltered living facility in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains. They parked in visitors’ parking and headed into the quaint main building.

They found Great Grandma Wilson seated in her wheel chair facing the expansive east window in the “green room.” The vista she looked out upon featured lush, wooded mountains, blue skies and puffy white clouds. She loved to sit in the sun, allowing the warmth to embrace her achy joints. Though physically bowed by age, her body wracked with arthritis, her mind was still clear as a bell.

Abby, was the first to reach her great grandma, with the other two women close behind. They all chattered their greetings almost simultaneously, asking and answering a variety of questions. Finally, they wheeled the old woman to a quiet corner. They seated themselves on a sofa, facing Great Grandma, in preparation for the question they had come to ask.

Abby’s mother leaned forward: “Grandmother,” she began. “We have a question.” “Well what is it?” replied Great Grandma. “At my age I don’t have many secrets left,” she chuckled.

“Grandmother,” she began again. “Do you remember, when you used to make your famous beef roast, how you cut the ends off?” “Of course I remember,” she answered. “And then you would take the ends and put them on the sides of the roast in the roaster?” “Yup, I remember,” she replied again, seemingly a little perplexed.

Abby’s mother leaned in even farther. “Why did you do that?” Abby, her mother and grandmother waited expectedly for Great Grandmother Wilson’s reply. “Why did I do that?” she echoed. “You drove all this way to ask why I cut the ends off the roast and put them on the sides of the roast in the pan?” The women nodded a response.

She mused for a moment. “OK, I’ll tell you,” Great Grandma replied thoughtfully. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone else.” They all nodded agreement. The old woman leaned forward and hushed her voice. “The reason I did that was a very good one.” They leaned closer as her voice got quieter. She looked around to make sure no one else could hear her. “The reason I did that was simple... The reason I did that,” (she paused for a very long time) “was because” (another long pause) “my roasting pan was too small.” A moment later they burst into laughter.

Activity without context is simply empty action. It is what some call “just going through the motions.” We automatically, sometimes robotically, go through our day – kissing our loved ones goodbye, greeting or thanking one another, performing various formalities and informalities without connecting those activities to something meaningful.

Abby asked the right question: “Why do you do that?”

David, one of my Jewish friends, greets me by kissing me on the cheek. I once asked him why he did that. “I shake the hand of many I do not know or care about, even some I might consider enemies, but only a good friend would I kiss on the cheek,” was his response.

(Note to self: as a practicing Catholic I make a lot of gestures in church – kneeling, bowing, crossing myself. Why do I do that? If I know why, should I not make those gestures as if I knew why?)

If it were the last time, would you say goodbye to your loved ones differently? It might be the last! If it were your last cup of coffee, would you thank the barista differently? It might be your last cup of coffee! When you greet your friends, if they really are your friends, and it were the last time, like David, would you greet them differently? It might be the last time!

Being good stewards of our time, it is important that we fill our lives with meaningful activity. This does not mean we should discontinue our current activities. In some cases, the roasting pan is too small and the ends of the roast do need to be cut off! What it does mean, is we need to discover for ourselves why we do the things we do and in turn behave as if we know why.

If I truly love someone, should I not behave as such when I greet them or when I say goodbye to them? By doing so, we will approach our lives with a new sincerity, realizing that our gestures need not, should not, be empty. If we fill our daily activities with meaning, the corresponding responses will no doubt surprise us.

Dear God: Remind me I am responsible for giving meaning to what I do.

“So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when they’re busy doing things they think are important… The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others…” ~Morrie Schwartz (Sociology professor and author, subject of the book Tuesday’s with Morrie (1916-1995)

“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, Director of Development for Southeast Ventura County YMCA. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

First Response

2011-10-21T08:48:00.000-07:00

“The Brooklyn Wall of Remembrance stands as a graceful and beautiful tribute to those who made the ultimate sacrifice on September 11, 2001. Comprised of three 30x12 foot granite walls, the Coney Island memorial contains the laser-engraved images of 346 Firefighters, 37 Port Authority Officers, 23 NYC Police Officers, 3 NYS Officers, 1 Fire Patrol, and 1 K-9 Rescue dog named Sirius. Touched by the magnitude of their sacrifice, Brooklyn-born and raised Sol Moglen conceived of the idea for a memorial. On the Wall, their portraits form a powerful, unforgettable testament, eloquently spoken, reminding us these are real people behind the names and numbers of September 11...Families come for comfort, not for grief. To hear the sound of children laughing, feel the sun’s warmth and listen to the quiet voice of the ocean. It is fitting New York City’s first memorial to 9/11 would be in Brooklyn. Fully a third of the responders, who died on 9/11, either lived or worked in the Borough. Since its inception, the Wall of Remembrance has become recognized for its beautiful and meaningful tribute to these men and women. Remembering is our responsibility and learning from them is their honor.” ~ Introduction to thebrooklynwall.org

The barista, a young woman in an apron and baseball cap, placed the two travel packs of coffee on the counter followed by a large cup of cream and a large cup of coffee in a carrier. Finally, the barista set out a bag containing stir sticks and paper packs of sugar and sweetener.

“Will there be anything else?” she said with a smile. The black woman on the other side of the counter sighed. “No, that should be everything I need,” she said, eying the two, bulky, brown, boxes of coffee. Shifting her bag to her shoulder, the woman started to arrange the items in an effort to make a single trip to the car.

A 50-ish middle-aged man, seated with his wife, had watched the barista deliver the coffee supplies to the counter. Almost immediately he realized the woman was going to attempt to carry everything out the door all at once…by herself. Without hesitation, he excused himself from the table and walked briskly to the counter.

“Would you like me to help you?” he asked. The woman turned to face him. “Well,” she replied glancing back at the items on the counter. “Yes, that would be great,” she said, breaking into a smile.

The man picked up the two carriers then stepped back, motioning for the woman to go ahead of him. Holding the door with her hip they exited the coffee store together heading for the woman’s car.

Placing the carrier with the cream and coffee on the roof of her car she fumbled for the keys in her bag. “Take your time,” the man said with a smile. “I don’t have to be anywhere soon.” She returned his smile as she extracted the keys from her bag and unlocked the car.

She loaded the cream and the bag of supplies; then took the coffee carriers from the man, one at a time and loaded them into her car as well. Then she closed the car door with a sense of finality. “I wish I could take you along to the hospital,” she said turning to the man again. “We nurses love our coffee.”

“So do I, maybe next time,” he replied with a chuckle. Then he turned and headed back to the store to finish his coffee.

Ten years later, we still remember and honor the first responders to the 9/11 tragedy. It didn’t matter if they were a burly fireman, a lady cop, a Catholic chaplain or a rescue dog; we remember their unselfish acts performed in the interest of helping others.

We too are called to be “first responders,” to be the Good Samaritans of our day. Being a first responder does not necessarily mean we must put ourselves in harm’s way by running into a collapsing high-rise. What it does mean is to be willing to help others without hesitation and without consideration for the inconvenience or discomfort it might cause us.

These first responses are often simple things: holding a door open, picking up a dropped item or items for someone, helping a senior to the car, allowing someone go ahead of you (in line or on the road), thanking someone, or even just smiling, saying hello, or remembering someone’s name. Being a first responder means doing those thousand little kindnesses, that when we don’t do them, we say to ourselves, “I wish I had done that.” And, when we do respond spontaneously, we realize how good it feels afterward.

We can never adequately repay the first responders of 9/11/2001, but we can honor them. We honor them every time we are the first responder to the needs of another.

Dear God: Help me today to respond without hesitation.

“You been training for this moment your entire life. The universe has been conspiring, if you think about it, to put you right here, right now. Off you go, we're all waitin' on ya.” ~Jonas Blane, Character from ‘The Unit’ (TV Show 2006, Episode Title: ‘First Response’)

“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, Director of Development for Southeast Ventura County YMCA. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message

Fresh Eyes

2011-10-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

“The ego puts its own interest first and twists every argument, word, even fact to suit that interest.” ~Paul Brunton, British philosopher, traveler, mystic and guru (1898-1981)

Emily awoke to find someone yelling at her, or at least it seemed like they were yelling; she wasn’t sure. What were they saying? As best as she could tell, she was being told to get up. Sitting up in her small bed, Emily looked around wondering what was happening. The woman in the blue uniform was taking her from her bed and putting her in what appeared to be a wheelchair. Why a wheelchair? She could walk. Safely seated, the foot rests in place, off they went, but to where…she wasn’t sure.

Marilee had worked on Emily’s wing for nearly a year. She didn’t need a doctor’s diagnosis to know Emily belonged in the dementia wing of the facility; she exhibited most of the classic symptoms.

Constantly irritable and mean spirited, the woman seemed to be in a constant state of confusion and disorientation. Just this morning she couldn’t even understand it was time to get out of bed. The staff doctor had made the determination Emily needed to remain wheelchair-bound. The dementia had affected her equilibrium and she often lost her balance and fell for no apparent reason. The wheelchair would assure her safety.

Margaret, the supervisor of the dementia and Alzheimer’s wing, didn’t have time to babysit the new staff doctor, but Dr. Doug had insisted that he make a preliminary assessment of every resident. She already missed old Dr. Winehart. He knew when to involve himself and when to stay out of the way.

They arrived at Emily’s room. She had just been returned from breakfast and was sitting in her wheelchair alone. Her hands were folded on her lap and she was staring out the window. “Emily Johnson?” Dr. Doug said, requesting the file. “We can skip her,” Margaret said impatiently. “Hers is a clear case of dementia. No other health problems to speak of.” “I would still like to do a ‘prelim’ on her,” the Doctor replied with a patient smile. Margaret shrugged and sighed reluctant agreement.

“Good morning,” Dr. Doug said cheerily as he stepped into the room. Emily didn’t respond. “Hi, Emily,” he said, coming closer. Still no response. “Emily,” he repeated, touching her arm. Emily jumped. Turning to face the Doctor, shrinking into her chair, she cringed in fear, lifting her arms, preparing to defend herself. Dr. Doug smiled patiently. “I’m Dr. Doug. I’m just here to give you a little check up.”

Whatever the reason, Emily seemed to calm down almost immediately. Dr. Doug proceeded with his exam, while Margaret stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, glancing at her watch. First he checked all of Emily’s ‘vitals’: BP, pulse, reflexes, and respiration. “Her temperature is slightly high,” he commented. “That’s not unusual around here,” Margaret remarked, again glancing at her watch.

Dr. Doug took an otoscope out of his coat pocket and slipped on a sterile paper cap. At first, he glanced in each of Emily’s ears. He paused for a moment, as if contemplating something. Then, he reexamined the outer ear canals again, this time more slowly.

“How long has Emily had this ear infection?” he asked, looking up at Margaret from where he knelt next to the wheelchair. “Ear infection?” was the only response. “Yes, she has massive infections in both ears.” “It explains the low grade fever and why she didn’t hear me when I spoke to her.” Margaret stared at the doctor. “Ear infection? Are you sure?” “Absolutely, I don’t think I’ve seen one this bad before.” Emily must have been suffering with it for quite some time.” Again, Margaret made no response.

“It’s so bad,” Dr. Doug continued, “it’s probably affecting her equilibrium.” He glanced at the chair. “Why is she in a wheelchair?” He asked. “She was, ah, falling down a lot,” Margaret responded quietly, glancing away from the doctor’s stare. “Surely she’s been exhibiting some kind of distress, like crankiness or irritability?” he persisted.

This time, not waiting for a response, Dr. Doug turned back to Emily. He spoke slowly and a little louder than normal: “Emily, you have a massive ear infection. We’re going to get you started on a regimen of medicine to make you well. I’m also going to recommend some therapy to build up the strength in your legs. Then we’ll see if we can move you to another wing. Do you understand?” Emily smiled and nodded.

Dr. Doug got to his feet and started to turn. “Thank you Doctor,” Emily said quietly.

Dr. Doug smiled and patted her shoulder. He turned again and headed out the door. “If you have lunch plans, you might want to think about cancelling them” he said to Margaret, brushing by her on his way out the door.

Though efforts continue to eliminate them, discrimination and bias still exist in our country. Racial tolerance needs to give way to racial acceptance and ultimately cultural appreciation. We rant against “racial profiling”, but what about “age profiling”? How often do we assume the young are not sufficiently wise to understand or the old not sufficiently lucid to comprehend?

In our efforts to get more done in our daily lives, we often take shortcuts. A more efficient route to work or an express line in the grocery store is a good idea, but there are no shortcuts when it comes to relationships.

Shortcuts lead to assumptions and assumptions lead to bias. One of those biases is that our elders become objects to be maintained rather human beings with whom we need to foster relationships. When we view them as objects, it is all too easy to determine they serve no purpose and are therefore unimportant.

Dr. Doug’s gift to Emily was two-fold. His talents as doctor and diagnostician were important in healing her. But there were others with similar gifts who had been there before him, had been given the same opportunity, but had done nothing with it. His real gift to her was the gift of time. Dr. Doug took the time to try to understand her situation.

Each time we meet a person, we are called, like Dr. Doug, to experience them anew. Each person brings to an encounter their own set of circumstances: the grumpy senior may be suffering with a painful, chronic disease; the fellow employee who seemed to ignore our greeting may have had a rough morning with a challenging child; the unfriendly store clerk may have just lost a parent or been advised of an upcoming layoff.

As Christian Stewards, our gift of time to others takes the form of building relationships, nurturing others, and, each time we meet another, looking at them with new eyes and an open heart.

Dear God: Help me see each person I meet today with fresh eyes and an open heart.

“(Bias) is the worst disease from which the society of our nation suffers.”

~Albert Einstein, German born American Physicist, Nobel Prize for Physics 1921 (1879-1955)

“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, Director of Development for Southeast Ventura County YMCA. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Soul Polishing

2011-10-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

“Prayer is not an old woman’s idle amusement. Properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action.” ~Mahatma Gandhi, Indian philosopher, advocate of nonviolent protest (1869-1948)

“Jimmy!” My grandmother called from the stoop outside the breezeway door. The anthill I was kicking had my full attention. “Jimmy!” she called again. Dirt, sand and ants exploded into the air as my brown lace-up shoes impacted the small mound with gusto.

“James the less?” When Grandma referred to me as “James the less,” I knew I was in trouble. After one last forceful kick, I turned and headed in the direction of Grandma’s voice. Around the side of the well house and across the gravel driveway I went. There stood Grandma on the breezeway stoop. She was a diminutive woman of German heritage. Wearing a housedress and apron, her hands were fisted on her hips.

“You know you’re supposed to come when you’re called,” she scolded. “Where were you?” “Out back,” I responded looking at my shoes. Her eyes followed my look down to my shoes. Disapprovingly, she stared at my dirty, scuffed shoes. “And what were you doing out back?” she asked. “Nothin’,” I replied slowly. “Nothin’ doesn’t do that to your shoes,” she observed pointing at the shoes.

“Come inside and get cleaned up.” Into the house we went, the screen door slamming behind us.

First, I was required to ‘wash up’ (wash my face and hands). Having passed inspection, Grandma led me to the back bedroom. She reached into the closet and pulled out a blonde wooden box with brass hinges and a brass closure device to hold the lid shut. Sliding a brass button to the left, a spring-loaded clasp popped up. Grandma opened the box.

Inside were a variety of brushes and small, flat, round, metal canisters in shades of black and brown. “You need to polish your shoes,” Grandma said simply. She carefully laid out newspaper to protect the carpet. “Don’t come out till you’re done.” With that she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

For the next twenty to thirty minutes I did my best to fulfill my Grandmother’s wishes. There were a lot of the basics of shoe shining I didn’t understand. For instance, I didn’t realize the color of the canister was an indicator of the color of the polish or even that polish came in a variety of colors. I was particularly fascinated by something called ‘oxblood.’ Nor did I comprehend that the little brushes were for applying the polish and the big brushes for removing dirt and buffing.

Frustrated, I took tissues from my Grandmother’s night stand and applied the oxblood “stuff” to my dusty, scuffed shoes. Then, using one of the little brushes, because I had little shoes, I tried to bring up the shine. The results were less than desirable.
Rather than bearing a nice sheen, my shoes had been so dirty and scuffed they looked like I had smeared polish on a pair of suede shoes.

Frustrated, I pulled them on, laced them up, set the box back in the closet, and rolled up the newspaper. Taking one last look in the oval full-length mirror, I sighed deeply. Carrying the rolled newspapers with me I opened the bedroom door and headed out into the hall.

Grandma greeted me in the front room. “Let me see your shoes,” she said. I lay the papers aside. Grasping my dungarees at the knees I pulled them up, fully displaying my shoes. Grandma stared for a moment in disbelief, and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I did the best I could,” I offered. “I know you did, Jimmy,” Grandma replied with what seemed like a chuckle. “Sit up to the table.”

A moment later she returned from the kitchen with a glass of goat’s milk and two of her famous vanilla cookies. “Next time I’ll show you how to shine your shoes,” she said placing the milk and cookies in front of me.

To this day I find it difficult to polish my shoes with any regularity. When I changed jobs a few weeks ago, I discovered I had some extra time in the morning. Like my grandparents, I have a shoe shining supply box (except now it’s Tupperware instead of wood). So, every evening, I place my shoes by the box and every morning I quickly dab a little polish on each shoe, then buff them out with a brush. Not only are my shoes always polished, I have noticed the shine is deepening, giving the shoes a richer appearance.

Most of us, at one time or another have used the “when in trouble, break glass” approach to our faith. In other words, our prayer and worship activities increase in proportion to our problems. But in fact, our faith is as much about daily maintenance as it is about intermittent salvage operations.

As a boy, I learned how difficult it was to try to restore my dirty, scuffed shoes in one step. Like putting lipstick on a pig, simply covering the dirt and deep scuff marks with some polish didn’t work very well. As an adult, I’ve learned daily maintenance is easier and more effective.

As a steward, I have learned my relationship with my Creator is much the same. It requires consistent involvement. My soul gets scuffed and dirty at times. Maintenance of my relationship with God deserves my constant attention. Those things we do occasionally or irregularly we usually are not very good at. Daily prayer and worship is important and necessary. There is a reason we call it “practicing our faith.”

When I do call on God for help, he should not be a stranger. It is important that I stay close to him through regular prayer. Like polishing my shoes each morning, giving daily attention to my prayers adds depth and richness to my life. Like my shoeshine box, God will always be there for me. When I need him, I don’t need to go looking for him, he is right there next to me.

Dear God: Stay close… I might need you today.

“Many people pray as if God were a big aspirin pill; they come only when they hurt.” ~ B. Graham Dienert

© 2011 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, Director of Development for Southeast Ventura County YMCA. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Untitled

2011-10-05T07:13:00.000-07:00

“It is not titles that honor men, but men that honor titles.” ~Niccolo Machiavelli, Italian historian, philosopher, humanist and writer (1469-1527)

Teresa stared intently at the self-stick paper name badge. It had taken a few moments for her to fully grasp the reality of the words printed on it. Because of the venue she had purposely worn her dressiest black suit and her best off-white silk blouse. Now, it seemed curiously appropriate.

Finally she beckoned me over. Holding the name badge out to me, she pointed with her right index finger and spoke only a single word: “Look.” Slipping my glasses from the breast pocket of my dress coat, I put them on and peered carefully at the badge. There, on a crème white background, in precise Garamond script were three words, each on its own line: “Sister Teresa Carper.”

