“You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” ~Source unknown
“Dammit!” The side view mirror of the big, black, SUV whisked past my face, narrowly missing my nose by only an inch or two. The driver kept going, oblivious to the fact he had nearly given me a frontal lobotomy. It was Friday evening at Saint Monica’s Catholic Community and all heaven was breaking loose. Concurrently there was a High School musical, a Confirmation rehearsal, with a reception to follow, and the Young Ministering Adults were holding one of their famous “Coffee Houses”. Adding a layer of complexity, one of the ministries was conducting an unscheduled drop off of food, clothing and toys. Some of their delivery vehicles were double parked in the lot blocking one of the exit routes.
The head of our parking ministry was stranded at work and the usual backups were unavailable. I stepped in to try to help out until the ministry head got there, but within minutes I realized why I don’t do parking ministry. My only saving grace was a group of volunteers from the Santa Monica Community College Honor Society who help out from time to time. Our neighbor, St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, had offered up half of their parking lot to take some of the pressure off ours.
The “drill” was simple, or seemingly so. Armed with sheets of directions to alternate parking lots my partner (a college student who hailed from Hong Kong) and I stopped each car at the front entrance to discern what event they were attending, were they dropping off or parking, did they need a handicap spot, and the general size of the vehicle (some of our parking spaces are bigger than others). As it turned out, it wasn’t simple at all.
It was readily apparent each driver arrived at the edge of our domain with their own unique combination of objectives, attitudes and expectations. What was mystifying is all the events they were attending were pleasant, joyful, entertaining or meaningful and yet we found ourselves confronting stress, angst, aggression, impatience and varying degrees of frustration. Our “one size fits all” approach wasn’t working. It was time for a new game plan. So, instead of focusing on what we wanted (getting the maximum number of cars in a minimum of space in the shortest time possible), we adjusted our approach. We tried to discern what the drivers wanted.
We turned up the charm level to near “overly friendly” and asked questions such as, “do you need to be closer to the event location or would you prefer a quick getaway?” If they were just picking up or dropping off we showed them where they could park temporarily and the easiest egress. If they had a particularly nice car (or a particularly large one) we suggested alternate parking areas where their “nice car wouldn’t get dinged.” If someone walked up, having obviously parked elsewhere, we thanked them for doing so. The process was still hectic, but we soon discovered we were enjoying ourselves and before we knew it the events had started and our task was over. I sent the college students to the food line at the reception. It was after 8:00 PM and I still had a 45 minute drive home. I headed for my car sensing my own angst over the long drive.
Business consultants will tell you the most important employee in any company is the receptionist. Everybody’s first impression of a company comes from the person who greets them (or didn’t greet them). This applies to the world at large as well. Whenever we encounter another human being we are the face of whatever we represent at the time. Whether we are greeting a person in the lobby of our business, the driveway or the doorway of our church, the reception area of a funeral home or even at our own front door, at that moment we are the face of that business, organization, group or family. When I greet a person at my front door they will draw conclusions about my family based upon their encounter with me.
The "guests" which I encountered at the driveway to Saint Monica’s parking lot drew conclusions about the parish based upon their interaction with my partner and me. Many of them allowed their evening to be conditioned by that interaction good or bad. Further, it didn’t matter the attitude they brought with them. Even if they were downright rude they evaluated the encounter based, not upon their behavior, but upon how I responded.
As Stewards of our faith…as Stewards of our Christianity we are the receptionists of our faith. People will make judgments and draw conclusions about our faith based upon their encounters with us. We are the doorways to Christianity (or whatever faith we profess) and the way people are treated at those doorways has a telling effect as to how those who didn’t know us before see us after the experience. In short, we are the face of Christ to the community.
Again, it matters not how people treat us in these encounters. They may be hateful and mean-spirited, but they will still judge us (and Christianity) upon our response; our reaction…not the stimulus to which we were reacting. The rest of their day will be colored by that encounter…good or bad. In short we are called to love them. Jesus continued to love no matter how people treated Him…even when people hated Him…even when they killed Him.
As Stewards of our faith, the practice of that faith begins, not when we arrive at church, but when we leave the church parking lot and take our faith into the world. We are receptionists at the doorway of our faith, not sentries
Dear God, teach me, not to preach the faith which I practice, but to practice the faith which I preach.