We looked at each other then again at the badge and began to chuckle. The young lady behind the reception table appeared at first confused, then concerned. “Is there a problem?” she asked. “Teresa is my wife,” I replied with a smile. “It would be difficult for her to be a nun under those circumstances.”

“Oh my,” she exclaimed, I thought she was your sister.” “Then why doesn’t my name badge say ‘Brother Jim Carper’?” I responded with a smirk. My lame joke fell flat.

“I’ll fix it” she said simply, reaching for the badge. “No, leave it,” Teresa answered, with a twinkle in her eye. Off we went to Evening Prayer in the chapel.

The Annual Distinguished Alumni Dinner at St. John’s Seminary is a wonderful event and we truly enjoyed Evening Prayer, a tour of the chapel, the reception, and ultimately dinner. Teresa and I became separated during the reception, but we caught up to one another at our assigned table.

Teresa bore the warm welcoming smile I have come to know well, but there was a glimmer of something else behind it I thought. We sat with the wonderful friends who had invited us and one of our favorite people, Sister Mary Elizabeth.

Afterwards, heading home on old Route 118 through Camarillo, Teresa spoke up. “I think I’m going to enter a religious order,” she said suddenly. “Really?” I answered with interest. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“I don’t know if it was the black suit or the name tag or a combination of both, but while I was at the reception, the hosts went out of their way to be helpful. They brought me a glass of wine and offered to bring me a plate of hors d'oeuvres. They couldn’t seem to do enough for me. As Sister Teresa, I got treated much better than when I’m with you,” she paused with a sideways glance.

“Several people asked me what religious order I belonged to,” she continued. “What did you tell them?” I asked. “I had to tell them I wasn’t a nun.” “And?” I asked. “They seemed confused or disappointed somehow.” She paused again.

“I showed Sister Mary Elizabeth my name tag at dinner and told her I needed to find an Order to join.” “What did she say?” I asked carefully. “She said hers was a good one! And they are recruiting.” We laughed the rest of the way home…

Life teaches us to respect titles. As children we are instructed to address adults as Mr. Mrs. or Miss. We are taught to “respect our elders.” If a member of the law enforcement community tells us to do something, we do it without questioning, often responding “Yes, officer”.

Respect for titles, and their corresponding positions, is often appropriate and sometimes necessary. In modern society, this has gone beyond honoring our elders and respecting community leaders, however. Today we often revere power, wealth, position, success – and even that precious “15 minutes of fame.” This reverence can affect how we relate with and treat one another.

Those who dedicate their lives to serving God and the world, like Sister Mary Elizabeth, deserve our respect; but one has to consider why the addition of six letters to a name badge would make a difference in the way someone is treated.

Our treatment at the hands of another should not be conditioned by our station in life or the title which accompanies our name. Honoring commitment, wisdom and longevity is one thing; but power, prestige and position are quite another.

As Christian Stewards, we are called to love and respect all people simply because, like us, they are unique creations of a loving God. From the homeless person on the street to the leader of a global power, God loves us all the same – equally. We too are called to respect and love one another fully – equally.

This love and respect comes more easily when we remember that we all bear the same significant title: “Child of God.” And we all deserve the respect that title confers.

Dear God: Remind me, that the name of each person I meet today ends with: “a Child of God.”

“I hope I shall possess firmness and virtue enough to maintain what I consider the most enviable of all titles, the character of an honest man.” ~George Washington, first President of the United States of America (1732-1799)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Pull Together

2011-09-30T12:53:00.000-07:00

“Competition is a sin.” ~John D. Rockefeller, American industrialist and philanthropist (1839-1937)

Ten year old Megan was born with one leg shorter than the other. Damage to her peroneal nerve had resulted in a condition commonly referred to as “drop foot” which further exacerbated her already awkward gate. None of it mattered when she was in the water, however. Monday through Friday her Mom brought her to the YMCA for swim team practice.

Megan loved to swim. In the water, she was just like everyone else and, often, she was even better. Competitive swimming was her favorite thing to do. People didn’t stare at her like they stared at her on land.

Megan’s condition was not without remedy, but the surgery to restore her leg was extreme. A section of her leg would need to be amputated, as well as cutting and reconnecting her Achilles tendon. There were two specialists capable of performing the surgery; one in Minnesota and one in Germany.

Tests were run, the arrangements were made and finally the family drove from Southern California to Minnesota for Megan’s surgery. It was the beginning of summer and the beginning of the summer swim season. For Megan, it would be a summer spent in a hospital bed not in the pool.

Leaving her swim team friends and the pool behind was hard. Being in the hospital so far away was even harder. It would have been difficult enough if the surgery had gone well, but there were complications requiring additional surgeries. In the end, Megan underwent five separate procedures, further extending her recovery and her time away from her friends at the Y.

With remarkable intuition and sensitivity her swim team friends quickly grasped the emotional toll this must have been taking on their friend. In addition to a plethora of cards and pictures, twenty of Megan’s teammates came together to create a phone tree.

Daily, a team member would call or text Megan. Even more remarkable, the teammates held each other accountable by following up with the designated callers, making sure Megan was contacted daily.

Finally, her ordeal over, Megan returned home. She still required therapy and strength training to rehabilitate her leg.

She greeted her first day of swim practice with trepidation. The water had always been her sanctuary. Now, she wasn’t so sure and the new leg was still giving her trouble. The team had already celebrated Megan’s return with a welcome home party so this was going to be a “business as usual” practice.

Megan pulled on her cap, slid into the water and promptly froze. Fear gripped her, her leg throbbed; the pain seemed worst than she remembered. She hesitated, wondering whether she would ever be able to swim again.

Quickly, instinctually, her teammates sensed her panic. Several of them grabbed pull buoys from the rack. “Hey Coach!” someone yelled. “Can we do a “PULL” workout today?” A pull workout required no kicking as the swimmers “pull” themselves through the water using only their arms.

Two of Megan’s teammates floated up next to her. “C’mon Megan,” one of them whispered. “We’ll pull with you.” Megan, nodded, took a deep breath, dipped her head and pushed off the wall, heading down the lane with her friends.

First and foremost, we are stewards of one another. It is a concept with which many of us struggle and yet a group of 10 year olds not only grasped it, but embraced it. In our competitive world we often hold a “survival of the fittest” point of view. Television sportscasters recite injury lists indicating who might have the advantage in “today’s game.”

The fall of a competitor at work is viewed as a chance to move ahead, rather than an opportunity to be of service to another. Weakness is not tolerated. Many of our business planning models call for us to identify weaknesses and mitigate or eliminate them.

Stewardship calls us to hold a different view and to take a different approach. We are called to stand with the weak, the injured, and the hesitant, rather than exploit them or celebrate their misfortune.

Megan’s teammates (a group of 10- and 11-year-old girls from a local YMCA) understood that it was more important to help another be better than it was to be the best. After all, if the world is to be a better place, we all must pull together.

Dear God, remind me constantly that others heal better with me than without me.

“Competition is such a virtue, and everybody's so busy competing, they have no time for compassion.” ~Major Robert Odell Owens, New York Politician (b 1936)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Free to Forgive

2011-09-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

“Without forgiveness life is governed by... an endless cycle of resentment and retaliation.” ~Roberto Assagioli, Italian psychiatrist (1888-1974)

No one really knew who started it. All anyone knew for sure was it started during the blizzard of ’78. Even in ’78, Herb and Pete had been next door neighbors for what seemed like a long time. The heavy snows that year made it increasingly difficult to keep the walks clear and the driveways open, especially with nothing more than a broom and snow shovel.

One particularly bad morning, Herb and Pete had spent hours clearing their respective driveways. Neighbors swear it was a passing snowplow that undid the two men’s hard work that day, but each accused the other of shoveling his driveway shut.

The advent of snow blowers escalated the feud. They both wielded their mechanized snow-removal devices like weapons, quickly destroying the work of the other. A well-meaning neighbor, in an effort to make peace, tried to intercede. Both men gave the self-appointed peacemaker the same five word answer: “Mind your own damn business.”

After years of increasingly angry exchanges, they lapsed into silence and stopped talking with one another. They could get away with it because everyone knew better than to try to address the issue with either of them.

Herb, the older of the two, now in his late eighties, had grown bent and arthritic. Manual labor, such as shoveling snow, had become too hard for him. It was as much as he could do to walk, let alone drag out the snow blower, get it going, then clear the walks and driveway. His limited income prevented him from even paying one of the neighborhood youngsters to do it for him. Still, every weekday morning, he would walk to the corner store for the daily paper.

One morning he came back from his walk to find his driveway cleaned and his walkways swept. All winter long the pattern was repeated. Every time there was a snowfall, Herb would return from his walk to find the snow had been cleared away.

Pete had noticed the plight of his old adversary, and whenever it snowed, he would wait for Herb to leave for his walk, and then quickly clear the snow from his property. Strangely, no words ever passed between the two of them. Instead, once a week, during his visit to the corner store Herb would purchase a bag of peanut butter-filled pretzels; Pete’s favorite. Every Friday, without a word, he would leave them in Pete’s mailbox.

So it went, until one day Herb collapsed on his way home. He was rushed to the hospital, but the end had finally come. Pete came to the hospital to make amends with his old enemy, but talk was unnecessary. They had made up long ago.

One of Jesus’ parables relates the story of a man who is forgiven a great sum of money by the King (God). Immediately thereafter he encounters a fellow servant who owes him a much smaller sum of money. He physically accosts the man and has him thrown in jail. Hearing about the incident the King recalls the first man, chastises him for his lack of forgiveness, then turns him over to the torturers.

The Unforgiving Servant locked away his fellow servant in a physical prison. We are capable of doing something metaphorically similar to those with whom we disagree. Like Herb and Pete, we often incarcerate one another emotionally.

This incarceration doesn’t take place behind steel bars and concrete walls, but it can be just as effective. Instead we withhold our love and acceptance, we express our contempt and sometimes, we shun others and cut off all communication with them. There are people who don’t even remember what initiated the feuds in their lives; all that matters to them is they not be the one who gives in.

The satisfaction we might feel initially from “shunning” another is often short-lived. It can be quickly replaced by feelings of guilt, remorse, angst and even fear. These emotions pick at us, worry us and generally disrupt our day.

Just as the unforgiving servant is turned over to the torturers, we relinquish ourselves to the tortures of these disruptive emotions because of our unwillingness to forgive another. As faithful stewards we know our time is much better spent forgiving others than holding them hostage with our emotions.

And actions speak louder than words. Herb and Pete were reconciled exclusively through actions and not words. So, if the right words don’t come easily, save the apologies, skip the arguments and do the kind and forgiving thing. You and the one you forgive will both be free.

Dear God: May I never lock someone away in the prison of my contempt.

“To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” ~Lewis B. Smedes, "Forgiveness - The Power to Change the Past," Christianity Today, 7 January 1983

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Finding Calcutta

2011-09-08T11:10:00.000-07:00

"You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself." ~Alan Alda, American actor, director, screenwriter, and author (b 1936)

My brother Kirk had a banana Popsicle. He was sitting on our old green glider going gently back and forth, a pale yellow ring forming around his lips. The Popsicle had two sticks so it could be separated into two Popsicles. I had been circling trying to figure out the best approach.

Finally, I tried the direct one: “Hey Kirk, how ‘bout giving me half of your Popsicle.” “NO,” he replied, looking straight ahead. “You can share it; it’ll split right in half.” “NO,” he repeated. “I’ll let you ride my bike.” “NO, I have my own bike,” he smirked, shifting his gaze only slightly.

For the next five minutes I pleaded, threatened, cajoled and begged, but to no avail. Finally, I realized my brother wasn’t coveting his Popsicle so much as he was enjoying saying “NO” to me. “What kind of a brother are you anyway,” I yelped in desperation. “The kind who knows where the Popsicles are,” he responded smugly. “Why don’t you go get your own Popsicle?”

I let the screen door slam in defiance as I headed into the house. Rummaging through the top of our old Frigidaire I came upon a Dreamsicle (my brother’s favorite) tucked all the way in the back.

Triumphantly I returned to the glider, plopped down next to Kirk, and began dramatically unwrapping the frozen delight. “Hey, where’d you get that?” Kirk asked. “Same place you got that,” I responded, pointing at what was left of the banana Popsicle.

“I’ll let you share the rest of my Popsicle if you give me a bite of the Dreamsicle,” Kirk offered in his most conciliatory tone. Pausing for effect I turned my head to meet my brother’s gaze. “Why don’t you go get your own Dreamsicle;” I said parroting his earlier remark. A moment later I sunk my teeth into the coveted ice cream treat.

There is an oft repeated story, credited to Erma Bombeck, about a very successful woman. No longer finding satisfaction in her career or the money it brought her; she decided, in a moment of clarity, to write Mother Teresa of Calcutta. She sought Mother Teresa’s advice on what she could do to change her life and volunteered to come to Calcutta to help. Time passed, so much so it appeared no reply would come; till one day a battered letter arrived with a Calcutta postmark.

She opened it, and inside, on a single sheet of plain paper, she found a one-sentence reply: "Thank you for your offer, but find your own Calcutta." Though some of us might react to the seeming abruptness of the response it bears tremendous wisdom.

The exchange between my brother and me was all about what we wanted and couldn’t have. We perceived the answer to our happiness as something which seemed to be satisfying someone else. This goes deeper than envy. It is an engrained belief that if something makes someone else happy it will make us happy as well. There is an entire industry built upon this concept… It is called advertising.

Mother Teresa’s response goes deeper than simply responding to what makes us happy. It is a challenge which begins with the word “FIND.” Finding something requires more of us than responding to the first thing which gets our attention. If we are to find anything of value we are called to plan, to seek, to consider, to discern; and sometimes to even start over.

The second key to the statement is “YOUR OWN.” The successful woman thought someone else’s path would provide her with the satisfaction she sought. In reality, we are all uniquely gifted. Each one of our personal “Calcutta’s” will be different.

Much of this is conditioned by where our gifts lie and where they do not. Part of the process is not only looking outward, but looking inward as well. Often, the answer to what is “OUR OWN CALCUTTA” is not a matter of what we need, but what needs us.

Finally, Calcutta is a long way away. Our Calcutta will likely be a long way away for us as well. This means we need to start now. It also means, like the journey of a thousand steps, it will take many small steps to get us there. Life is not a movie. There are few cathartic moments and no music crescendos when they do come. More often than not, one day we will suddenly realize, “This was my Calcutta.”

Dear God: Remind me that I may need to become lost to find myself.

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.” ~Douglas Adams, English writer and dramatist, (1952-2001)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Don't Duck Life

2011-09-01T12:40:00.000-07:00

“If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)

My right arm was tucked in tight against my right side, elbow at my belt line and gloved fist firmly against my cheek. I rested my chin almost on my chest and hunched my shoulders in, protecting my vital organs. Arturo, one of the instructors, laughingly called this the cockroach position.

Dean, a 4th degree Black belt, gracefully stepped to my right, hooking with his left trying to come inside my guard. Pivoting away, the blow still glanced off my sparring helmet. Keeping my left side toward him, I tried to present him with the narrowest silhouette and therefore the smallest possible target; but to no avail. He had been landing his jab on the forehead of my sparring helmet almost at will.

Several times during the sparring session, I had attempted a spinning heel kick which Dean had, each time, effortlessly avoided. Judging he was in range I tried the maneuver again. This time, however, I purposefully allowed the kick to miss, planted my foot and followed through with a spinning back fist. The result was a resounding and satisfying “thunk” as I connected with Dean’s helmeted head. Quickly I moved out of range, congratulating myself.

My satisfaction was short-lived however. Turning to face Dean again, I noticed a change. His eyes narrowed, his jaw set, I knew he was no longer toying with me, he was stalking me. In a moment of, what can only be described as desperation, I chose to attack. Errantly, I came straight forward, rather than at an angle, as I had been taught. Immediately diagnosing my strategy, Dean made a quick crossing step and executed a perfect step-over side kick.

As quickly as I had come forward, I was now traveling backward. The low angle of the kick and its flawless execution had literally launched me. I landed flat on my back on the canvas. The little oxygen left in my lungs went out of me and I lay there like a beached grouper gasping for air.

A moment later, Dean was standing over me looking down, not triumphantly, but with concern. Pulling off his glove, he popped out his mouthpiece. “Sorry man, reflex action. You OK?” he asked. “Not sure,” I croaked. Slowly I started to roll onto my side. A ribbon of pain shot through my ribcage. Dean knelt next to me and carefully explored the place where his kick had landed with his hand. “Your rib’s pushed in,” he remarked. “Let me fix it.”

Standing behind me, Dean reached under my arms and grasped my wrists. In one swift motion he brought me to my feet. Releasing my wrists, he laced his fingers behind my neck, placed me into a full nelson, and leaned back, arching me backwards as he went. In an instant there came a popping sound. A blinding burst of pain shot through my body as the damaged rib shifted back into place.

My wife was not fond of the fact that I took kick-boxing classes. To keep peace, we had made a pact; since I had chosen a hobby which virtually assured physical injury, I had agreed not to complain about them¬ – ever.

The next day, without her knowing, I went for x-rays.

It is easy to view life as a competitive sport. Getting ahead means besting the other people around us, whether at work, in the parking lot, and sometimes even at church or at home. We herald our triumphs and bind up our wounds, only to return to the fray again the next day.

Operating in a competitive world means protecting oneself; never giving ourselves away or exposing ourselves to perceived harm. Our natural inclination, when we come under what we perceive as an attack, is to “circle the wagons.” This is particularly true when it is our beliefs which are being threatened.

All the techniques I learned in kick-boxing seem to apply. Expose as little of yourself as possible displaying only the narrowest silhouette. Distance is your greatest ally and if you must get close to someone, do so only briefly. Wherever possible, engage your opponent only on your own terms. Keep your fists closed, your head down and your arms tucked in to protect yourself. In other words, employ the cockroach position.

As Christians, Jesus provides us with a very different perspective. Our prevalent image of Christ is naked, nailed to a cross, arms spread wide, fully exposed, unable to protect himself. Jesus lived his life full out, with incredible openness and frankness. This “openness” is freedom at its best and purest.

Conversely, the efforts we take to protect ourselves, to avoid mistakes, to be successful, to avoid embarrassment, to always be right, also restrict us. In fact, protective, closed approaches confine, constrain and limit us. Like Christ, we are called to live our lives openly and freely. Trying to protect what we are and to restrict who we are, only magnifies our personal issues; it doesn’t resolve them.

Life is not a boxing ring. It is a wide-open vista of possibilities. If you don’t let down your guard, you will never encounter them.

Dear God, help me this day to live my life openly.

“In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albanian Catholic Nun, Founder of the Missionaries of Charity, Nobel Peace Prize recipient (1910-1997)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message

Gratitude is Plate Full

2011-08-26T08:27:00.000-07:00

“Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving.” ~W.T. Purkiser, preacher, scholar and author (1910-1992)

Margie Kibelbeck carefully positioned the perogies in the Corningware container. They had to be placed just right, then covered with wax paper, so they didn’t stick together. The container, which had made its way around the neighborhood more than once, wasn’t hers. It belonged to her friend, Stella Rodzianko.

They had known each other since childhood. Their families had lived across the street from one another since the Depression. The dish had been so well-used the blue poppies on the side had begun to wear away. It had been the vehicle for everything from brownies to golumpkie (Polish stuffed cabbage rolls).

This time it had arrived at her house, a week or so earlier, filled with chocolate chip cookies. Margie had been surprised by unexpected guests from out of town. And just when she was wondering what she could put out for them, Stella arrived unexpectedly with the cookies. Coffee and cookies had been enough to satisfy her guests. “A friend is the one who comes in when the whole world has gone out,” she thought to herself as she placed the last row of perogies on the wax paper.

There had been times during the “Big Depression” that the only food there was to eat was given by a neighbor. She often thought this was where the tradition of “never return an empty dish” had come from. During the Depression, people shared what they could with one another. There were no social services back then; unless someone took pity on you, you could starve.

She remembered a time when she was a little girl. It was the end of the month and there was nothing left in the cupboard. Mrs. Del Vecchio had dropped off a plate of rigatoni, using the excuse that she had accidentally made too much. After dinner Margie’s mother had carefully washed the plate while saying what sounded like a prayer. Once clean and ready to be returned, they had nothing to put in the dish.

So, instead, Margie’s Mom took out a small sheet of tablet paper. Seated at the kitchen table, with fountain pen in hand, she carefully wrote “Blessed are they who care for their neighbors.” Then she taped the note to the inside of the plate and instructed Margie and her brother to return it. “Make sure you say thank you,” she told them.

Mrs. Del Vecchio answered the door to find the two children standing there holding out the plate. Taking the plate, she read the note, then dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Tell your Mama this is the best thing I ever got back in my plate,” she had said.

Returning from her thoughts, Margie put the glass lid on the Corningware and headed out the door. Hopefully Stella had the coffee pot on and one of her famous nut rolls in the oven.

Stewardship within a community, be it a neighborhood or a parish, is made up of many small acts of kindness. Note the emphasis on the word “acts” or “action.” I grew up with the “never return an empty plate” tradition, but over the years I have heard it continually maligned.

The arguments are always the same. If you gave someone food because they didn’t have any, how can you expect them to return the dish with food in it? Some will say they use disposable containers so there is no need to return anything. Others will say they simply return a clean plate. Sometimes you are just lucky to get the plate back at all!

Margie’s Mom answered the question: “What do you give back?” There is always something to give back. She was grateful, but there needed to be something more. Gratitude is not only a feeling; it seems to require a response from us, as well. In fact, gratitude is responsive, interactive, relational and even spiritual.

When we feel grateful, how do we respond? Recognizing that something good has happened in our lives, do we try to make something good happen in someone else’s? What do we do with the gifts we receive from God? Do we feel grateful and, in turn, act upon them? Are we returning those gifts with increase or are we simply returning to God an empty container?

Our gifts give us the impetus to respond with gratitude, and gratitude is a call to action. Never return an empty plate.

Dear God: Teach me to never return an empty plate.

“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” ~John Fitzgerald Kennedy, 35th President of the United States (1917-1963)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Puzzled

2011-08-19T08:14:00.000-07:00

“Often our life is like putting a puzzle together without the lid to the box.” ~Deacon Brian Clements, Catholic Deacon and counselor, Archdiocese of Los Angeles

We sat at a folding card table in the middle of our living room. It had a padded green vinyl top and gun metal gray legs. Next to me sat my sister Bonnie and directly across from me my sister Linda. Spread across the table was the 1,000-plus puzzle pieces of an octagonal shaped jigsaw puzzle. The puzzle box lid was strategically placed where we all could see it, for easy reference. The lid depicted three white cats on a dark blue field.

At first we thought this would be a “piece of cake” compared to the multi-colored landscape or waterscape paintings of sunsets and the like we had worked on before. Our miscalculation was that large patches of similar colors provided few hints as to how the thing fit together. As was our custom, we started by sorting the pieces by color. Next we assembled the frame or outside edge of puzzle. Having completed those two steps we were now faced with the gaping void in the middle.

My strategy was to find puzzle pieces with the bits of dark blue and white which made up the boundary where the cats’ image met the background. And for a time, it seemed to be working. Then I came to an impasse. Two pieces, which appeared to be part of a paw, had fit together seamlessly.

Holding them over the puzzle I carefully moved them about over the surface comparing the color contrasts to portions of the already assembled puzzle. Occasionally I would attempt to fit them into a spot, with no luck. Fruitlessly, I searched for the location of the two pieces. Finding none, I set them aside and began fitting in other parts of the puzzle.

After a time, I returned to the pair of pieces and resumed the search for a fit. Frustrated by the process, they were set aside once more. Another round of matching blues to blues and whites to whites till a third time I picked up the two connected pieces determined, this time, to find their location. I became so frustrated I attempted to fit them into spots that I had previously tried, thinking somehow things had changed or that I must have missed something. Finally, defeated, I sighed with exasperation.

Bonnie had been patiently assembling a different portion of the puzzle. She looked up when she heard my sigh of frustration. “What’s wrong Jimmie?” she asked. “These two stupid paw pieces won’t fit anywhere,” I whined. “Let’s see,” she said, taking them carefully into her hands.

Calmly she surveyed the partially assembled puzzle, the box lid and the puzzle pieces in her hand, slowly turning them this way and that. Finally, her eyes brightened. “They’re not part of the paws, they’re part of the ears,” she said triumphantly, slipping them easily into position near the top of the puzzle.

My former Spiritual Director was fond of saying, “God’s plan B is always better than my plan A.” My question was, “How do you know when you are working God’s plan and not your own?” “You just know,” he replied.

There are times in my life I have felt like a windup toy in a corner, reversing direction every time I bumped into a wall, only to turn and bump into another. Chasing success up a blind alley always leaves us at a dead end. “We spend our lives climbing ladders only to find there is nothing up there” (Thomas Merton).

Why does this happen? Often, like my two puzzle pieces, we mistake ears for paws. We decide what we are, what we want to be and what gifts we think we possess. Having determined what we think will make us feel successful; we proceed based upon those assumptions. In other words, we decide we are paws, even though we are really ears.

However, what we deem successful and what God intends for us are sometimes divergent paths. We head off in a promising direction only to find ourselves frustrated because things don’t fit where we think they should. More importantly, we don’t fit where we think we should.

How do we know when we are working God’s plan? It is not unlike my sister and the puzzle. First, we must trust that God has a plan for us. We are a part of His plan; part of a much bigger picture. In other words, like a puzzle piece, we have to trust that we fit into the plan. This is one of the reasons staunch individualism is so dangerous. It denies our potential contribution to the greater whole; the greater good.

Second, we cannot rush the result. Our life takes time. Our life unfolds before us; it is not created by us. Much as we would like it to be results-oriented, it is not (at least not our own results). If we do manage to manufacture the results we want, either they will not be satisfying, or they will dissipate quickly. Ever wonder why, when we get something we thought we really wanted, we still feel empty and unsatisfied?

Third, we have to do the footwork. Life is not about waiting around for God to give us insight. It is very much about OJT (on the job training). Bonnie took the time to look at the pieces in different ways; she viewed the entire puzzle (in its incompleteness), not just the section she was working on.

Next, she looked at the box lid to see what the image should be, not what she wanted it to be. When she finally made an attempt, the result came easily. It was not the result I was looking for, but the result which was supposed to happen within the context of “the bigger picture.”

There will be times in our lives when life seems unfair or out of sync. The job we thought was perfect for us goes to someone else. Our relationships seem contentious for no apparent reason. Things we thought would make us happy just don’t. But there is a “sweet spot” in our lives. How do we know when our life is headed in the right direction? When you are working God’s plan, you just know.

Dear God: Just point me in the right direction today…please.

“Life consists, not in holding good cards, but in playing those you hold well.” ~ Josh Billings, nom de plume of Henry Wheeler Shaw, American humorist and lecturer (1818-1885)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

United in Prayer

2011-08-13T07:11:00.000-07:00

"Don’t pray when you feel like it. Have an appointment with the Lord and keep it. A man is powerful on his knees." Cornelia “Corrie” ten Boom, Dutch Christian Holocaust survivor who helped many Jews escape the Nazi’s during WWII (1892-1983)

It was 5:00 am in Krakow, Poland. As was his custom, Aaron Pokojowy arose early to begin his morning prayers. Ever since his people had been in exile, daily prayers (Avodah Sheba-Lev) had been a substitute for Temple sacrifices.

He recited a brief prayer as he rose from his bed; then another to announce his awakening to the Lord. “Like God doesn’t know I’m awake,” he mused. He liked to pray his Evening Prayer, but Morning Prayer was the best. It got him out the door on the right foot.

As he bathed Aaron recited another prayer. “I wash my body with soap and my soul with prayer,” he thought. Now came his favorite part; the three T’s (Tzitzi, Tallit and Tefillin). First he recited a blessing as he affixed the ritual fringe (tzitzi) to his prayer shawl (tallit); then a blessing while donning the prayer shawl. Finally, he took out two small leather boxes containing quotes from Hebrew scripture. In preparation, he prayed as he strapped the phylacteries or tefillin to his forehead.

Before leaving for synagogue; he spoke the Yetzer Hara: a prayer to help him overcome any evil inclination he might have during the day. Then out the door he went into the light of early morn.

It was 6:00 am in Chicago, Illinois. Sister Mary Elizabeth McNault sat in her room at the mother house of the Sisters of Mercy. A single candle illuminated the room. She was quietly reading Psalm 63: “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you.”

She was praying the Divine Office also called The Christian Prayer. Though Morning and Evening Prayer were required of all clergy and those in religious orders, even before she entered the convent she had “prayed the Hours” Her Uncle Harry, a priest, had taught her how to “pray the Psalms” when she was twelve.

The intercessions for the day closed with, “Give us strength in temptation, endurance in trial, and gratitude in prosperity.” “AMEN,” she thought to herself. Concluding her prayers, Sister Mary Elizabeth quickly shrugged on her coat and headed out the door. She had to get the Mission Food Pantry open and ready.

It was 5:23 am in Cairo; time to perform Salah (“formal” or “obligatory prayer” in Islam). The large speakers erupted from the minarets announcing the prayer; “God is great,” the voice repeated four times. Abraam Fayium rolled out his prayer rug and knelt down in the street facing Mecca.

This was how he communicated with God. By reciting “The Opening” or the first chapter of the Qur’an Abraam placed himself in God’s presence; praising Him, and asking for guidance along the “Straight Path.”

The prayers also reminded him to give thanks for God’s blessings. By allowing his life to revolve around Allah, Abraam could more easily submit to His will, allowing Allah to take precedence over all other things in his life.

The speakers fell silent. Abraam finished his prayer then carefully rolled up his rug, returning it to his pack. There was much to do before the next call to prayer. He had melons to sell.

Sister Mary Elizabeth’s Morning Prayer (or The Divine Office) has its origins in ancient Hebrew customs. The same custom’s which Aaron Pokojowy follows. The early Jews, in addition to Morning and Evening Prayer, recited prayers at 9:00 am, 12:00 noon and 3:00 pm.We know this from the Book of Acts.

The early Christian Church adopted this form of prayer (Morning and Evening prayer as well as three daily prayers). Its basic structure, combining Psalms, prayers, canticles and readings, has remained fairly constant throughout our history.

Islam also has five daily prayers based on the time of day as prescribed by the location of the sun. Many scholars believe Muhammad adopted the form of the Divine Office for the five daily prayers of the Islamic faith from the Christian Monastic orders in his locale.

We often publicly decry individuals who profess a “my way or the highway” mode of thinking. This "I'm always right" thinking is, quite simply, narcissism. Sadly, this very characteristic, which we dislike in individuals, we often readily buy into as a group.

Group narcissism is dangerous. We readily profess our party, our country, our culture, our race or our religion got it right and every other one else is somehow misguided or inferior.

In other words, as a group, we all agree to tell ourselves the same lie. We agree our party is always right, our race is superior, our country is better, the other gender is inferior and our God is the God.

This approach is a slippery slope. Wisdom can never come from this kind of thinking, particularly when it comes to faith. Taking this path; proving our way is the right way, implies our religion is the only one God cares about. Therefore, we are the only people God loves.

Aaron, Sr. Mary Elizabeth and Abraam all participate in daily prayers. Daily, three of the principle religions of the world kneel down together to pray…at the same times…and in much the same way. The origins of our prayers have grown out of each other.

Is it not amazing, that even with a 2,000+ year history of strife and discord we all pray together; probably without realizing it? And, we pray for the same things: for God to make each of us a better person.

As stewards of the world we are called to find God’s identity in all people and we have a good starting point in our daily prayers.

Dear God: Today I pray with all my brothers and sisters.

“Are we not all children of the same God?” Blessed Pope John Paul II (1920-2005)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

An Unlisted Number

2011-08-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

“My friends? The left ones think I’m right and the right ones think I was left behind.” ~Author unknown

In the News:

“Vice President Joe Biden joined House Democrats in lashing tea party Republicans Monday, accusing them of having “acted like terrorists” in the fight over raising the nation’s debt limit, according to several sources in the room.” (Jonathon Allen & John Bresnahan from Polictico.com)

“He didn’t call tea partiers terrorists – just crazy people who wanted to detonate a nuclear weapon. See? Completely different!” (Jim Geraghty from National Review Online)

“Bachmann, a GOP presidential candidate, and Palin, a potential candidate, each reacted with outrage at a report that Biden, at a closed-door meeting with Democrats yesterday on Capitol Hill, said that Tea Party Republicans had “acted like terrorists” in negotiations over a debt-ceiling compromise.” (The Hill.com)

“Senator Charles Schumer (D-NY), in a shocking and world-shaking allegation, has accused the Republican Party of malevolently attempting to undermine the United States in an attempt to hurt President Barack Obama in the 2012 general elections.” (America’s Economic Report Daily)

…and so it goes.

There is a certain entertainment value in politics – to a point. Beyond that, one has to become concerned at the verbal grenades which are so casually lobbed between various groups. Setting aside that there might be “organizations” that deserve their reputations (such as the KKK) the danger is that we begin stereotyping one another based on labels such as Democrat, Republican, Conservative, Liberal, etc. We abhor racial profiling; but when it comes to political profiling, it is open season.

There is, however, another side to this issue. It is an incredible irony in our American society today. We Americans are rugged individualists. We want to be our own person and we resist being labeled by others. And yet, we seem to readily adopt certain labels, choose to live by them, and defend them ardently.

Why do we allow our lives to be conditioned by these labels?

Is it possible these “categories” are nothing more than a shortcut – a way of making our belief systems more efficient or more convenient? “I am a liberal therefore I am pro-choice, pro-same sex marriage and anti-war”? Or, “I am a conservative therefore I am pro-life, pro-war and anti-same sex marriages”?

Much as we profess to be open-minded, we seem quite willing to take on the biases of our own particular group.

So I ask you: Was Jesus a Conservative or a Liberal? In point of fact, he was neither. At times he was very conservative; and at others, very liberal. Regardless of the situation – whether it be talking to “forbidden” women, dining with the “unwashed,” throwing moneychangers out of the temple, or being bathed in expensive oil – the one constant is that Jesus defies being labeled.

His response to every situation is often surprising, sometimes shocking, and always appropriate. (Note: Those who defined themselves by their labels such as the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Temple Elders found Jesus’ actions very inappropriate.)

Moreover, in Scripture, when people remove their labels and break out of their categories, great things begin to happen. A Samaritan man interrupts his journey, walks across the road, and cares for a beaten and dying religious enemy. Zacchaeus, a tax collector, comes down from his tree and gives back all the money he has swindled, four times over. A woman at a well, of perhaps dubious character, leaves her jar behind and goes to town to share the good news. Saul, who dedicated his life to persecuting Christians, has an encounter on the road, and becomes St. Paul, one of the greatest Apostles of all time.

There are also those who can’t leave the label behind. When Jesus challenges the rich young man to change his life – to prove that God is more important than money, power and prestige – the young man can’t change, and goes away sad.

The great Christian writer, Fr. Ronald Rolheiser once instructed his listeners to “always have an unlisted number.” In other words, don’t allow your actions to make you easily labeled. Don’t succumb to the stereotypes.

As good stewards of our time, we are called to give consideration to all points of view, even when it is uncomfortable. We are called to be boundary breakers, to cross lines, to listen to and hear the other voices in the world. To make decisions and choices based on consideration and contemplation, not simply the party line.

We are called to live out our beliefs, not live up to our label.

Dear God: Teach me to encounter life on a “case by case” basis.

“There are a lot of stereotypes to be broken which I think a lot of us are doing. What I do is, as soon as people try to pin me down to one kind of part, I'll play a very different kind of role, so it explodes that stereotype.” ~Joan Chen, Chinese American actress, director, screenwriter and film producer (b1961)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Running Interference

2011-07-28T10:44:00.000-07:00

“The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another.” ~ Thomas Merton, Trappist monk, American Catholic writer (1915-1968).

We turned and started up the stairs toward the entrance. To our right were several international warning signs (no smoking, quiet please, etc.) The most prominent and most repeated was a picture of a camera with a red circle around it and a red line through it. Clearly photography was not going to be permitted.

At the top of the stairs was a guard. Rhythmically, in a heavily accented voice, he repeated the same warning, “no pictures.” Dutifully, I quickly stepped aside and took a moment to shove my Canon Rebel, lens and all, into the specially padded knapsack I carried.

Stepping back in line I held up the bag displaying it to the guard. To my surprise, he smiled briefly and gave me a “thumbs up” sign. We turned to our right and headed into one of the most beautiful and inspired rooms in the world – the Sistine Chapel. The Chapel (named for Pope Sixtus IV) is famous for its architecture and its frescos painted by the likes of Michelangelo, Botticelli, Perugino and Pinturicchio.

The room was packed with people, shoulder to shoulder, staring in all directions. Three guards stood on the raised portion of the floor where the altar was located, watching the crowd carefully. Periodically one would speak a single word, “Silenzio,” at which the crowd would quiet to a murmur. This was randomly interspersed with another phrase, “No pictures!”

We were admiring Michelangelo’s “The Last Judgment” on the main wall when a flash of light erupted to our immediate left. In an instant one of the guards descended on a group of three young women, barely 10 feet from us. “Did you not hear us tell you no pictures?” the guard scolded in a stern voice. “What does it take to make you understand?” Two of them looked at the floor, but one, the offending camera still in her hand, began to flush. “Please don’t cause me to have to make you leave,” the guard continued.

Finally, the girl glared at the guard. “You can’t make us leave,” she responded. Her accent was distinctly American and definitely urban. “We paid to be here.” “You can’t make us leave,” she repeated. “We’ve got rights ya know!”

Teresa and I stared at each other trying not to chuckle. Did she just say that? Really?? The Sistine Chapel is located in Vatican City which is a country unto itself. Essentially, when you’re there, like any foreign country, you play by their rules. They can do whatever they deem appropriate.

The guard seemed to suppress a smile, perhaps recognizing the naiveté in the woman’s comment. He stared back at her for a moment. Then, with a sweeping gesture of his right arm, palm open he motioned toward the exit. “Please, per favore, this way.” He said this almost sympathetically, as if to a child who had just been scolded. Without a word of protestation from any of them, he led them to the nearest exit and watched as they left.

The guard returned to his station shaking his head. Immediately the sound level began to rise. “Silenzio,” came the voice of another guard. This time, the room fell into near perfect silence.