“The first impression will either open the door or close it.” ~Nicolas Sparks, American novelist and screenwriter (b 1965)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs
“The image is one thing and the human being is another. It's very hard to live up to an image..." ~Elvis Presley, American singer (1935-1977)
The big two-toned green Oldsmobile rumbled along the Old National Pike (Route 40) toward Ohiopyle State Park. I sat in the back seat between my two older sisters: Bonnie and Linda. My family never took vacations, finances being what they were, but once and awhile we would take a day trip. Today we were off to see the waterfalls at Ohiopyle.
The falls are created by the Youghiogheny River Gorge which the locals affectionately refer to as “The Yough” (pronounced “Yawk”). The trip was only an hour or two, but to a youngster my age it seemed like an eternity. The only solace I had was we always stopped somewhere to eat…and I was hungry.
We passed the village of Hopwood and crossed Lickhollow road headed toward Braddock's Grave State Park and Fort Necessity after which we would turn north on Rt.381 toward Ohiopyle. A sign came into view: “Uncle Charlie’s Tavern and Restaurant…5 miles” a clear indication it was time to start whining that I was hungry. A mile later we passed another sign: “4 Miles to Uncle Charlie’s…Good Eats”. I started squirming. Minutes later another… “Uncle Charlie’s…Best Food on the National Pike.” The signs had my attention. “Dad? Can we stop? I’m hungry”
The distance between signs began to shorten; the messages coming in staccato rhymes akin to the Burma Shave ads of the 50’s. “Are you hungry?” “It’s time to eat.” “Uncle Charlie’s can’t be beat.” Or, “When it comes to food, don’t be misled. Uncle Charlie’s is just ahead.” By now I was really hungry, whiney and annoying. I was told to sit still. We started up a steep grade. “Uncle Charlie’s only one mile ahead”. “Just ¾ of a mile to Uncle Charlie’s.” “World Famous Uncle Charlie’s Tavern and Restaurant just ½ mile.” The car continued to climb the grade. “Hope your hungry…Uncle Charlie’s is just ahead.” “Only one quarter mile to Uncle Charlie’s...Best Food in PA.” I was craning my neck to see over the front seat. We were nearing the top of the grade. “Only 1,000 Feet to Uncle Charlie’s.”
Just at the brow of the hill the road began to bend to the right. I looked past my sister Bonnie out the window to the left. There, on the other side of the road, was Uncle Charlie’s. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open.
At the back of the expansive parking lot of dust, debris and broken pieces of asphalt was a dilapidated, deserted structure. The porch and stairs were rotted. The clapboard siding was loose, scarred and falling away in places. The asphalt shingles (those which had not already blown away) were curled and broken. There were bare patches everywhere. The windows, those which were not boarded over, were broken. Graffiti decorated most of the flat surfaces. Atop the eave, which covered the porch, was a faded, weather beaten sign, hanging askew by its few remaining nails. “Uncle Charlie’s Tavern and Restaurant, Best Food on the National Pike”.
My sisters and I started laughing, clapping and pointing as Dad negotiated the gentle bend and headed back down the steep grade. We could see the backs of signs on the opposite side of the road which undoubtedly bore the same messages we had seen on our way up the hill. Guess we would be seeking nourishment elsewhere.
Signs are an important and sometimes necessary part of our lives. They provide us with useful information like the distance to our next destination or where food, gasoline or lodging can be found. Signs alert us to potential dangers ahead like slippery streets, dangerous curves or disappearing lanes. This information makes our lives easier, safer and promotes the public good.
There are, however, other signs which are not so helpful. These are the signs which we hang on one another. They read “Republican”, “Liberal”, “Christian”, “Arab”, “Immigrant”, “Fundamentalist” or “Minority”. Sadly these “signs” conjure immediate emotional responses and gross generalizations on our part. These knee-jerk responses are often the result of employing a kind of “bumper sticker” mentality as if we could make an accurate summation of a person or their world view in a few words.
We also hang out our own signs, though the messaging is usually much more subtle. These messages are conveyed by the clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the houses we live in, the titles we bear, even where we sit in our favorite restaurant or at church. These signs feed and nurture our image…the personae we present to the world, but they do little to nourish our interiority (our "self"). Unlike our image, it is our interiority which sustains us, particularly during difficult times.
Uncle Charlie’s signs lead me to believe the restaurant we were approaching was a wonderful and inviting place where we could enjoy a great meal. The reality was it was vacant and valueless, void of any nourishment. The signs were enticing, but like the Siren’s Song they lead to a destitute place, completely lacking in sustenance.
Signs are simple messages lacking the depth of a healthy self-image. Signs are, at best, inadequate and at worst dangerous generalizations. We are called to be stewards of our interior life. It is this internal life which should produce our exterior image, not the other way ‘round.
T.S. Elliott once wrote: “The final temptation is the greatest treason to do the right thing for the wrong reason”. This can easily happen if we allow our exterior image to drive our actions. If we are stewards of our interiority; if it is well nourished and maintained, our actions will most often be "for the right reasons".
Signs fall down easily. A spiritually nourished interiority endures.
Dear God: Help me to be who I am and not stress over what I appear to be.
“A life is either all spiritual or not spiritual at all. No man can serve two masters. Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.” ~Thomas Merton, American Trappist monk, poet, social activist, Catholic author (1915-1968)
© 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 big two-toned green Oldsmobile rumbled along the Old National Pike (Route 40) toward Ohiopyle State Park. I sat in the back seat between my two older sisters: Bonnie and Linda. My family never took vacations, finances being what they were, but once and awhile we would take a day trip. Today we were off to see the waterfalls at Ohiopyle.
The falls are created by the Youghiogheny River Gorge which the locals affectionately refer to as “The Yough” (pronounced “Yawk”). The trip was only an hour or two, but to a youngster my age it seemed like an eternity. The only solace I had was we always stopped somewhere to eat…and I was hungry.
We passed the village of Hopwood and crossed Lickhollow road headed toward Braddock's Grave State Park and Fort Necessity after which we would turn north on Rt.381 toward Ohiopyle. A sign came into view: “Uncle Charlie’s Tavern and Restaurant…5 miles” a clear indication it was time to start whining that I was hungry. A mile later we passed another sign: “4 Miles to Uncle Charlie’s…Good Eats”. I started squirming. Minutes later another… “Uncle Charlie’s…Best Food on the National Pike.” The signs had my attention. “Dad? Can we stop? I’m hungry”
The distance between signs began to shorten; the messages coming in staccato rhymes akin to the Burma Shave ads of the 50’s. “Are you hungry?” “It’s time to eat.” “Uncle Charlie’s can’t be beat.” Or, “When it comes to food, don’t be misled. Uncle Charlie’s is just ahead.” By now I was really hungry, whiney and annoying. I was told to sit still. We started up a steep grade. “Uncle Charlie’s only one mile ahead”. “Just ¾ of a mile to Uncle Charlie’s.” “World Famous Uncle Charlie’s Tavern and Restaurant just ½ mile.” The car continued to climb the grade. “Hope your hungry…Uncle Charlie’s is just ahead.” “Only one quarter mile to Uncle Charlie’s...Best Food in PA.” I was craning my neck to see over the front seat. We were nearing the top of the grade. “Only 1,000 Feet to Uncle Charlie’s.”
Just at the brow of the hill the road began to bend to the right. I looked past my sister Bonnie out the window to the left. There, on the other side of the road, was Uncle Charlie’s. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open.
At the back of the expansive parking lot of dust, debris and broken pieces of asphalt was a dilapidated, deserted structure. The porch and stairs were rotted. The clapboard siding was loose, scarred and falling away in places. The asphalt shingles (those which had not already blown away) were curled and broken. There were bare patches everywhere. The windows, those which were not boarded over, were broken. Graffiti decorated most of the flat surfaces. Atop the eave, which covered the porch, was a faded, weather beaten sign, hanging askew by its few remaining nails. “Uncle Charlie’s Tavern and Restaurant, Best Food on the National Pike”.
My sisters and I started laughing, clapping and pointing as Dad negotiated the gentle bend and headed back down the steep grade. We could see the backs of signs on the opposite side of the road which undoubtedly bore the same messages we had seen on our way up the hill. Guess we would be seeking nourishment elsewhere.