We live in arguably the most desirable country in the world. After wresting itself from the monarchial rule of England, the United States of America developed its own form of democracy, with a legal system to match. Having fought tirelessly for our independence, we set about to assure we would not be “interfered with” again. One of our early flags bears the simple phrase, “Don’t Tread on Me.”

For the most part, the laws of our democracy are constructed to provide us with protection from the interference of others. As an individual this means, “I should be able to do what I want, provided I don’t harm (or interfere with) anyone else.”

How often have we heard this phrase used as an argument in favor of legalizing some activity or something? “I’m not hurting anyone, so what’s the harm in my doing what I want to do?” I have little doubt the same reasoning was at work that day in the Sistine Chapel. “If I take a picture, it’s not hurting anyone.” “In fact, it’s my right. After all, I paid to be here.” Is it any wonder Americans have the reputation for being the staunch individualists of the world?

And, while we like to think our Christian values play well with the laws of the land, there are distinct contrasts between the two. Our individualism calls us to stay out of each other’s way, while our Christian values call us to get involved and to sometimes intervene where necessary.

Jesus was often accused of interfering with the smooth operation of the “status quo.” His ministry was one of intervention; intervening when others were in need. In fact, he describes the difference between those who will enter the kingdom and those who won’t as being those who get involved and care for others as opposed to those who don’t. He doesn’t mention following the rules or a policy of non-interference (Matthew 25).

As modern-day Christians, we are called to intervene at times. We are called to intervene in the cycle of poverty, we are called to intervene in the rising rate of homelessness, and we are called to intervene until all are educated and have adequate medical coverage. We are called to intervene wherever inequities exist.

We are called to be interventionists and to be agents of positive change. Wherever there is inequity between the poor and the rich, the underprivileged and the privileged, the uneducated and the educated, or the marginalized and the mainstream, those of us who profess to be Christian should be at work balancing the scales. It is not an easy task and it is often unpopular. Is it any wonder there have been so many Christian martyrs (45.5 million in the 20th century alone)?

We are blessed to live in a country of great freedom, but with great freedom comes great responsibility. We are not called to go our own way and stay out of the way. We are called to follow the way Jesus modeled for us – involving ourselves in the world, leaving it better than we found it.

Dear God, who needs my help today?

“He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.” ~Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., African-American clergyman, activist and leader in the American Civil Rights Movement (1929-1968)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Reconcilable Differences

2011-07-21T17:37:00.000-07:00

“I know there is strength in the differences between us. I know there is comfort where we overlap.” ~Ani DiFranco, American singer, song writer and guitarist (b. 1970)

We walked up the jet-way and into the terminal in Frankfort, Germany only to be greeted by a line. Anyone who travels by air knows lines are to be expected in airports: Ticket lines, security lines, even lines for the bathrooms. This line was different. Normally one walks out of the plane into the concourse and then on to the restrooms, the next departure gate or baggage claim area before encountering the next “line”. This line however, was smack dab in the middle of the concourse.

Standing on tip toe I could see the line bent to the left, terminating at a group of three, very official looking, glass boxes. Inside each was a very official looking immigration agent, dressed in a starched, button down shirt, replete with epaulets and brass buttons. All three agents sat bolt upright in their swivel chairs.

Never underestimate the Germans when it comes to formality.

Though the line was long it moved with smooth swiftness and efficiency separating into three smaller lines as we approached the glass cells. Finally, it was our turn. Teresa and I dutifully handed over our passports, already opened to the page with our picture. The agent smiled briefly when I greeted him in German, but without breaking stride, he rhythmically scanned the documents, compared our pictures to our faces and summarily stamping each one. “Have a safe trip,” he said stolidly.

Never underestimate the Germans when it comes to efficiency either.

To our surprise, our departure gate was only short walk past the security barrier we had just negotiated. In fact, we never left the concourse in which we had arrived. “What was that all about,” we wondered?

Three hours later we found ourselves “boots on the ground” in Leonardo De Vinci airport in Rome… standing in another line. This time, however, we were waiting for our luggage. The Tour Director, Luigi (no joke, his name was Luigi), had greeted us as we entered the baggage claim area. “Itsa gonna take a little time for your bags to come,” he had said. “You’re in Italia now.”

We were not quite sure what his inference meant, but he was right. The bags were slow in coming and when they did finally appear, it was only a few at a time. With agonizing slowness they came. Plop…plop…plop. They slid from an opening above down onto the slow moving conveyor.

“We still have to get through customs and immigration,” I muttered under my breath to Teresa. The three bags we checked arrived on the conveyor one at a time…four to five minutes apart.

Finally, with all our luggage in hand, we headed for the exit doors. Our passports in hand we were prepared to show them to the Italian immigration officials. Clearing the doorways we turned to our right and headed up a wide ramp. To our surprise we were in the main part of the terminal; no guards, no gates, no nada. Confused we stopped.

“Is something a wrong?” came Luigi’s voice from behind us. “We were expecting an immigration check point,” I explained still looking around. “There’s a no check point.” When you came through Frankfort the Germans did that for us.” “We have, how you say, an arrangement,” he said with a smile.

Tucking our passports in our jackets and adjusting our luggage we followed Luigi the rest of the way up the ramp. “I don’t lika their food, but when it comes to security the Germans are primo,” Luigi exclaimed, as we headed for the exterior doors and the busses waiting outside.

“Birds of a feather flock together.”

It is true, most of us tend to affiliate with those who are much like us; those who share our tastes, our interests, our personality type, and most importantly, our world view. In doing so it provides us with a certain comfort level. It minimizes conflict and, since everyone with whom we associate agrees with us, it gives us surety we are right about most things. They give us a comfort level because they seem to affirm the way we are, is the way we should be, and everyone else should be.

This provides us with a false sense of stability in our lives. But, because a boat is not rocking, it doesn’t mean that it’s not sinking. God made us different and gifted us differently for a reason.

The people we need in our lives are often those who are unlike us in some ways. Those who are gifted differently do not appear in our lives to identify our short comings. Rather, they are there to provide us with additional strengths…strengths we don’t personally possess. Because they see the world differently they provide us with a kind of communal peripheral vision.

Rather than hiding amidst a crowd of sameness, we need to surround ourselves with the people who are good at the things we are not. Who see the world much differently than we do. The Germans may thrive on security and organization, but they are sometimes a bit too serious. The Italians may be passionate, with a wonderful cuisine yet can be somewhat disorganized at times. Though their cultures are very different by working together they filled in the gaps for one another.

Birds of a feather may flock together, but it doesn’t mean, in so doing, they are productive...just comfortable. Different gifts serve different purposes.

There is a strong message here for those of us who work with ministries, councils, committees or boards. Our tendency is to work toward gaining consensus. The easiest way to do so is to have a committee filled with members who all think alike. Such an approach is a recipe for failure, or at best, mediocrity. (A recipe with one ingredient isn’t a very good recipe.)

Leaders need followers, planners need implementers, and dreamers need pragmatists. We all need complementary personalities in our lives to make us whole even when it comes to spouses.

We are called to seek out those, not who are like us, but those who are unlike us…who have gifts we don’t. Who see the world differently. Whether we are talking about countries, committees or even courtship we must look for those who complete us. It is not a matter of being right or wrong; it is a matter of blending the different gifts God has given each of us.

Dear God: Teach me to embrace the differences in others so that together we may be whole.

“Much of the vitality in a friendship lies in the honoring of differences, not simply in the enjoyment of similarities.” ~ Father James Fredericks, PhD., Associate Professor, Loyola Marymount University

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Be Prepared

2011-07-15T07:53:00.000-07:00

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rage at close of day.” ~ Dylan Thomas, Welsh poet & writer (1915-1953)

Her eyes danced with enthusiasm beneath her wire-rimmed spectacles. The glasses bespoke a person much older than the one with whom I was conversing. Everything about her seemed incongruous. Quick, elegant gestures were out of sync with her drapery-like clothes. The articulate animated conversation sounded like it should be coming from the CEO of the latest tech company, not the willowy figure before me.

I tried to focus on the conversation, but I couldn’t help being bemused by the image of the person in contrast to the way in which she presented herself. Her dazzling white starched head piece, high collar coupled with the long brown habit of a Carmelite Sister had me a bit off balance. When she spoke however, she spoke with such enthusiasm and conviction I could not help but listen.

We were standing in the garden of a reception villa on the outskirts of Rome. Archbishop José Gomez had been honored at a Mass in St Peter’s Basilica that morning, and now our group of over 300 was celebrating. Mother Regina Marie, the Mother General of the Carmelite Sisters of the Most Sacred Heart, had engaged me in conversation regarding her Order’s latest project. The Carmelite Sisters run care facilities such as Marycrest Manor and Santa Teresita in Alhambra, California. They were building more units to house those for whom they care.

“We care for people during the most important part of their life,” she continued. For a moment I remembered my High School graduation. Our Superintendent of schools had made a similar comment in his commencement address. “These years are the most important years of your lives,” he had said with conviction.

Such a statement might have been wasted on a group of adolescent teenagers, but spoken in reference to an age group, many of which were in skilled nursing, palliative or hospice care, seemed as incongruous as the person in front of me.

“Sister, I’m not doubting you, but how could the years or months spent at the end of life, probably in declining health and being cared for most of the time, be the best years of anyone’s life?” “Essentially, we’re spending it preparing to die.”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, gesturing with a pointed finger. “What could be more important than the time we spend preparing to meet God?” Her logic was unassailable.

“To every CEO, business owner or project manager I have ever met I have put the same question: when are you most attentive to a project, a new product or a new campaign; and they always have the same answer: ‘Right at the very end!’ Just before it launches, is rolled out, or goes into production!”

At this point she had me hooked; I couldn’t help but listen. “How is what I do any different? The people I care for are at the end of the project we call life. I need to help them ‘finish their project!’”

The call to dinner came unexpectedly. We quickly exchanged business cards and bid each other goodbye, promising to reconnect. “I must go,” she said with a smile. “I’m supposed to sit with the Cardinal.” She disappeared in a rustle of dark brown cloth and starched white linen.

The great spiritualist, St. Ignatius, once quipped that “All life is a preparation for death.” To us, members of the 21st century world, there seems to be a kind of morbidity in this thinking. We think we should be living life “to its fullest” rather than spending it preparing for death. To us death is a terminus rather than a point of departure.

Perhaps therein lies the problem. We spend our lives trying to build a successful life rather than preparing for a successful death. Struggling to survive each of a succession of days, we ignore the journey to our next “jumping off” point.

When we leave on a long trip, we take care to make sure we are well prepared and the things we leave behind are cared for (our house, our pets, perhaps even an elderly relative for which we are responsible). We put time and effort into those preparations to assure “the trip” is everything we hope for. If we take this much time preparing for a trip of a few weeks duration, how much more carefully should we prepare for our trip into the afterlife?

Each day we would do well to ask ourselves Mother Regina Marie's question: “What could be more important than the time we spend preparing to meet God?”

Dear God: What can I do today to prepare for my death?

“Death, when it approaches, ought not to take one by surprise. It should be part of the full expectancy of life. Without an ever- present sense of death life is insipid.” ~Muriel Spark, award winning Scottish novelist (1918-2006)

*Special thanks to the Mother General, Mother Regina Marie O.C.D. and the Carmelite Sisters of the Most Sacred Heart

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Trial Separation

2011-07-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

“Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn.” ~Irvin S. Cobb, American author, humorist and columnist (1876-1944)

As I stepped under the barricade I felt the seam in the center of my dress pants separate. There was no tearing sound so the stitching must have simply given way I thought. I race walked to the Men’s Room to assess the damage. With less than twenty minutes to start time there was no possibility of repair and no time to turn back.

I twisted back and forth in front of the men’s room mirror like a teenage girl checking the length of her skirt. My purpose was similar – checking to see what you could see and what you couldn’t. Fortunately, my dress jacket seemed to be sufficiently masking my unexpected “wardrobe malfunction.” I washed my hands and headed back upstairs to the main floor in search of my wife.

Teresa was in the middle of a lively conversation. Interrupting, I hastily motioned her over and explained the situation. She too discreetly checked for telltale signs of undergarments and, finding none, pronounced me presentable. A moment later the heads-up call was given. We pulled our banner from its stand and proceeded up the side aisle to the back. Teresa tarried slightly behind, surreptitiously checking my derrière one last time for adequate coverage.

We were the last of four couples in the procession, each of us leading a group to the front. The opening procession began. I nervously watched each group pass by then turning to proceed down the aisle. Finally it was our turn. With a sigh of resignation, I hoisted the banner into the air and we headed down the center aisle of Our Lady of the Angels Cathedral with 3000 congregants looking on.

At first, I was concerned I was about to be irreparably embarrassed, but then I noticed people were smiling, nodding in our direction and some even waving. Cameras were being pointed toward us. This was turning out to be somewhat gratifying. On the other hand, why were we suddenly the center of attention?

Then it hit me. Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I realized the Archbishop was immediately behind us. He was the center of attention, not us. We reached the altar, wheeled to our left, and headed for our seats at the back of the seating area.

Three hours later, the Deaconate Ordination Mass ended. It was time to process out the way we had come in. I was again concerned that my clothing issue might be noticed. Again we were the last of the four banner bearers. Each of the three couples peeled off and headed up the aisle on cue until it was finally our turn. If they had not noticed my clothing “problem” on the way in, surely they would notice on the way out.

Then to my surprise, I realized the order of egress had changed slightly. Instead of the Archbishop following us out, this time, we were following him. There was no one behind us. With the congregants’ heads turning to follow the Archbishop, no one was focused on us. Together, Teresa and I gracefully processed up the aisle around the corner and out of sight.

Most of us want big miracles in our lives. We want seas parted or, at the very least, walked across; we want thousands fed by bread seemingly created from nothing and people miraculously healed or, better yet, returned from the dead. In short, we expect life’s great obstacles to be laid low just for us, like Jesus telling the Sea of Galilee to be still.

In First Corinthians 1: 22, the Apostle Paul chides his audience for exactly the same kind of thinking: “For indeed Jews ask for signs and Greeks search for wisdom.” Like the Corinthians, we crave demonstrations and explanations.

God, on the other hand, operates within the mundane world of the everyday and often with a sense of humor. He is constantly present to us. And, if we take the time to be both introspective and retrospective, we can find His subtle hand in everything we do.

The day my pants “parted” at the Cathedral, I had been looking forward to being in the opening procession with anticipation. It was a low-risk position, with high visibility. It was attention-laden, but with minimal responsibility. My pleasure at getting some attention however was quickly replaced by a desire for anonymity. In a moment I went from wishing to be noticed to hoping I wouldn’t be.

My prayers were quickly answered and with a subtle lesson attached. Quite simply, I was far better off not getting attention than being the center of it. Appropriately and even symbolically the attention went to a representative of our faith…the Archbishop.

Part of a disciple’s response is coming to the realization that God touches us in a thousand different ways every day. It is not God flattening mountains and filling in valleys to make our way level and straight which will make the difference in our lives. Rather it is our eyes being opened and our hearts being touched which will save us.

We no longer need to be the center of attention when God becomes the center of our attention.

Dear God: You are the center of my life.

“Self-importance requires that one spend most of one's life offended by something or someone.” ~Don Juan, legendary fictional character

© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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Full Participation

2011-06-24T06:16:00.000-07:00

“Work joyfully and peacefully, knowing that right thoughts and right efforts inevitably bring about right results.” ~ James Allen, British philosophical writer (1864-1912)

I had spent the better part of a month working on the project. The power point and excel spreadsheet, which would accompany the presentation, had required a full week of work. Now the day had come for the presentation. I was as nervous a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Except, around this table sat executives not rocking chairs. One could almost smell the stench of corporate politics in the air.

My boss, a senior vice president and a savvy corporate politician in his own right, gave me and the project a brief introduction. Now I was on my own. I was barely through the title slide when the onslought of questions began. Some were things I would cover later on in the presentation, some were unanticipated and some seemed to come from beyond left field.

All too quickly my well planned presentation degenerated into a verbal free-for-all of questions, objections and suggestions. The excel spreadsheet I had so painstakingly created was “toast” within 10 minutes. Different information, different formatting even a different font and font size were requested. It felt like I was digging a trench in a sand dune. The harder I worked the faster it back-filled.

50 minutes later, it was over. The Execs filed out telling jokes and making lunch plans. I stood there staring at my laptop as if it had betrayed me somehow. My boss came up beside me unnoticed. When I finally sensed his presence I turned to face him. “That went well,” I sighed sarcastically. “Actually, it did,” he replied with a grin. “I got totally leveled!” I exclaimed. “They completely changed everything.”

“Did you really expect this group would accept everything you presented carte blanche?” I looked at him blankly. “You couldn’t possibly have foreseen every objection, anticipated every question and guessed what they might be thinking; you don’t know their operations, their blind spots or what problems they may be facing.”

“But, I thought that was my job.” I sighed. “This was a test balloon” he continued. If we were going into production tomorrow it would be different.” “As it is, we are off to a great start, with lots of options, ideas and alternatives.” He smiled thoughtfully. “Rue the day when the only alternatives you have are you own.” “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

In our modern culture we are conditioned to win, to be right all the time, to be in control and to make all the right moves. It is as if life was a game show and to win we have to have all the right answers. Real life doesn’t operate like that though the media would have us believe it does.

Being right all the time is overrated and having all the right answers is unrealistic. The right answer today may be the wrong answer tomorrow. We now know the “food pyramid” of the fifties, full of red meat and cholesterol laden foods, was a death sentence. Physicians, at one time, publicly endorsed various brands of cigarettes. Things change. So do the answers.

Does this mean most of us should step back and let a few gifted people make all the decisions? In point of fact, life has little to do with “product” and a lot to do with “process”. This does not mean results are not important, but their pursuit at the cost of everything else can leave us wallowing in self pity and doubt.

The day I walked into that conference room I thought I had to have everything figured out and all the right answers to all the questions…even those from left field. My boss knew my preparations were only a platform for discussion, a place to start, a peg in the sand. I had not labored in vain, but I eventually realized I had simply created the foundation, not built the building.

As good stewards of our time we are called to full and active participation in life and in so doing we improve the quality of life for others. Understanding what this participation means is the key. It is part of a much greater process. This form of humble participation can still provide beneficial results, but without the pressure of always having the right answer and the guilt when we do not.

Dear God: Remind me I am called to full and active participation.

“Results! Why, man, I have gotten a lot of results. I know several thousand things that won't work.” ~Thomas A. Edison, American inventor (1847-1931)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

First Impressions

2011-06-17T07:25:00.000-07:00

"Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired. Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies." ~Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, Catholic Nun (1910-1997)

He brought the little old woman to her room. The secretary had heard she was diminutive in stature, but he was still shocked at how tiny, old and wizen she seemed. The attendant followed them carrying her battered old suitcase. Unlocking the door he let her into her room then motioned the attendant to bring the bag inside. “Where would you like this” he asked? “There in the chair would be fine” she responded simply.

The young man dropped the bag in the chair, gave a slight bow and headed out the door. The old woman stood there staring all around the room. “Is everything OK” The secretary asked. “It’s much too big and a bit overdone,” she said absent mindedly.

“Well if you need anything just pick up the phone over there and the operator will take care of you,” he said brightly heading for the door. “It’s getting on into the evening and I imagine you will want to rest.” She didn’t respond. “I will call for you at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.” Still no response… “Goodnight,” he said and closed the door quietly.