Signs are an important and sometimes necessary part of our lives. They provide us with useful information like the distance to our next destination or where food, gasoline or lodging can be found. Signs alert us to potential dangers ahead like slippery streets, dangerous curves or disappearing lanes. This information makes our lives easier, safer and promotes the public good.
There are, however, other signs which are not so helpful. These are the signs which we hang on one another. They read “Republican”, “Liberal”, “Christian”, “Arab”, “Immigrant”, “Fundamentalist” or “Minority”. Sadly these “signs” conjure immediate emotional responses and gross generalizations on our part. These knee-jerk responses are often the result of employing a kind of “bumper sticker” mentality as if we could make an accurate summation of a person or their world view in a few words.
We also hang out our own signs, though the messaging is usually much more subtle. These messages are conveyed by the clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the houses we live in, the titles we bear, even where we sit in our favorite restaurant or at church. These signs feed and nurture our image…the personae we present to the world, but they do little to nourish our interiority (our "self"). Unlike our image, it is our interiority which sustains us, particularly during difficult times.
Uncle Charlie’s signs lead me to believe the restaurant we were approaching was a wonderful and inviting place where we could enjoy a great meal. The reality was it was vacant and valueless, void of any nourishment. The signs were enticing, but like the Siren’s Song they lead to a destitute place, completely lacking in sustenance.
Signs are simple messages lacking the depth of a healthy self-image. Signs are, at best, inadequate and at worst dangerous generalizations. We are called to be stewards of our interior life. It is this internal life which should produce our exterior image, not the other way ‘round.
T.S. Elliott once wrote: “The final temptation is the greatest treason to do the right thing for the wrong reason”. This can easily happen if we allow our exterior image to drive our actions. If we are stewards of our interiority; if it is well nourished and maintained, our actions will most often be "for the right reasons".
Signs fall down easily. A spiritually nourished interiority endures.
Dear God: Help me to be who I am and not stress over what I appear to be.
“A life is either all spiritual or not spiritual at all. No man can serve two masters. Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire.” ~Thomas Merton, American Trappist monk, poet, social activist, Catholic author (1915-1968)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Decisions, Decisions
“Every genuine crisis is potentially empowering, because it has the capacity to lead us to a greater level of authenticity and freedom.” ~Fr. Michael Casey, Australian spiritual writer and Cistercian Monk.
Letterman was doing his top 10 reasons not to live in LA when the phone started ringing. Don hit the record button on the DVR and got up to answer the phone. Locating the cordless, behind a pillow on the sofa, he clicked on. “Hello?” There was a brief pause. “Hello? Dad?” It was the voice of Don’s 22 year-old son Jason. “Is everything, OK?” Don asked quickly. “Yeh Dad, everything’s fine.” Masking the relief in his voice Don asked “What’s going on?” Faltering at first Jason began, “Well Dad, I am at this party, you know, at the Barker’s?”
Don was calmly shifting his weight from foot to foot in a gentle rocking motion. Jason continued “And, well you see somebody brought some party stuff…you know?” Trying not to over react Don smiled to himself. “No, I’m not sure I understand.” he replied calmly. “Well, somebody brought some, well you know, grass.” Don resisted the temptation to prolong his son’s agony by asking what he meant by “grass”. “You mean someone brought marijuana to the party?” he responded, still smiling. “Ah, yeh” Jason replied. “So why are you calling me?” Don inquired casually. There was a pregnant pause…. “Well, I was (ah) wondering if (um) you thought (ah) it was OK for me (um) to (ah) try it? Gratified by his son’s willingness to include him in the decision Don paused to avoid the obvious knee jerk reaction.
“Jason, you’re what, 22?” “Yeh Dad.” “Well here’s what I think. After all the talks we’ve had about how to make good decisions, I think it’s time I let you handle this one on your own.” “Besides…I trust you.” There was another long pause. “Well, ah, thanks Dad.” “Love you…I won’t be late…bye.” Don, looked at the receiver for a moment and smiled to himself. He knew what decision Jason would make. Clicking off he headed back to the DVR…and Letterman.