The next morning the secretary knocked on her door at 9:00 sharp. He heard rustling in the room, but no response. He knocked again; a little harder this time. Finally the door opened slightly and the woman peered out at him. Her eyes seemed tired and bloodshot. “Come in, I need a few minutes,” was all she said. As he entered he noticed the suitcase was still in the chair where it had been placed the night before. It seemed untouched.

The little old woman returned from the bathroom. She looked particularly tired, “Did you sleep well,” he asked. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, I had work to do.” “Work?” he responded. “Yes, work.”

The secretary was incredulous. “What did you do last night” he asked. “After you left I went out into the streets to minister to the poor.” “There are a lot of poor people in this city.” “I didn’t get in till after 2:00 this morning.”

“You were out wandering the streets of Rome at night?” The secretary couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Well you didn’t expect me to sit around here all night did you?” she responded. A faint smile seemed to appear for an instant. “His Holiness is expecting us,” advised the secretary recovering his composure. “We need to be on our way.”

As they left he wondered what other revelations the day had in store.

Teresa and I leave for Rome next week to attend Archbishop Jose Gomez’ Pallium Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica. Over the last several weeks we have had a lot of questions: What is the appropriate dress at the various functions? Where are we sitting? Where is our hotel in relationship to Vatican City? What shoes should be worn and/or carried (style versus comfort)? How does one greet a Bishop, an Archbishop or a Pope? And so on… All of this seems very important at the moment. After all, we want to look our best. Or at least we don’t want to look bad because we did something inappropriate.

The day Mother Teresa met Pope John Paul II for the first time she too could have focused on a number of things: What she would say? How she would appear? How nice her room was? How impressed she was with Vatican City? Et Cetera… And yet, she focused on none of these. Mother Teresa focused on what she always focused upon: caring for the needy, the underprivileged, and the hungry, essentially anyone in need.

In a world where so much attention is given to how we look, how we act, the impression we make, will we be respected and a host of other self image issues are we not all called to something greater? In fact, are we not called to care for one another first and, in so doing, save the world? Today, if we all decided poverty would end, it would end. If we all decided wars would cease, there would be peace. If we all made sure everyone was fed, there would be no more hunger.

When it comes to making an impression on the world do we want to be remembered for how good we looked when we showed up? Or, like Mother Teresa, do we want to be remembered for the number of people we helped and saved?

Dear God: Remind me always that my actions speak louder than my appearance.

"People are often unreasonable and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.
If you are honest, people may cheat you.
Be honest anyway.
If you find happiness, people may be jealous.
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough.
Give your best anyway.
For you see, in the end, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway."
~Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, Catholic Nun (1910-1997)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

The Scenic Route

2011-06-10T06:29:00.001-07:00

“There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.” ~ Beverly Sills, American operatic soprano (1929-2007)

We had only been married a few weeks when Teresa asked me to take her shopping for a new pair of sandals. In the late seventies, in the tiny river towns of southwestern Pennsylvania, the place to go shopping was Charleroi, PA, a small town along the Monongahela River 25 miles south of Pittsburgh. I assumed it would be a quick errand since there was a Montgomery Ward located there. We could just “zip in and zip out.”

We parked on Lincoln Avenue and got out of the car. I turned toward the “box store” on the corner; its big sign beckoned. “Just a second,” Teresa said from behind me. Turning I found my young bride surveying the surrounding shops; swiveling her head like a quarterback looking for open receivers. “There!” she exclaimed pointing at a little boutique store across the street. Off we went with me still glancing over my shoulder at Montgomery Ward.

A bell rang, announcing our arrival, as we entered the shop. The shop keeper, an older woman with a gray bouffant hairdo, smiled and nodded her welcome. Teresa headed for the racks along the wall. After she perused what seemed like every shoe in the place, she selected a pair of Bass Sandals. Surprisingly, to me anyway, she requested two sizes. The shopkeeper dutifully brought two boxes from the back room. One pair fit beautifully. Though we were newlyweds I instinctively reached for my wallet.

“Thank you,” Teresa said politely, handing the boxes back to the woman. “Don’t you like them?” I asked. “Oh, they’re perfect,” she responded. “So, let’s get them,” I insisted. “Not just yet,” she said with a grin. “We’re not done yet,” and out the door she went with me trailing behind.

I was confused at this point. Being male, my instincts were different than hers. Shoe shopping should be like going to the hardware store: find what you need, buy it and go home. As the afternoon wore on I quickly learned there was another very different approach.

We visited no less than ten more shops and stores, including Montgomery Ward which we visited last. The drill was pretty much the same at each. Teresa would carefully examine the entire selection of sandals available to her. Then she would pick one or two selections, request multiple sizes and try all of them on, ultimately returning them politely to the sales person.

After perusing the contents of eleven stores I was both tired and mystified. There couldn’t be any more purveyors of shoes in Charleroi…could there?

“Now what?” I asked hesitantly. “One last stop,” Teresa replied and headed off again; me tagging along behind with my hands stuffed in my jeans pockets. To my complete surprise we arrived back in front of the shop at which we had started.

The bell again signaled our arrival. The shop keeper, the older woman with the gray bouffant hairdo, was still behind the counter smiling. “Do you have those Bass Sandals I tried on a while ago,” Teresa asked politely. “Sure do,” the woman replied. “They’re right here.” “Haven’t put them away yet,” she said handing the box to Teresa. Teresa tried them on a second time checking their “look” in the tilted floor mirror. “I’ll take these,” she said finally.

Relieved, but still confused, I again reached for my wallet; this time handing over the requisite amount of cash. The shopkeeper bagged the shoe box and receipt and handed them to Teresa. After the appropriate social niceties we left…the bell signaling our departure.

“So are you happy with those?” I asked as we headed toward BJ’s Diner. “They’re perfect!” Teresa responded. “Well, if they were the right ones, why didn’t you buy them in the first place,” I asked.

Teresa looked at me with a smile of wisdom and love I have come to know well over the years. “Because,” she began patiently; “Now I know they are the right ones.”

On that day as a new husband I quickly learned why they are called “shopping trips.” What I considered running an errand, was an event for Teresa …an excursion…an experience. Life, after all, is meant to be experienced, not simply circumnavigated as quickly as possible.

Our shopping excursion helped me get to know Teresa a little better: what she liked and what she didn’t. The trip also gave me a glimpse into a world I would probably have not experienced otherwise. It also created a few small mysteries to ponder along the way. For instance, did the shopkeeper sense Teresa would be back and kept the shoes out or had she simply neglected to put them away?

Sadly, we live in a world where shortcuts are expected and sought out. They are also dangerous. Every shortcut taken excludes something or someone. We may think we are being more efficient, but there is also a price to be paid, a cost to be extracted. That loss is often loss in relationships, experience or knowledge. If you don’t believe me try speed dating sometime.

Shortcuts limit our satisfaction. Teresa found satisfaction in shopping. I found satisfaction in getting to know her. We are called to be stewards of our life’s journey. Spiritually, we are called to take the road less traveled, the scenic route. No truly lush oasis can be reached without crossing a desert first.

Dear God: Show me the scenic route.

“A firm foundation is built on growth; not rushing….We can never break nature’s laws. Too often we break ourselves trying.” ~Acquire Wisdom & Live with Passion (blog)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

All in Good Time

2011-06-03T06:48:00.000-07:00

“We are limited, not by our abilities, but by our vision.” ~ Author unknown

James ran his eyes down the agenda for the meeting of the Our Lady of Guilt and Suffering Parish Council. As President, it was his responsibility to run the meeting. There were only two items on the Agenda. The first was to determine whether it was appropriate to give every parish employee a lily for Easter.

The second was the discussion and approval of a Strategic Plan for the upcoming year. Many changes were taking place within their local church, the community and the Church at large. This plan could have long range implications of extraordinary consequence upon the future of the parish.

After a brief prayer and perfunctory approval of the minutes from the last meeting they launched into the first agenda item. The discussion regarding the lilies was detailed, lively and hotly contested.

Everyone seemed to have a different opinion. Was a lily an appropriate gift for the male members of the staff? Should a more generic gift be offered? What about employees who were allergic to plants? What if a lily would bring back bad memories of a recently deceased relative? Perhaps a “cash in lieu” option should be offered? Maybe the church could get a better “deal” from a parishioner who was also a florist? Was a precedent being set which, if later discontinued, could negatively impact morale?

The discussion went on endlessly. James suddenly realized there would not be sufficient time left to discuss the Strategic Plan; a plan which could forever change the direction, future and outreach of the parish. He announced to the Council, because of the lack of sufficient time remaining, discussion of the Strategic Plan would have to be postponed until the next quarterly meeting.

The question was hastily called on the “lily issue.” The Parish Council voted to go ahead with the gift of a lily to each employee. There was one dissenting vote; a creationist who believed selling and buying plants was equivalent to slavery. “Plants are people too,” she chirped.

After a brief prayer the meeting was adjourned.

During my early years in the insurance industry I worked with a gentleman who proudly proclaimed he was a “big picture guy.” According to him, his job was to come up with sweeping strategic ideas. The planning and implementation was left to everyone else. I thought he was just lazy.

Secretly, we would all like to think we are “big picture guys” when in fact most of us prefer and enjoy minutia. Strategic thinking takes courage, patience and requires waiting, watching and adjusting. Minutia is much more fun and satisfying. It makes us feel busy and useful even when we don’t really accomplish much. Most of us don’t like to wait and watch. We want to do something and move on

Much to our chagrin the Big Guy (Gal?) upstairs operates on a very strategic level. He is the Big Picture Guy my coworker was talking about. The result is we often have to wait and watch for Him.

This is particularly painful when we are looking to Him to resolve our problems. “When God closes a door he opens another door,” we say to ourselves not realizing there may be a long, dark hallway in between. Jacob’s son Joseph waited 2 years in prison after he interpreted the baker’s and the cupbearer’s (butler’s) dreams before he was released (Genesis verses 40 & 41).

Even our prayers seem to reflect this predisposition for instant results. We pray for God to change our circumstances rather than to change us. In the end, it may be fun and satisfying to talk about lilies for workers, but the strategic aspect of our lives is so much more important. Wait for it.

Dear God: Please…Just give me a hint!

“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.” ~ Joseph Campbell, American mythologist, writer and lecturer (1904-1987)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Stress Test

2011-05-27T06:02:00.000-07:00

“Stress is nothing more than a socially acceptable form of mental illness.” ~Richard Carlson, American author, psychotherapist, and motivational speaker (1961-2006)

It was a lump. Allison didn’t want to admit it, but she couldn’t deny its existence. She had checked and double checked, but it was definitely there. Her regular cursory check in the shower had discovered it and the doctor’s exam had confirmed it. The mammogram, which the doctor had scheduled immediately, was still several weeks away.

Allison started to take stock of her life. Her personal spirituality emphasized the importance of cultivating a good attitude and positive action as opposed to allowing the negative stresses of her life to have their way. As she contemplated the previous several months a realization came to her. She had been allowing the stress of daily living to weigh upon her. Small slights had bloomed into significant offenses. Irritations which in the past would have gone unnoticed were now sticking to her like a bur on a cocker spaniel.

It was time to start dumping the bad karma. Over the next several weeks she conscientiously went about eliminating stress in her life. Sometimes she avoided certain situations or people. Other times she had to rely on exercise, yoga or meditation. Whatever it took, she did it. Gradually she could feel herself unwind.

The day came for the mammogram. The test was incredibly uncomfortable. Whoever described it as having a piece of glass laid across your chest and a truck parked on top of it got it right. She waited anxiously for the results. Finally the clinician called her.

When she came to her in the waiting room the clinician seemed perplexed. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but we can’t find a lump…anywhere.” “We’ve checked and double checked, but we can’t find anything.” We have no explanation.” “We suggest you check in with your doctor again in six months.”

Allison thanked the woman, shrugged on her jacket and headed for the door. She smiled to herself: “They may not have an explanation, but I sure do,” she mused.

Our lives can be very toxic. Not simply because of pollutants in our air or bacteria in our water, but because of the lives we live. Our lives seem filled with toxic events, toxic people, toxic jobs and toxic relationships. Some of us even have toxic commutes. Just like free radicals in our circulatory system we carry hurts, fear and resentments around with us. This emotional debris divides our attention, drains our energy and steals our happiness even when nothing bad is happening at the moment.

It is as if we were dragging a bag of rocks around with us. These rocks are laden with latent emotion. Some are old and slimly because they have been held onto for a very long time. Some are new, perhaps still hot from a recent argument.

At times when we are not already sufficiently unhappy we take a rock from the bag and examine it, thereby conjuring up anew all the raw negative emotion of an old event. Professional counselors call this technique, “wearing a groove in your head” the result of reliving negative experiences over and over again.

Being good stewards of ourselves means eliminating the toxicity from our lives. The answer is to empty the rocks from our bag. The answer is simple, but doing so is not so simple. It may mean letting go of a resentment, making an amends, asking for forgiveness, extricating ourselves from a toxic job or relationship, receiving counseling to discover the source of latent fears, or simply taking time to relax.

Detoxify your life. Our life is a gift from God and we are called to care for ourselves just as much as we are to care for others. Drop the rocks! Get rid of the bag! Don't let your mind bully your body into believing it must carry the burden of its worries (Astrid Alauda).

Dear God: When I am stressed help me focus on you.

“It ain’t what ya eat what gives ya ulcers, it’s what eats you.” ~unknown

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Period of Adjustment

2011-05-20T06:47:00.000-07:00

“Perfection is the goal, but the law is Murphy’s.” ~ Unknown

Like Zacchaeus, Ace Adams was a diminutive man. Rather than climbing trees to get a better view his habit was to sit on the backs of chairs and benches with his feet on the seat. With a name like Ace Adams it comes as no surprise his chosen avocation was the Bowling Pro at the Route 19 Bowling Center in Washington, Pa.

In my teens I joined a Saturday morning bowling league. Not so much because I liked to bowl, but because there were girls my age there too. Unfortunately, my bowling skills left much to be desired. The harder I tried the worse it got. The good news was I was welcomed onto a team because my handicap was so high. The bad news? I didn’t impress anyone with my skills, particularly the ladies.

Finally one afternoon, after a particularly poor performance in a tournament, I asked Ace for help. A day and time were arranged. The following Thursday afternoon I appeared at the lanes with my bag, ball and shoes. Ace took me to a lane at the farthest end of the building.

As was his custom he sat on the back of the plastic bench as I changed shoes and placed my ball on the return rack. Turning to face him I crossed my arms and awaited instructions. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward the lane. “Don’t you want to show me what to do?” I asked. “No, go ahead and let me see you bowl.” Puzzled by his response, I half heartedly threw the ball down the alley. Even before the ball reached the pins I turned and awaited a response. “Again,” was all he said.

This went on for nearly ten minutes. After a plethora of gutter balls, missed spares and several attempts where the ball actually slipped out of my hand I was completely frustrated. “I thought you were going to teach me to bowl,” I whined. “I am,” he said with a crooked little smile. My face and posture telegraphed my surprise.

“Look,” he began. “There are two ways to teach you to bowl.” “I can show you a standard address, with a three step approach and a basic arm swing.” “You will learn to bowl quickly, but you will only be average.” “Or, I can watch you for a while, make periodic adjustments and let you practice those adjustments.” “You won’t learn to bowl quickly, but you will learn to bowl well.” “OK?” Ace asked with a smile. “OK” I responded, looking at my feet. (I had been hoping for some more immediate gratification.)

Every Thursday afternoon, for what seemed like months, I had a half hour session with Ace. Each one was the same. He would watch me for 10-15 minutes and then make minor adjustments: sometimes it was the release, the slide, the rotation or the spot. As a result, I slowly improved and my handicap steadily dropped.

I still remember the day I bowled my first 200+ game. Joyfully sharing the news with Ace, I glibly remarked, “Guess I won’t need lessons anymore!” “Have you bowled a perfect 900 series yet?” Ace asked. “No, I replied sheepishly.” “Then I’ll see you next Thursday,” Ace responded with a twinkle in his eye.

All of us want to be accomplished at living. We think there is a formula to be followed which will minimize our stress and make us happy. Numerous self help books fill our shelves (or electronic readers) suggesting they have the answer to life’s issues; that we can be happy if we will only follow a few simple instructions.

In point of fact, like my first day of bowling lessons when I expected Ace to “teach me to bowl,” we often look for instant gratification and immediate success. In other words, show me the basic techniques of living so I can get on with my life.

Such an approach can lead us to a superficial and single dimensional existence. Life is, in and of itself, a learning process, much like Ace’s bowling lessons. We start living and we make adjustments. Things happen (or don’t happen) and we make the necessary changes. Hopefully there are people like Ace in our lives who point things out and help us adjust.

We all want so desperately to be “complete” human beings. We want our current state to be a state of perfection. On the other hand, if you asked someone: “Do you want to have a future?” Most would answer, “Absolutely!” And yet, if we are “complete,” we have no future! Incompleteness, therefore, is a gift. It gives us opportunities to make adjustments and try again; to have a future.

Our need for growth is what gives us a future. Is it any wonder God loves us in our brokenness…our incompleteness? Our brokenness does not condemn us, rather it gives us life…it gives us a future. When it comes to life we will never have a perfect score, but we will have opportunities to grow and we will have a future.

Dear God: When I am frustrated or impatient, remind me that you are not finished with me yet.

“Growth implies a person is not finished and, therefore, has a future.” ~Companions in Hope: The Art of Christian Caring by Robert J. Wicks, Thomas E. Rodgerson

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Time Sensitive

2011-05-13T11:32:00.000-07:00

“All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.” ~Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., American Baptist Minister and Civil Rights Leader (1929-1968)

Ann Marie wasn’t very happy. As part of her company’s consolidation strategy her office had been moved from her local community to Woodland Hills. Her short commute had become a twice daily odyssey. The Metrolink train took her only as far as the Chatsworth Station. From there she relied on bus service to get to her office. Today it had been a half hour wait for the bus. When it did arrive the bus number was off by one number.

Concerned and confused she clambered aboard flashing her pass to the driver. “Does this bus stop at Warner Center?” she asked tentatively. The driver flashed here a radiant smile, “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you where you need to go!” “Pick yourself a nice seat." "We’ll be there soon.” Ann Marie couldn’t help but smile back. The door closed behind her with a “whosh-click” sound. She made her way to the first open seat and plopped into it.

As the bus pulled away from the curb Ann Marie pondered her encounter with the driver. He was a tall black man in his late thirties or early forties and seemed too well groomed and dressed to be a bus driver. Then she realized he was humming as he drove.

The bus slowed to a stop at another pick up point. A Hispanic mother and her three children started to climb aboard, but the mother faltered as she tried to negotiate the stroller up the narrow steps. Out of his seat in a flash the driver deftly caught up the stroller in a single movement and lifted it aboard simultaneously offering a cheery greeting.

This scenario was repeated at every stop. No matter the station in life of the person entering the bus they received the same warm, non judgmental greetings and attentive treatment. Little old ladies had their heavy shopping bags lifted into the bus; teenagers on their way to school got high-5’s and a “Wass-up!”

Those departing the bus received the same treatment. They were gently returned to a harsh world with a “have a nice day, see you soon” or “you have a good day, OK?”

As they pulled up to yet another stop Ann Marie noticed, what appeared to be, a homeless man sitting in a wheelchair near the tiny bus shelter. A tattered American flag hung limply from the top of a stick which was duct taped to the frame of the chair. On his lap was a battered box of toffee candies in waxy wrappings. “Wheelchair comin’ on!” the driver chirped. Two teens sitting on the flip up bench under the wheelchair sign quickly moved to seats in the back without being asked to do so.

The ramp dropped from the side of the bus and the homeless man rolled aboard. The driver produced a crisp dollar bill. “Did you save one of those candies for me?” he asked the homeless man. “Sure” the man replied in surprise, breaking into a grimy, nearly toothless grin. The driver selected a candy from the box, pocketed it with a smile and returned to his seat. The bus rumbled off again.

Ann Marie was surprised to realize they were arriving at Warner Center. The ride hadn’t seemed quite so long today. Heading toward the front of the bus she guided her laptop bag and purse between the seats. She reached the top of the stairs and turned to head down them. “You have a nice day now,” came the voice from behind her. When she turned back she met the same sincere smile which had greeted her when she had boarded earlier that day. “You to,” she replied returning the smile.

She turned and headed down the stairs and out into the warmth of the morning sun feeling a little better about her commute.

The impact we have upon the world will not be measured by our station in life, but by what we do with our station in life. Some think they need power, prestige or position to effect change in the world. In point of fact, we can have as much positive impact on the world from behind the steering wheel of a bus, as we can from the corner office of a downtown high rise; perhaps more.

Many of us view the stewardship of time on a quantitative basis. We ask: How much time should I give to my church? How much time should I spend volunteering in the community? How much time should I spend with my family, etc.? Being good stewards of our time on earth is not always measured in minutes and hours however. More often it is measured by the quality of the expenditure: the smiles it generated, the love it demonstrated and the human kindness it distributed.

Quantitatively the bus driver was spending his time working, but the way in which he did his job made all the difference. Not only did he influence the attitude of the others he served, but he modeled Christian behavior for them as well. His life was a homily we will never hear in church.

Every moment of our lives, every encounter with another human being is an opportunity to make a difference in their lives and our lives as well. In the end, the world will not be saved by a few grand gestures, but by a million small kindnesses.

Dear God: remind me to live my life so as to positively affect the lives of all I meet.

“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.” ~Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., American Baptist Minister and Civil Rights Leader (1929-1968)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Peace Treaty

2011-05-06T08:46:00.000-07:00

“Are we not all children of the same God?” ~ Karol Józef Wojtyła known as Blessed John Paul II (1920-2005)

Three days a week Maizah traveled from the Muslim Quarter in East Jerusalem to 26 King David Street. It was her personal time. She took the bus though it could be confusing even if you had lived there all your life as she had. When she arrived, Maizah dutifully showed her pass and was admitted to the facility. Having completed the check-in process she turned and headed toward the designated room.

Miriam loved the old city and had lived there all her life as her family before her. There were problems yes, but Jerusalem was the center of her faith and the “HaRova HaYehudi” (the Jewish Quarter) in the western part of Jerusalem had always been a special place. Still, two or three days a week, she would go to King David Street. Today was one of those days.

The domed roof of the building looked a little like a mosque, but the green, lush grass in front was always inviting. Miriam traversed the entryway and carefully presented her ID. Having been admitted, she headed for a room at the end of the hall.

Arriving at the open door Miriam entered carefully. As always the Palestinian woman was already there. The woman was removing her “hijaab” the scarf many Muslim women wore around their heads. Miriam walked carefully past her.

Maizah, was removing her “hijaab” when the Jewish woman arrived. She always seemed to be there at the same time as Maizah. She pretended not to notice her. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the Jewish woman removed her head scarf a “tichel” or “mitpachat” as they called it and placed it in her bag. It looked much the same as her own scarf she thought. Maizah bent to relace her shoes and noticed the other woman doing the same.

Miriam sensed Maizah's eyes upon her and turned to meet her gaze. They embraced each other with their eyes for only a moment or two. Then…a single, slight, simultaneous nod to one another and they returned to their laces.

They went to their respective stations, made the necessary adjustments to the equipment and seated themselves on their stationary bikes. For the next 30 minutes they would pedal, side by side, burning the same calories and pumping the same red blood through their circulatory systems. For you see, 26 David Street is the location of the *Jerusalem International YMCA.

There is a difference between negotiating a truce and making peace. Battles can be won, but they do not create peace. Truces can be negotiated and tolerance agreed to, but the so called “peace” which results is usually a synthetic peace.

Real peace is cultivated, not declared and it can only grow out of a willingness to accept, love and try to understand one another. The killing of an international criminal does not solve the problem of our unwillingness to reach out to those who share our values, but not our faith or the way we express our faith.

Whether we worship God, Y*w*h or Allah the message has always been the same. We are called to love one another as much as we love ourselves. Yet, we live in a world where we spend more money on guns than food. Given the same resources we spend on war we could easily conquer world hunger and poverty.

If peace is to become a reality it will begin with people like Miriam and Maizah. It begins with sharing space, brief eye contact, a subtle nod of recognition, or a faint smile of acknowledgement. Peace grows as we become comfortable with one another.

In short, it begins with our willingness to let down our guard. After all, the handshake evolved out of a demonstration you didn’t have a weapon in your hand.

Miriam and Maizah probably don’t think of themselves as diplomats or peacemakers, but they are, even though there are no borders to be negotiated or treaties to be signed. They are the beginnings of peace though they share neither the same religion, language, nor the same culture. There is one common ground however. We all sweat in the same language, don’t we?

"Here is a place whose atmosphere is peace, where political and religious jealousies can be forgotten, and international unity fostered and developed." ~from a dedication address by Field Marshal Edmund Lord Allenby at the Jerusalem International YMCA April 18, 1933.

*Established in 1878 and operated by YMCA of the USA since 1920, the Jerusalem International YMCA (JIY) is a safe haven for religious, cultural and intellectual freedom for the people of Jerusalem. Jewish, Muslim and Christian people of all ages come to JIY to enjoy the atmosphere of understanding and unity. For its efforts in promoting the dignity of humankind and peace in the region, JIY was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993.

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Sacred Spaces

2011-04-22T08:30:00.000-07:00

Sitting outside my professor’s office I was getting antsier by the minute. It just wasn’t fair and I would tell him so! Dr. Bleasby’s Oral Interpretation class was required for every Speech Major. It was a simple class really. All one had to do was read aloud various pieces of literature in such a way people understood what each reading was about.

In preparation I practiced each assignment for hours in my dorm room to the point where every one was committed to memory. But, no matter what I did, or how much I prepared, I could never manage better than a ‘B’ from Dr. B.

Thoroughly frustrated I had made an appointment under the guise of asking for some “coaching.” In doing so, I figured I would get some answers and have the opportunity to convince him I deserved more A’s than B’s.

In the midst of my third (silent) rehearsal of what I was going to say, the door to Dr. Bleasby’s office suddenly swung open and there he stood. “Come on in Jim,” he said with a friendly smile and a beckoning wave of his hand. He motioned to a leather chair opposite his old wooden desk which he sat behind facing me. The afternoon sun filtered through the window warming the back of my neck.

Dr. Bleasby leaned back in his chair; his glasses perched on the end of his nose and his hands steepled in front of him. He looked like a painting by Norman Rockwell. “How can I help you?” he asked in his soft, mellifluous voice. “I would like to talk to you about these,” I responded, handing the rating sheets across the desk to him. My hand was steady, but my voice quavered a bit. He gave them what appeared to be only a cursory glance, as if he knew exactly what was in each one.

“What about them?” he asked. This was my opening. Leaning in slightly I launched into my well rehearsed rationale for why I deserved A’s and not B’s. Most of my arguments hinged on how hard I had worked and the amount of preparation I had done. Finishing with a flourish I leaned back in my chair crossing my arms.

Dr. Bleasby sat there quietly considering me for a bit, his chair swiveling slightly side to side. Finally he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and leaned forward over his arms which rested on his desk. “That was a nice little speech Jim,” he said with half a grin. “Your work is just fine and I can tell you spend a lot of time preparing.” “That’s not really the issue though.” “Even your elocution is good, but it’s not pronunciation or inflection that’s your problem.” I listened carefully as he seemed to be getting to his point. “If you want to learn to do this really well the solution is simple.” “You read the words, but you must learn to read the spaces as well.”

Great music requires notes and rests; otherwise what we call music would be nothing but a single tone modulating in pitch and volume. If musical rhythms are made up of rests (spaces) of different durations then the rhythm of our life must be made up of these same “rests” or spaces as well.

Our daily lives are filled with activity and events often overlapping, even occurring simultaneously (what we call multitasking.) Extended periods of activity give us a sense of purpose and a feeling of accomplishment, but they can often mask or distract us from fears of unworthiness or doubt. “If I stop moving something might happen to me.” Or, “If I don’t work all the time I might lose my job.” We seem to operate very successfully on the surface, but the result can be that our lives lack depth or what someone once called “interiority.”

Successful living is not measured by the amount of activity in our lives, but in the content of our lives. This “content” can often only be recognized in times of quiet contemplation and reflection. Otherwise it is like taking a vacation without ever getting off the bus.

In our lives we need to learn to read the spaces as well as the words. In other “words,” along with experiencing daily activity, we must take time to experience the spaces in between. To some of us this may feel like goofing off. Taking a few minutes to ourselves now and then will seem uncomfortable or unnecessary at first. Regardless, take the time to take the time to pause and reflect. Ask yourself “how are things going?” “What have I done well so far today?” “What could I do a little better?” “For what am I grateful today?” “What relationships need mending or tending to?” and so on.

The presence of God is found in the spaces of our lives, not in the flurries of activity. Take time to “read the spaces.” You will find it is the best part of your day.

Dear God: Remind me to meet you in the spaces of my life.

“The spaces between the beads are just as important as the rest of the rosary.” ~Unknown

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Re-Fresh-Ment

2011-04-15T07:37:00.000-07:00

“Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest.” ~Ashleigh Brilliant, English author and cartoonist (b. 1933)

We had scored two coffees in a place where coffee was definitely not the drink of choice. They even had a “bold pick of the day.”

Initially, the cold, icy drizzle had driven us inside to warm up. But the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee had beckoned us like a siren’s song until we succumbed to buying two medium size cups. The counter person placed the cups in front of us as I handed her the requisite payment. “Do you have lids?” I asked, as she handed me the change. “If you turn right ‘round they are just there by the milk and sugar.” “Americans always ask for them,” she added with a smile. The reference was lost on me.

We snapped the lids down on the cups, turned up our collars and headed for the door, waving goodbye as we shouldered it open. The counter person waived back, but there was an expression on her face which I couldn’t quite read...amusement perhaps?

We headed down High Holburn toward Charterhouse Street. We were meeting a friend at St. Etheldreda’s Church (the oldest functioning Catholic Parish in the city). It was brisk and damp, the kind of weather which seeps into your bones, but the excitement of being in London drove out any discomfort we might have experienced. The coffee warmed us as we sipped away while we walked.

We had gone out of our way to avoid looking like Americans: no bright, white athletic shoes, no logo wear and no fanny pack (or bum bag as the English call them). The colors we wore were subdued and we were dressed a bit nicer than the usual tourist. Still, we seemed to catch people staring at us. One old gentleman greeted us with; “Pardon me Yank,” as he squeezed passed me.

We finished our coffees and began looking for a public trash can. There was none to be found. Undaunted , we finally ditched our cups in a public restroom. We reached Ely Place and turned toward St. Etheldreda’s where we found our friend waiting out in front. After a litany of greetings we shared our good fortune at finding an American coffee purveyor right in the heart of London.

“God, you didn’t take your cups out into the street, did you?” she asked dramatically. “That is soooo American.”

Traveling in a foreign country is often a good way to learn more about oneself. That which is common behavior in one country might be looked upon as amusing or even inappropriate in another. We Americans pride ourselves upon being great multi-taskers, particularly when it comes to food and drink. It is habitual for many of us to eat at our work stations and take our liquid refreshment (particularly coffee) whenever we can and wherever we go…even while we drive. A quick trip down any auto accessory aisle will reveal all manner of travel cups, cup holders and even refrigerators for your vehicle.

Unfortunately “multi-tasking” could very well be a euphemism for “being inattentive to more than one thing at a time” and perhaps for “being inconsiderate to more than one person at a time.” During our recent trip to London we learned the joy of “tea time.” What we discovered was the term “Refreshment” is not simply an object but an experience. “Refreshment” applies to not only the beverage, but the time taken to enjoy it.

Being a good steward of time is not simply a matter of the quantity of activity packed into a particular time frame, but the quality of the time spent. We need to find restorative time in our lives... daily periods when we take the time to restore our spirit, mind and body (and our relationships). Rather than gulping the latest energy drink at our desk in the afternoon, perhaps we would be better served to sit down with someone over a cup of tea and a scone just to decompress and clear our heads. We refresh our computers. Perhaps we should take time each day to refresh our lives as well.

Dear God, remind me to take time for refreshment.

Two woodcutters challenged one another to see who could chop the most wood in an eight hour day. The first diligently swung his ax over and over again, never once stopping during the entire eight hour period. At the end of the day, when their respective piles of chopped wood were compared, it was discovered that the second woodsman’s pile was much larger than that of the first. “You cheated!” the first man blurted out. “I watched you! Every hour or so you stopped to rest; I cut wood all day long. How could you have possibly cut more wood than I did?” The second woodsman smiled knowingly. “Yes, it is true I stopped every hour and a half to rest, but while I rested I was sharpening my ax.”

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Obituary

2011-04-08T06:31:00.000-07:00

“One thing I can still do is pray. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)

A cold, icy rain was falling as we laid Stella to rest in the old church graveyard. The site, located in southwestern Pennsylvania, overlooked both the house she had lived in most of her life and her Parish Church, St. Luke’s. She had been baptized, married and now buried here.

While Stella never carried the title, she had been a “caregiver” most of her life. She cared for her invalid mother Rosalia for nearly ten years while continuing to run the family store and raising her children Teresa and Peter. She would often sleep on the floor next to her mother’s bed in case Rosalia needed her during the night. Even after her mother died Stella continued to send letters, often containing money, to her mother’s family in Lithuania; a family she had never met nor would ever meet.

Stella’s, and her husband Pete’s, best friends were Marie and Sty. When Sty contracted terminal lung cancer Marie took an unpaid leave of absence from work to care for him. At 2:00 AM one morning the phone rang in Stella’s bedroom. It was Marie. “I just can’t deal with this anymore” she cried. Stella woke Pete. They quickly dressed and made the hour long drive to their friends’ house in Pittsburgh. They stayed three days until Sty died. Even after the burial Stella and Pete went to Marie’s house every weekend to help her clean, cook and do household chores.

When Stella’s neighbor John, started going blind from glaucoma, Stella visited him twice daily taking him his meals, cleaning his house, driving him to doctor’s appointments and helping him pay his bills. Shortly before he died John offered to deed his house to Stella and Pete. They gently refused the gesture.

Throughout most of her life Stella brought groceries to shut-ins, cleaned houses for the elderly, drove people to medical appointments, gave generously to the needy and cooked meals for bereaved families. Finally her own health began to fail and her husband died.

In April of 2007 Stella became a resident of Vintage Senior Living in Simi Valley, California. Crippled with arthritis and suffering from bouts of dementia she spent most of her time confined to a wheel chair in the “Reminiscence” wing of the facility. One would have thought her years of serving others was over, but it was not. Somehow she found a way to be a servant to those who served; a giver of care to other caregivers.

Once she remarked to a Caregiver, “I know I’m old and my head doesn’t work right all the time, but one thing I can still do is pray.” “So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you.”

Caregivers would seek her out for solace and comfort. “Whenever, I was having a bad day I would go see Stella,” was an often heard comment. Stella offered people her bed when she wasn’t using it, food when they didn’t have any in front of them and money when she didn’t think they were paid enough.

From her little room with a few necessary pieces of furniture and a small closet of basic clothes she proved daily her greatest possessions were love, compassion and generosity. Stella passed quietly into the next world on a Saturday morning at 6:45 AM; three days short of her 91st birthday. Almost poetically her heart beat for 10 minutes after her breathing had ceased.

Many people leave legacies after they die. They leave charitable foundations, buildings, businesses, estates, wills and trusts. But the legacy Stella left us was a legacy of love and compassion. In her own way she was both Mary and Martha. Like Martha, she served at table making sure everyone else was fed and cared for first. But like Mary, she found time to kneel at the feet of Christ by attending Mass daily; a ritual carried on by the ministers to the sick and homebound who visited her weekly.

She created this legacy of love by constantly serving others. It mattered not what she had, but what she gave. Like a member of a religious order she lived simply, proving daily it is not money or power or prestige which makes a difference in this world. If the world is to be saved it will happen through the love, compassion and generosity of people like Stella.

“If you ever need anything, you come to me.” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)

© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Give till it Feels Good

2011-03-25T08:39:00.000-07:00

“Generosity consists, not of the sum given, but the manner in which it is bestowed.” ~Author unknown

After thirty years as a systems manager Harry Nix had been laid off. Whether it was because jobs were going to other countries or because replacements could be hired at entry level salaries it didn’t much matter. Regardless of the reason, at 63, Harry found himself in a nether world between pension, savings, social security and unemployment. In short, even if he qualified for it, it wasn’t enough. The necessary forms and mailings of his new unemplyed life required Harry make trips to the post office more often than he liked. So to save gas, he usually walked.

Outside the post office, Harry frequently crossed paths with a homeless man who loitered near the front of the building. Whenever, he encountered the man, though personally not in the best of financial conditions himself, Harry made it a habit of giving him whatever change he had in his pocket. They even, at times, engaged in brief conversations. Or, at the very least, “hello” and “how are you”.

On this particular day Harry had walked to the post office to mail a government form which required “proof of mail”. As he entered he noticed his homeless friend wasn’t around. Inside the line was long and there were only two postal clerks on duty. After twenty seven minutes Harry finally stepped to the counter, transacted his business and, with receipt in hand, headed out the door.

As he stepped out of the gloomy government building into the bright morning sunlight he stopped a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. As they did he noticed a homeless person (not the one with which he was acquainted) resting on the wall that encompassed the terrace surrounding the front of the building.

She had stringy blonde hair and wore what appeared to be men’s clothes. At her side sat a battered pullman suitcase and a backpack. Here most notable feature was that she was noticeably pregnant; third trimester no doubt. As Harry walked by her she muttered, “Hey Mister, got any change.” Instinctively he dug into his pocket. Glancing around, his friend was nowhere in sight. So Harry gave here all the coins in his pocket. “Thanks mister,” the woman muttered staring at the ground.

Harry turned and headed north on Fifth Street. Within a block he noticed his homeless friend shuffling down the street toward him. When they met Harry looked sadly at the man for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I gave all the change I had to a pregnant homeless woman outside the post office. “Ah, that’s OK,” the man said with a shrug. “I gave her all of mine too.”

Most of us tend to quantify our donations of time, talent and treasure. We speak in terms of our hours of service or the amount of money we donate. This type of quantitative thinking leads to the inevitable question: “How much should I donate?”

This well meaning question, one which most of us have asked ourselves, or posed to someone else, can lead us in a wrong direction. Gifts of time, talent or treasure are, above all, gifts of self. Only insomuch as we share these gifts from God can we participate in the life of the world and in our faith.