Our natural tendency is to make decisions for people. Particularly when they are moral decisions and particularly when the “people” in question are our kids. In doing so, however, we are doing the other person a disservice. Rather than being a steward of the process of decision making we rush to a conclusion imposing a final result. Ironically, a decision without process ceases to be a decision at all. By making choices for people we are denying them of their own journey. And a destination, with no journey, is not a destination. We must equip our loved ones for their own journeys rather than replicating the results of our own. We do so by modeling processes…by teaching others how to be stewards of their own journey.
The ends (the destination) do not justify the means (the journey). In point of fact, the means, or journey, is just as important, if not more important than the ends. In other words we need to teach good attitudes rather than hand down platitudes. “A person who has never had a crisis is one who remains forever inhibited, repressed, entrenched in delusion, and constricted by limitations so habitual they have become invisible.” (Michael Casey)
Why is the journey so important? Imagine for a moment you needed to travel to a location somewhere in a large city. If I blindfolded you and took you to that location, then left you there what good would it do? Not only would you not know how to repeat the process, you would have a very difficult time proceeding from that point. The immediate objective would have been accomplished (getting you there), but there would have been no nurturing and no growth. Making decisions for people or telling them what their decisions or beliefs should be is like giving someone only the last page of an instruction manual.
My friend Don gave Jason the whole instruction manual and taught him how to use it. When the crucial moment came Jason knew the process because he had already experienced the journey. Don had walked the path with him many times before, so Jason knew the way. Teach others how to journey and you never need worry about their destinations.
Dear God: Show me the way and I will find where it leads.
“It’s not hard to make decisions when you know what your values are.” ~Roy Disney, co-founder of the Walt Disney Company (1930-2009)
© 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.
Letterman was doing his top 10 reasons not to live in LA when the phone started ringing. Don hit the record button on the DVR and got up to answer the phone. Locating the cordless, behind a pillow on the sofa, he clicked on. “Hello?” There was a brief pause. “Hello? Dad?” It was the voice of Don’s 22 year-old son Jason. “Is everything, OK?” Don asked quickly. “Yeh Dad, everything’s fine.” Masking the relief in his voice Don asked “What’s going on?” Faltering at first Jason began, “Well Dad, I am at this party, you know, at the Barker’s?”
Don was calmly shifting his weight from foot to foot in a gentle rocking motion. Jason continued “And, well you see somebody brought some party stuff…you know?” Trying not to over react Don smiled to himself. “No, I’m not sure I understand.” he replied calmly. “Well, somebody brought some, well you know, grass.” Don resisted the temptation to prolong his son’s agony by asking what he meant by “grass”. “You mean someone brought marijuana to the party?” he responded, still smiling. “Ah, yeh” Jason replied. “So why are you calling me?” Don inquired casually. There was a pregnant pause…. “Well, I was (ah) wondering if (um) you thought (ah) it was OK for me (um) to (ah) try it? Gratified by his son’s willingness to include him in the decision Don paused to avoid the obvious knee jerk reaction.
“Jason, you’re what, 22?” “Yeh Dad.” “Well here’s what I think. After all the talks we’ve had about how to make good decisions, I think it’s time I let you handle this one on your own.” “Besides…I trust you.” There was another long pause. “Well, ah, thanks Dad.” “Love you…I won’t be late…bye.” Don, looked at the receiver for a moment and smiled to himself. He knew what decision Jason would make. Clicking off he headed back to the DVR…and Letterman.
Our natural tendency is to make decisions for people. Particularly when they are moral decisions and particularly when the “people” in question are our kids. In doing so, however, we are doing the other person a disservice. Rather than being a steward of the process of decision making we rush to a conclusion imposing a final result. Ironically, a decision without process ceases to be a decision at all. By making choices for people we are denying them of their own journey. And a destination, with no journey, is not a destination. We must equip our loved ones for their own journeys rather than replicating the results of our own. We do so by modeling processes…by teaching others how to be stewards of their own journey.
The ends (the destination) do not justify the means (the journey). In point of fact, the means, or journey, is just as important, if not more important than the ends. In other words we need to teach good attitudes rather than hand down platitudes. “A person who has never had a crisis is one who remains forever inhibited, repressed, entrenched in delusion, and constricted by limitations so habitual they have become invisible.” (Michael Casey)
Why is the journey so important? Imagine for a moment you needed to travel to a location somewhere in a large city. If I blindfolded you and took you to that location, then left you there what good would it do? Not only would you not know how to repeat the process, you would have a very difficult time proceeding from that point. The immediate objective would have been accomplished (getting you there), but there would have been no nurturing and no growth. Making decisions for people or telling them what their decisions or beliefs should be is like giving someone only the last page of an instruction manual.