The question then is not, “How much do I give?” Rather, the question is “How deeply do I participate in life.” In this way, what we share ceases to arise out of a sense of obligation and thereby a need to be quantified. Rather, sharing our time, talent and treasure becomes a concrete expression of our gift of self.

The small amounts of change given by Harry and the homeless man were inconsequential in and of themselves, but they were tremendous gifts of “self.” In contrast, a large monetary gift, given from our surplus wealth, may not be a measure of our generosity, but of our capacity to give. It doesn’t make us any more participative in life and thereby doesn’t add to our spiritual growth.

So, don’t ask, “How much should I give to the church?” Ask, “How deeply am I participating in life?”

Dear God, make me fully participative.

“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, English evangelist, founder of Methodism (1703-1791)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Thank Fullness

2011-03-17T08:22:00.000-07:00

“You say grace before meals. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink.” ~G.K. Chesterton, English writer (1874-1936)

I love coffee and so did my former office partner Deacon Jerry. Occasionally we would take a stroll to the local coffee purveyor for a quick “cup of Joe”. Watching people, while waiting in line, is often the best part of the experience. It is fascinating to hear the many requests made for every possible combination of ingredients and preparation processes.

But what is most interesting is observing customers take their first sip. One morning I watched as a well dressed, middle-aged woman, in business attire, took her first careful taste of the dark brown elixir. After a brief “slurp”, she carefully placed her cup in front of her, tilted her head back, facing heavenward, closed her eyes with what approximated religious rapture and muttered, “Oh thank God”. If she was truly praying to a God at the time, I’m sure his name was STARBUCK.

In point of fact, just as we should thank God for everything in our lives, we should thank Him for that morning “jump start fluid” many of us crave. Our coffee comes from countries such as Brazil, Vietnam, Indonesia, Ethiopia, Honduras and Uganda. Harvesting requires a great deal of manual labor as the coffee berries have to be handpicked.

The berries are then roasted, stored, bagged, ground, repackaged, shipped and stocked. Just imagine the number of people who labor long and hard (many in third world countries, paid only a few dollars a day) to bring us our coffee. Not to mention the counter chemist who creates that special customized concoction just for us.

Yes, the lady had it right, though she probably didn’t realize it. We should take a moment to pray to God to thank Him for our cup of coffee every morning and for the health and well-being of all the people it took to get it to us. What a great way to get started in the morning…even if it did take a double macchiato, with a shot of caramel, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles…yuk! I’ll take mine black thank you.

Dear God: Thank you…for everything.

“Bless us o' Lord, and these thy (many) gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty.”

© 2008, 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Gone in 60 Seconds

2011-03-11T07:05:00.000-08:00

“We are dust with an attitude.” ~Dr. James Finley, author, clinical psychologist, former Trappist monk

The Bishop’s dinner was in full swing and the local chapter of the ICF (Italian Catholic Federation) was doing themselves proud. Mass, celebrated by the local Bishop, had ended and a steady stream of revelers had filled the parish hall. The men had been in the kitchen most of the day boiling pasta and putting the finishing touches on the sauce.

The salads had been plated and served while the wine glasses were being filled. Now the Strozzapreti with ragu and sausage was being served. The annual fundraiser for the Auxiliary Bishop was off to a great start. The men in black filled the long head table smiling paternally at their “constituents”.

At first the disturbance in the front corner went unnoticed, but soon people were looking in the direction of table #2 wondering what was going on. It quickly became apparent. Angela Cazzoni, a spry woman in her early seventies had, without warning, slumped onto the table in front of her. A moment later she slid off her chair onto the floor.

911 was called and a retired doctor who was attending the dinner checked her vital signs. A faint shake of his head indicated there was no proof of life. A group of teens (members of the youth group who had volunteered as servers) silently formed a circle, clasped hands, bowed their heads in silent prayer. One of the priests went to the stricken woman and prayed over her.

Tony, Angela’s husband, popped open his cell phone and called their children. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said simply. “Please be careful and don’t rush…she’s already gone.” He clicked off.

The EMT’s arrived and did a cursory exam. The teens continued their prayers. Finally Angela’s lifeless body was loaded onto the gurney. Tony at her side, they headed up the center aisle between the tables. “I’m sure she’s happy,” Tony remarked absent mindedly to one of the EMT’s. “She attended Mass said by her Bishop then died drinking wine and eating pasta with her friends.” She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

They disappeared out the door into the darkness.

The “If you had one day to live, what would you do?” question has made the rounds on websites, Facebook, blogs and even CNN. But what would you do if you only had one minute to live? In this scenario, you will never see your nice car again (even if it was valet parked). You won’t be able to return to your house or go to your office. Your titles and degrees will be meaningless. The size of your bank account won’t matter nor how well you have invested for the future. There will be unanswered messages in your email box. You won't even have time to go on Facebook to announce your unexpected departure from this earthly realm.

What would you do with the 60 seconds you had left? Would you tell someone you loved them? Would you forgive someone or perhaps ask for forgiveness? Would you let go of an old resentment or try to right some wrong? Would you call someone? Or, would you simply wait?

Once a year various Christian denominations observe Ash Wednesday. It is a holy day which celebrates our mortality (“from dust you came and to dust you shall return”). Why is it that church attendance increases exponentially on a day intended to remind us we will inevitably die…maybe today?

Death has a way of putting things into perspective. It sharpens our focus by cutting through pretense and sham. Death is the great equalizer. The Talmud says: "Be exceedingly humble of spirit, since the hope of man is but worms" (Aboth. iv. 4). In other words,” how can anyone who is going to die any minute think their important?”

Good stewards of time keep their eye on the prize. They know we are simply “dust in transition”. This viewpoint instills in us, not a morbid reality, but a sense of freedom. Most of us will not be as fortunate as Angela Cazzoni, but we can find a new freedom and a new happiness when we realize most of the things we stress over are not that important. When in doubt, apply the 60 second test.

Dear God, teach me to be grateful for every minute you have given me.

“There are a lot of important people in that cemetery. Unfortunately they’re all dead.” ~author unknown

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Built to Last

2011-03-04T06:56:00.000-08:00

“For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city which is to come.” ~ Hebrews 13:14

Most of the morning had been spent kneeling on the cold concrete floor of my Grandparent’s breezeway. Next to me sat a large wicker basket which held my supply of building blocks. The basket, after almost two full hours of work, was nearly empty.

Laid out carefully in front of me stood a magnificent wooden castle, the result of my loving and careful labor. Gingerly, I added a few small colored blocks to the windows to make them stand out. Then and only then did I finally pause and step back to look. It was marvelous.

Having completed my work, it needed to be appreciated by someone other than me. So, I headed into the main part of the house to find my Grandmother. Passing through the dining room I found my younger brother Fritz playing on the floor. Paying him little attention I continued on into the back bedroom where I found Grandma making the bed. She made me wait for what seemed like an eternity while she finished.

The bed finally made, I grabbed her by the hand and led her out into the hallway. When we reached the dining room, I was in too great a hurry to notice my little brother wasn’t there. Only two rooms left until the big unveiling. I tugged at Grandma’s arm with even greater urgency.

Halfway through the last room (the kitchen) a terrible sound brought me up short. It was the cascading sound of a group of wooden blocks hitting a concrete slab in mass. Immediately, I released my Grandmother’s hand and bolted for the open breezeway door.

The sight I beheld could not have been worse. My magical castle, the efforts of an entire morning, lay in a heap. My younger brother stood in the middle of the devastation; like Godzilla in the middle of Tokyo. In each hand he held one of the colored blocks I had so carefully placed in the windows. He was clacking them together…giggling.

“NOOOOOO,” I wailed. In a moment I was upon him snatching the blocks from his grasp. He sat down with a thump and immediately began to cry. Grandma quickly intervened. “You can build it again, Jimmie,” she said quietly, but firmly. “No I can’t!” I stammered.

By this time Grandma, had picked Fritz up to comfort him. Quickly I whisked the blocks from the floor in armloads, flinging them back into the basket. Then with two kicks I shoved the filled basket against the wall. Still unwilling to be soothed, I stormed out the back door sniveling as I went; wiping my nose on my sleeve.

The wicker basket rotted away long ago and the blocks have succumbed to the fiery furnace. Even the breezeway floor on which I knelt is no longer there, but I still have my brother. Fritz has blessed me with a wonderful sister-in-law and three talented nephews of which I am very proud.

We have cleaned fencerows together; cut, split and loaded fire wood. Every time I venture home to Pennsylvania we always schedule breakfast just to catch up. He is a successful independent business man who can master anything mechanical he puts his mind too. Wooden, building block castles don’t last for long, but our personal relationship has stood the test of time...

All too often, when stewardship is mentioned our minds immediately skip to money, offertory, donations or campaigns. Teaching stewardship through offertory increase programs is a castle made of wooden blocks. It tumbles easily and quickly. Unless we catechize, sanctify and form our lives first, offertory giving is simply an empty gesture.

Just as my personal relationship with my brother has grown over the years, so to must we develop a personal relationship with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. This intimate relationship grows through prayer and worship (not guilt and demands). It is within this personal relationship stewardship finds its beginnings.

Once this relationship is established we start to recognize God has gifted us in special ways. As we identify and cultivate these gifts we realize we are a unique creation of God put on this earth for a purpose; to help save the world. We are special and God made us so. With this realization a sense of gratitude develops and grows. (It was not until I became grateful for my brother, that I truly appreciated him.)

Once we become grateful for the many gifts God has given us, the sharing of our time, talent and treasure becomes a natural outgrowth of our faith, rather than a trained or manipulated response.

This Lent, commit to developing a personal relationship with Christ. He will be the best friend you've ever had.

Dear God: Remind me that I can never know myself except through Christ.

“In your heart God has excavated an immense space where he has placed a precious treasure. From now on you have the twofold duty of receiving and giving: sharing the treasure of the kingdom you bear within you and stretching the area of your tent for those around you.” ~Anonymous

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Believe in Love

2011-02-22T19:03:00.000-08:00

“In the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher.” ~Dalai Lama (b.1935)

Horrified, I read the pamphlet a second time:

“Who are those who might be good citizens or church members who are in danger of going to hell?”

“Those whose religious affiliations deny Jesus as Personal Savior such as the Jews, the Muslims, the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons.”

“Those who are only trusting in their church or denomination membership such as Catholics, but who have not had a personal experience with Jesus.”

“Those who may live exemplary lives by giving generously and by living by the Golden Rule, but who do not acknowledge God, such as the atheist, the agnostic, the humanist, the materialist and the evolutionist.”

I put the pamphlet down on my desk rubbing my eyes and wondering, under these criteria, who wasn’t “in danger of going to hell”?

We have a lot of beliefs. We believe our political party is right. We believe our team will win the Super Bowl. We believe we got a good deal when we bought our last car.

But beliefs are inherently dangerous. Beliefs require justification, a rationale, or an explanation. There must be reasons; real or imagined. The “WHY?” is always the question. Beliefs operate, for the most part, on an intellectual plane.

Faith in action, on the other hand, requires no justification. In fact, by its very definition, faith operates well outside of the intellectual realm. It is something deep, intuitive and defies explanation. People of faith will often say, “I can’t explain it, I just know it.” In point of fact, it is not we who justify our faith; rather, we are justified by our faith.

When we encounter various belief systems: Christian, non-Christian, and even secular, we would do well to remember our disagreements tend to operate at the intellectual level. In other words it is out so called “belief systems” which are in conflict. Our justifications become arguments. If, however, we were to go deeper, to the level of faith, we find our noisy intellects tend to quiet down.

At the end of the Pope John Paul II exhibit at the Skirball Center (a Jewish cultural center) a listing of 22 versions of the “Golden Rule” (“Love your neighbor as yourself”) each from different faith traditions, was displayed. The totality of their wisdom can be said in two words: “love people”.

At the end of the day, regardless of our faith tradition, we are called to do one thing only: Love People. The rest is just polite conversation.

Dear God: Teach me to love people, regardless of their beliefs.

“You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.” ~Friedrich Nietzsche, German classical scholar, philosopher and cultural critic (1844-1900)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Scheduling Conflicts

2011-02-18T10:19:00.000-08:00

“A life spent in constant labor is a life wasted, save a man be such a fool as to regard a fulsome obituary notice as ample reward.” ~George Jean Nathan, American drama critic and editor (1882-1958)

It had been one of those days when everyone seemed contentious. Constant interruptions prevented my getting any traction on my work projects and I kept finding small irritating mistakes. At 1:03 my boss called me from a meeting room where everyone was waiting…for me. My “Blackberry” indicated the meeting was at 3:00 not at 1:00. I left a colleague at the restaurant with cash to cover our lunches and rushed back to the office, reaching the meeting room by 1:15.

Upon arrival I was peppered with questions, the answers to which required the context of the conversation which had occurred before my arrival. The answers I gave were great; they just weren’t the answers to the questions they were asking. An hour and a half later I returned to the spot where I had hurriedly parked my car only to be greeted by a $60.00 parking ticket (street cleaning day).

The rest of my day went no better: coworkers were cranky, fellow staff members were uncooperative and none of the phone calls I received seemed to be things anyone else wanted to deal with. By 7:00 PM I decided to call it quits and go home. Traffic was heavier than usual and people seem ruder than usual. Or, was I just driving more aggressively than usual because of my mood?

I arrived home to find dinner waiting, as it always is, no matter how late I am. Still I sullenly stared at my plate, giving Teresa only single syllable responses to her friendly patter. Finishing dinner a little after 9:00 PM I trudged upstairs to bed. After my pre-bed ritual, I clicked off the light, said goodnight to my wife, pulled the blankets up to my chest and crossed my arms over top.

There I lay, staring holes into the darkness. It had been an awful day. Physically and emotionally spent, I was unable to sleep as my mind continued to whir, replaying the events of the day; only the bad ones of course.

Finally my thoughts slowly shifted to God and His apparent absence from my life. The usual thoughts banged about in my brain: Where’s God? Why isn’t He around when I need Him? Why does he seem so far away? What’s this stupid life of mine about anyway? I continued to “play the tapes” of my negative experiences over and over, wearing a groove in my head until my pessimistic litany put me to sleep. My last thought as I drifted off was: “God, please, just give me a hint.”

We live in troubling times. Though Wall Street is declaring victory those of us in the trenches still live in fear of our security, our livelihood and our jobs. The seemingly logical response is to overwork; to somehow justify ourselves by the level of effort we exert or the amount of hours we spend at work. Surely this will keep us safe and secure.

We must, however, learn to resist overwork. Aside from the fatigue and worry to which it leads it also damages our relationship with our family, our friends and our God. We chronic workaholics often wonder why our families and friends sometimes seem distant or why our lives seem out of sync with theirs. In point of fact building relationships takes time and effort. Time and effort we often expend on our jobs in our attempts to “build our careers”. How often do we find ourselves responding to a personal invitation with, “I can’t, I have to work.”

The same thing is true of our relationship with God. As I lay there that night, wondering where God had gone I neglected to realize God hadn’t gone anywhere. I had. God was there for me. It was my side of the relationship which had gone wanting. Just like the family and friends my work life had caused me to neglect and with which I had fallen out of sync, so had my relationship with God fallen out of sync.

Like my loving wife waiting for me at home, God is always there for us. The dinner is always on the table when we get there, but we need to make the effort, through being good stewards of our time, to constantly build our relationship with our God; To know Him as personally and intimately as we know (or should know) our family. Learn to distribute your life’s efforts and don’t worry…God’s already got you on his schedule.

Dear God: Teach me to be a good steward of my time on earth.

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

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

My Way or...

2011-02-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

"Effective listeners remember that words have no meaning - people have meaning." ~ Larry Barker, Investigative Reporter

Roman and I sat listening to the discussion. Listening is an acquired skill for me, and not one which comes naturally. We had come to this meeting with two agendas (one which was written down and another which was firmly planted in our heads). Now our ideas for a simple reception were evaporating like dry ice on hot asphalt.

In front of us sat five bright, creative individuals in their mid-twenties to early thirties. Watching a plan unfold in the midst of quality, respectful discussion can be exciting and energizing, provided you don’t feel the need to protect your agendas. It is like experiencing the creation of a jigsaw puzzle from scratch. Ideas, like puzzle pieces, play off one another. Some fit together, some do not. Some are set aside for later and some are simply cast aside. As the image or plan takes shape open spaces appear. Spaces which are later filled with supplemental ideas.

Such was Roman’s and my evening with the YMA Core Team (Young Ministering Adults). We had come to ask if the Team would do a reception in support of our Capital Campaign. We knew a wine and cheese gathering would not be appropriate for a “beer and pizza generation”, but our best intentions had missed the mark. We had tried to use, what a marketing friend of mine calls the “same girl, different dress” approach. No matter how you present it, a reception is a reception whether you serve champagne and caviar, wine and cheese, or beer and taco chips.

What this group envisioned was something more expansive and engaging. Rather than a reception they were going to hold a “Participation Celebration” at the end of an appropriate period of cultivation. There goal was to use our campaign initiative to reconnect their membership with the core values of our faith, with their ministry and with a sense of stewardship. Their rallying cries were simple: “Why do we belong” and “Why do we give back?”

When we departed that evening, it was not simply with a commitment to do a reception. Rather, we left with a commitment to a three and a half month plan of engagement and preparation; a plan, not simply to raise a few bucks; but a plan, which would deepen their membership’s spirituality in the process.

“What do you think,” Roman asked as we returned to our offices. “How could I say no?” I replied with a smile.

As Christian Stewards we are not simply the caretakers of our own gifts of time, talent and treasure. We are also called to nurture and interface with the gifts of others. Unfortunately we live in a world which often values speed of execution at the expense of quality and engagement. As a result many of us find ourselves driven to get to the quickest conclusion rather than engaging in the evolutionary process required to reach the best solution.

In an effort to reach a quick result we burden ourselves with the assumption that we need to be the one with the right answers or the best solutions. This is true even when we are surrounded by people who share our desire for a successful completion; people with a variety of gifts and perspectives.

The result is we become protectionists rather than facilitators. We choose to wrestle others to the ground verbally to win the day for our point of view, rather than selecting and incorporating all the good ideas others have to offer; allowing a final product to evolve.

Does this mean formulating a plan is easy within a group? No, quite the contrary; the single decision maker will always be more efficient than a group, but will they be more affective? Coming to a group conclusion, in which all feel engaged and empowered can be frustrating, time consuming and even a little annoying. The results however are usually better, often richer, multi-faceted and the resulting buy-in means you have a room full of advocates when the implementation starts.

We are called to use our gifts of time and talent, but we are also called to respect, nurture, and affirm the gifts of others. Our mission in life is to help save the world. But God never said we had to do it alone.

Dear God: Help me be a better steward of the gifts of others.

"An essential part of true listening is…the temporary giving up or setting aside of one's own prejudices, frames of reference and desires so as to experience…the speaker's world from the inside…” ~M. Scott Peck, MD, American psychiatrist and best-selling author (1936-2005)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Pray as You Go

2011-02-04T07:30:00.000-08:00

“The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter…I possess God in as great a tranquility as if I were upon my knees...” ~Brother Lawrence, born Nicolas Herman, French Carmelite monk (1614-1691)

The spiritual based personal finance class was filled to overflowing. Couples, singles, even moms bringing their adult children, had come to wrestle with the issues of a bad economy and some bad financial decisions along the way. The parish center living room was large by living room standards, but not large enough for this group.

Even so, we found room somehow. Using a combination of portable chairs and clever manipulation of the seating arrangement we managed to fit everyone in, with a little space left for a single aisle.

It was Thursday evening and I stopped by the living room to check in with our coordinators Deborah and Daniel. Deborah, a cradle Catholic and Daniel, a Baptist, made for an interesting teaching combination. Both were always infectiously enthusiastic and thoroughly prepared.

Peering in through the open door I saw Deborah busily doing makeup work with a couple who had missed class the week before. Daniel was carefully and methodically placing each chair into the customized arrangement.

Not wanting to disturb them, I left for an evening meeting, deciding to check back by email the next morning. The thought of Daniel putting out all those chairs by himself bothered me, however. We have staff that does this sort of thing.

The next day Deborah sent me her usual Friday morning update. I responded in kind, complementing them on the wonderful job they were doing and giving them a status on the class kits we had ordered. “Daniel doesn’t need to set up the chairs.” I concluded. “Our maintenance people can do that for you.”

Within the hour I had a response from Deb covering some additional details. The email ended with a simple statement: “Thank you for the offer, but Daniel would like to continue to put the chairs out himself. As he puts each chair in place he says a prayer for the person who will be seated there that evening.”

Most of us envision prayer as a formality; something which is only done at specific times, in particular situations or under certain circumstances. We are accustomed to invocations at large events, or saying grace before a meal, or the prayers we say at Sunday services. Otherwise, prayer is pretty much excluded from our daily, “real world” lives, relegated to the back waters of our spirituality.

There are many reasons for this. We are afraid what people might think if they “caught us” praying. Or, grasping for every second we can spare, we see prayer as too time consuming. Perhaps regular prayer was simply never suggested to us, never occurred to us, or we never thought we had license to pray outside of church.

Whether we realize it or not, prayer is an important part of our daily life. It connects the sacred with our otherwise secular world. It infuses God into our daily lives. It sanctifies our day.

It also connects us to the lives of others for whom we pray. Daniel connected himself to every member of the class by praying for them. This undoubtedly had an affect upon the way he taught them and his relationship with them.

Often, we hoard our gift of time thinking we have to carve out blocks of it to give to God. This is not necessarily so. Daniel, by praying as he set out chairs, was multi-tasking in a very special way. His gift of prayer was doled out over time, not in blocks, but in continuous precious pieces.

God calls us to pray constantly, not just when we are in church; but when we are driving to work, cutting the lawn or even setting out chairs.

Pray as you go!

Dear God: teach me to pray all through the day.

“Accustom yourself gradually to carry prayer into all your daily occupation - speak, act, work in peace, as if you were in prayer, as indeed you ought to be.” ~François Fénelon, French Roman Catholic archbishop, theologian, poet, and writer (1651-1715)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Pray For Me

2011-01-28T06:44:00.000-08:00

“We must build a new world, a far better world – one in which the eternal dignity of man is respected.” ~ Harry S. Truman, 33rd President of the United States (1884-1972)

The new member reception was in full swing. I was in the rectory pantry retrieving a fresh bottle of wine when the back door bell erupted with a bbbbbbbrrring sound. Glancing through the doorway into the kitchen Arlene, the rectory chef, was busily serving the Priests dinner. The door was an arm's length away. I reached for the knob with a perfunctory, “I’ll get it!” Pushing it open I expected to find a reception guest standing there, having mistaken the kitchen door for the main entrance to the rectory.

Instead, I came face to face with a little, old woman. Dressed in a knit sweater and baggy pink slacks she stared at me for a moment apparently collecting her thoughts. “Is there a priest here?” she asked. A question meant to validate this was a rectory rather than summon the clergy. “Can I help you instead?” She stared at me again. After a hesitation she launched into a convoluted story. In short, food was to have been distributed in the park across the street. She had waited all day, but nobody came.

“I’m sorry to hear that…” but before I could finish, “Do you have any bread?” She asked abruptly. “Wait right here.” I said with a smile and headed off to the food tables at the reception located in the dining room. Returning with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres I handed them over. She inspected them carefully. Finding them to her liking she repeated the same story about the food distribution over again…word for word.

Then, having made her point, she headed down the stairs, waving and saying “thank you” with out turning to look at me. The old woman disappeared down the driveway and into the dark. I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed back to the dining room.

An hour or so later I was again in the pantry placing empty wine bottles in the recycling bin. Déjà Vu! The door bell came to life with the same bbbbbbbrrring sound. “She can’t have come back?” I thought, reaching for the knob, but instead of the old woman, a man stood at the door. His ruddy skin, dark from exposure, scraggly beard, limp soiled clothes, seemingly covered with a light film of coco dust and hungry, desperate eyes left no doubt he was homeless. His arms were wrapped around his shoulders and he was shivering.

“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked. “Do you have a blanket I can use?” he replied. Turning to Arlene who was busily cleaning up the in the kitchen I asked if we had any old blankets. “Just a minute,” she responded. “You get the blanket, I’ll get the food,” I called after her heading back to the dining room.

I returned first. “Would you like some food,” I asked the man. “Sure” he responded hesitantly.

Arlene’s voice turned me around. “This is all we have.” In her arms was a bed pillow in a plain, white, pillow case and a quilted bed cover. “They will have to do.” I smiled. Taking them from her I handed them out the door to the man expecting nothing more than a “thank you”. “I can’t take these,” he yelped in shock stepping backward. “These are from your bed.” “That’s OK,” I assured him. “These are extras.” “Can I give you something for them?” He stammered, still staring at the bedding, though he obviously had nothing to give. “My name’s Jim; you can pray for me. I can always use prayers,” was all I could think of.

He looked up from his bedding and food his face brightening. Taking a step or two back he stared into the heavens and launched into a series of prayers; some I recognized and some which were obviously improvised. By the time he had finished he had asked for the intercessions of God, Jesus, Mary, Moses, the Holy Ghost, the Trinity and a few Saints I had never heard of.

Finally, he finished and brought his eyes earthward. “Thank you.” I said sincerely. He nodded and headed down the driveway. Just before he reached the side walk and turned out of sight, he spoke over his shoulder: “Don’t worry Jeff, I’ll pray for you,” he shouted and disappeared.

I smiled to myself for a moment. Then turned and headed back into the rectory, secure in the belief God would know I was Jeff.

Whether we hear them or not, the poor are always knocking at the back door of our lives. No one would argue we need to provide them with life’s basic necessities. Whether it is food for an old woman or a blanket for a homeless man satisfying bodily needs are important and necessary.

It doesn’t stop there however. Mother Teresa was renowned for many things, but she would often ask those in need to pray for her. Even to the point of asking hard core convicts at San Quentin to pray for her. Some of whom she converted.

As faithful stewards, we are called, not only to be our brother’s or sister’s keeper (keeping them fed, keeping them clothed, keeping them warm) but we are also called to care for their spirits. One of the ways we do this is by helping restore their dignity.

When I gave the homeless man the bed cover and pillow his bodily needs were served, but in turn I caused him distress. He was troubled by what I gave him, because he had nothing to give in return. Inadvertently, I had made him feel unworthy.

When, however, I asked for something in return; when I entrusted him with praying for my soul it gave him meaning and purpose. In that moment, the bedding became a symbol of something good, something earned, rather than something undeserved; another reminder of being unworthy.

This not only applies to the needy, the homeless or the incarcerated. It applies to everyone with whom we interact during the course of our daily lives. We are not called to demean others or obligate them. Rather we are called to value them, to see them as God’s creation; as something good. In short, we are called to treat them with the dignity they deserve.

Dear God: Remind me daily to treat your creation with dignity.

“There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German playwright, poet, novelist and dramatist. (1749-1832)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Holy Ground

2011-01-21T09:47:00.000-08:00

“Ritual is necessary for us to know anything.” ~ Ken Kesey, American author, best known for “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (1935-2001)

I was nestled uncomfortably between Roberto and Javier. Both wore lace up sneakers and dark pants with elastic waistbands (signs of special privilege in their world). Roberto, whose girlfriend’s name was tattooed on his chin, compulsively smoothed his flat shoelaces with his thumbs placing them at a precise 30 degree angle.

Glancing side to side at each of them I pondered how different were the worlds from whence we had come. I am a baby boomer with a Masters Degree, born into a conservative, white, east-coast, Presbyterian, nuclear family. As the middle child and the oldest son of five, we were not well to do, but I never knew real hunger, poverty or danger. My wife and I married in our twenties after a formal courtship. Our daughter was born two years after our wedding. If you looked up “middle class” in the dictionary, you would see my picture.

Javier’s and Roberto’s stories are much different than mine. They are first generation Hispanic and grew up on the mean streets of Los Angeles. Both survived their gang initiation. Neither have parents to speak of; before arriving at the facility Javier lived with his grandmother, and Roberto with his older half sister. Though still in his teens, Roberto has a two year old daughter. Neither finished High School and both learned to fight, steal and survive before they were twelve.

Both were at the detention camp, where we now sat, for parole violations meaning this was not their first time. Their pants and shoes were signs of good behavior for which they received special privileges (others wore shoes with Velcro straps or slip-ons). Shoelaces can be used to harm others, and one’s self, so being permitted to have them was a sign of trust.

“Nothing in common” I thought. What was a 50ish middle class guy like me going to say to these two? How would I be able to relate to these two “boys” who were, for all intents and purposes, streetwise kids, old and jaded before their time?

And then…Mass started.

Rituals are a feature of almost all known human societies. Whether it is as simple as brushing our teeth every night, just before we go to bed, or as grand as high Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica ritual is a necessary part of our lives. Rituals introduce us to the community (i.e. baptism, Brit Milah or bris) or act as rites of passage (i.e. confirmation, Bar Mitzvah, gang initiation, or even ordination). They also escort us out of this life (i.e. wakes, sitting Shiva, Los Dios de los Muertos).

Though it exists in all aspects of our lives, the word “ritual” seems foreign and obscure to most of us. Shrouded in mystery and incense we see it as part of another world or time. And yet, ritual has a very practical side. In a world of uncertainty it provides us constancy and comfort. Life is sometimes scary, because it is always unpredictable. From the psychologists’ point of view ritual is a form of repetitive behavior systematically used to suppress or prevent anxiety. But most importantly, ritual helps us to know what to do in those times when we do not.

I can prepare for work in the early morning because I have a “ritual:” doing certain things in a certain order often without thinking. Funeral rituals help us to get through the particularly difficult times in our lives when loved ones die. Rituals sustain us and give us hand holds in an otherwise uncertain world. Colors, symbols and certain actions take on significance.

But, imagine for a moment you are Javier or Roberto living with nothing to “ground” you in life. Never knowing what will happen to you or how to respond when it does; never having the constancy of a family or a sense of safety or security. Is it any wonder the young people in their position are so easily enticed into joining a gang? The certainty and identity a gang provides, harsh as it may be, is more attractive than the uncertainty of the lives they were living before. They know what to expect, how to behave, what colors to wear and even what marks (tattoos) to place on their bodies. It suppresses the anxiety in their lives.

So where did I find a place in which I could relate to Roberto and Javier; in the ritual of Mass. It was the only common ground we had. It was an opportunity to enter each other’s world safely. Rather than a gang tattoo we identified ourselves by the sign of the cross. Rather than an intricate handshake as a greeting, we hugged one another at the sign of peace. And when it came time to receive the Eucharist we approached Christ as equals, receiving the same infinite measure of love which is Christ’s promise.

In the end the only common ground, was holy ground.

Dear God: May I meet others today on holy ground.

“To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that man can contract in this life.” ~ Madame de Staël, French-Speaking Swiss author (1766-1817)

© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Grace Under Fire

2011-01-14T10:29:00.000-08:00

“Grace isn’t a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It’s a way to live.” ~ attributed to Jacqueline Winspear, English author

The computer keys made a clacking sound as I clattered away on the key board. I use a modified two index finger method as I never learned the more eloquent touch typing approach. The two finger method was much more satisfying anyway because I was frustrated…really frustrated.

The center of an office cat fight is never pleasant. People flexing there political muscles in the relative safety of cyber space. As usual there had been plenty of finger pointing and butt covering served up from the safe distance of offices and cubicles; like firing artillery into the enemy lines. Tragically, in today’s work environment there often are no “lines”, making everyone and anyone a target. As long as “me” comes out on top the impact on “you” doesn’t matter much.

Now it was my turn. I like to call my method the “paper cut and lemon juice” approach; inflicting maximum discomfort without the appearance of having caused any. This particular writing style requires a delicate touch; one wants to sound concerned without appearing patronizing or condescending; pointing out tragic mistakes in the spirit of helpfulness. Once mastered it is a particularly effective method as it allows one to stand honorably above the rest while squashing the competition like roaches and perhaps even being promoted for doing so.

Stopping my clatter for a moment I scanned the screen rubbing my chapped hands together, my lips moving as I read the document out loud to myself; making sure the tone was just right. A word correction here and some punctuation there; a strategically placed underline there and a little bit of bolding here; then it was ready to go. My finger hovered over the send key which would propel my electronic missile off into cyberspace creating havoc as it went.

Then…I paused.

Years of experience reminded me: though I had gleefully approached my task up to this point; once I hit that key my glee would turn to guilt and my enthusiasm to worry. I returned to my draft and for another ten minutes fiddled with what I had written. But, regardless of what I did, it still came out wrong.

Finally, I decided I would rather be happy than right. I clicked the X in the upper right corner of the screen. The “Do you want to save changes?” box appeared. I clicked “No”. The screen went clear and refreshed.

I retrieved the original string of offensive emails and tapped the mouse as the cursor hovered over “Reply to all”. I typed the following: “Is there anything I can do to help remedy this situation?” A moment later, with a sigh of relief, it was sent.

When we are frustrated, resentful, unsettled, or upset, no matter the reason, the cause is usually within us. We must look inward not outward to resolve our issues. It is not the event, which stirs us up and clouds our vision. Rather it debris of our life which we carry with us which obscures our view. Faith was once described as a state of being in which no one can steal your peace.

And yet, our feelings are hurt, our ego bruised or we feel disrespected and we want others to “feel our pain”. Or perhaps more accurately, since we feel pain, they should too.

Perhaps surprising to some, it is stewardship which can provide an answer to our daily angst and frustration. Many of us see stewardship as a way for the church to get something out of us (more money, more volunteer time, etc.) without realizing it is intended to make us better, happier, more alive. In this regard, the restorative power of stewardship is often overlooked.

When I locked myself in email jail to do battle I had convinced myself I was defending a principle. What I was really defending was a need to be right, a need to be validated, a need for my ego to be protected.

Stewardship teaches us to be grateful for everything. When we live our lives knowing we are showered with God’s grace, pettiness dims in comparison and defense is unnecessary.

When I am truly grateful for all that I have: a job, people with which to interact, a desk, a computer on which I can communicate with the world (and write unkind things things without the fear of the police breaking down my door), it corrects my otherwise lopsided perspective. What I thought needed to be defended really didn’t.

Once I have identified what is askew with in me I can see the world anew. It is hard to engage in office politics when you are saying to yourself “I am truly blessed and forever grateful.” Gratitude is the key to a happy life.

Dear God: Make me forever grateful.

“Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted–a paved road or a washing machine? If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” ~ Rabbi Harold Kushner, prominent American rabbi and author (b 1935)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Close Encounters

2011-01-07T06:35:00.000-08:00

“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” ~Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher, founder of Taoism (600 BC -531 BC)

It had been pouring rain off and on for three days. All our plans for that Sunday had been washed away with the winter rains. We had arranged a special birthday experience for our daughter, Angela, combining brunch at a local restaurant of her choosing, a trip to visit her Grandmother in the convalescent home and a gratis “hair-do” by her favorite beautician. We had a long history with this particular beautician. Joanne had styled Angela’s hair since high school including proms, formals, graduations and even her wedding. For all intents and purposes she was family.

Our best laid plans were no match for the intervals of torrential downpours. Angela’s drive up the 405 from Redondo Beach, hampered by weather and traffic accidents, had taken twice as long as usual. Undoubtedly, the trip back, in the twilight of early winter darkness, would take as long if not longer.

Our plan had been to finish brunch in time to visit her Grandmother during her noon meal. When that didn’t work out Angela headed straight to her Grandmother’s care facility and then to the beautician, blood sugar plummeting due to lack of food.

When Angela arrived at the Hair Style Salon she had put in an emergency call to her mom (Teresa) for food. Still the best take out in town; Teresa packed lunches for the three of us. Then we drove to the salon so we could visit with our daughter during her hairstyling.

I rested in a black swiveling reception chair still dressed in my long, dark brown trench coat. Teresa and Angela sat opposite me in similar padded chairs. Angela’s head was covered with the stuff beauticians put on people’s hair. Sometimes the less you know the better.

So there we sat; munching away on our ham and cheese sandwiches on sprout bread with brown mustard. The meal was rounded out with sliced apples, small bags of cashews, cheese sticks and bottled water. With only one other customer in sight we had the run of the place and had requisitioned an alcove at the back of the shop.

We caught up on family gossip, shared stories, discussed recipes, confirmed holiday plans and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Somewhere along the way we realized the context of our visit didn’t matter; it was each other’s company we enjoyed the most.

Hair rinsed and ready for the scissors we moved to a different part of the salon. It was Joanne’s turn to catch us up on her life and our lives’ frame of reference widened accordingly. There was someone new in Joanne’s life and she shared her joy with us.

As she was finishing up (both the hair-do and the update) we paid the bill (our gift) and said goodbye to our daughter. “This turned out to be a really nice birthday,” she said, giving us each a hug.

After extracting a promise from her to call us when she got home we headed out the door into the rain. An old Woody Allen adage came to mind as we trotted through the parking lot to our car: “If you want to make God smile…tell him your plans.”

It is an irony that life often irritates us by interfering with our plans. Yet it is life which is most important. True stewardship is not how well we plan our time, but how well we live our time. It is not about the execution of our plans, but the experiencing of our life. Crafting our life is not the same as living our life. Life can only be experienced through human encounter, through interacting with the world even when those interactions are not exactly what had in mind for ourselves.

Unfortunately we often allow our happiness to be defined by the flawless execution of our plans. We become frustrated when things don’t work out as we intend. Potentially pleasant human encounters become disappointments over poor execution: the lost reservation, the delayed schedule, the late guest or family member, all pull us away from the simple joy of human interaction. The warmth of sharing our stories, our joys and sometimes even our hurts is dissipated by our need to control. Life was meant to be lived; not managed to death.

If we are to be truly happy in life we need to enjoy the journey, not fret about how well we followed our itinerary. Rest assured God has a different one in mind.

Dear God: Remind me to stop, look and listen.

“We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It’s just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn’t have expected.” ~Ben Okri, Nigerian author (b1959)

© 2011 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”© 2011 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 ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Reboot!

2010-12-31T07:23:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear God: Teach me gratitude.

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

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Scrooged

2010-12-22T11:13:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are All Welcome?

2010-12-17T06:37:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

The Noise Next Door

2010-12-10T06:55:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Either way…MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Dear God, teach me to give of myself.

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

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Minister Ministry

2010-12-03T07:42:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

On a Mission

2010-11-24T08:40:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My gruff friend was right…Call back in July!

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

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

© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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