My friend Don gave Jason the whole instruction manual and taught him how to use it. When the crucial moment came Jason knew the process because he had already experienced the journey. Don had walked the path with him many times before, so Jason knew the way. Teach others how to journey and you never need worry about their destinations.
Dear God: Show me the way and I will find where it leads.
“It’s not hard to make decisions when you know what your values are.” ~Roy Disney, co-founder of the Walt Disney Company (1930-2009)
© 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.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Comparison Shopping
“Joy is not in things, it is in us.” ~Richard Wagner, German dramatic composer and theorist (1813-1883).
My fingers glided carefully over the black, gun metal surface of the flat oblong case. It was pristine, without a single finger print or blemish. I carefully pushed the button latch and lifted the lid. Virgin hinges gave gentle resistance. Inside I was greeted by the anticipated array of shiny black keys. The interior was sterile: no dust, no prints, no nada. I stared inside for another moment or two then deftly snapped the lid shut. Carefully I returned my new Dell laptop to its bubble wrap sheath and then to the box in which it has arrived. “You gotta Dell Dude!” the old slogan rang in my ears.
It had taken me two weeks to finally decide to free the new computer from the box in which it was shipped. After all, once I opened it, the computer wouldn’t be new any more, would it? I still wasn’t quite ready to boot it up, however. That pleasure would be saved for another day. The box, with the lap top safely inside, fit perfectly in the file drawer of my desk. In it went. I closed the drawer with a smile.
This was the final step of months spent trying to find the “best deal” on this particular lap top. I had poured over newspaper ads and checked the advanced notices which came directly to my desk top at work. Twice I had attempted to order this particular model at an “unbelievable rock bottom price” only to find it was out of stock. Finally, I was able to order the next to last one in stock at the lowest price I had found any where. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction, I headed downstairs for my favorite Sunday treat...my first cup of fresh, hot coffee.
When I arrived on the back deck, coffee in hand, Teresa was already enjoying her favorite Sunday treat. The Sunday paper was strewn about the patio table, located just outside the exterior door to our family room. Teresa sat contentedly at the glass top table, with her cup of coffee, reading the paper and periodically commiserating with the blue jay family which occupies our oleander tree. I sat down next to her and began absent-mindedly picking through the newspaper ads while sipping at my coffee.
My eye fell on the ad for one of those big box office supply stores. At first I simply glanced at the cover. Moments passed... then something caught my eye. Leaning in, I noticed there was a picture of a laptop on the cover. A laptop which looked just like mine and the cost? …hundreds less! Cursing loud enough to startle Teresa I tore open the ad to assess the financial damage…by how much had I been ripped off. I poured through the description of the machine, which was sparse to say the least. Frustrated I headed upstairs, yanked open the drawer and extricated the owner’s manual from the laptop box…by this time I was fuming. A quick comparison indicated the advertised machine was the same as mine…except the price.
I headed for our desk top to look up the ad online…hoping to find more comparative information. While I was pounding away at the keys, Teresa wandered into the computer room with her second cup of coffee. She watched calmly while I swore at the screen. Finally, I turned away from the desktop to face her. “They’re the same,” I said dejectedly. I over paid. Teresa glanced at the ad. “Doesn’t your lap top have that built in camera thing?” she asked innocently. “Yeh, I guess?” “And didn’t you get a case and some extra memory with it?” she continued. “Umm, yeh.” (I was starting to feel very sheepish all of a sudden). She pointed at the ad. I don’t think you get any of that stuff with this one.” (pause) “Besides, this one only comes in pink.” She handed me the ad and left the room. Suddenly my computer didn’t seem so new any more. In a matter of minutes I had destroyed my joy.
Any true spirituality calls us to a life of joy and fulfillment…to live a happier life. Stewardship is a spirituality…a way of living…a way to a better life. It does not, as some might believe, call us to a life of oppressive requirements or obligations…a giving through guilt program so to speak. Rather stewardship calls us to a life of joy, abundance and freedom.
Unfortunately most of us suffer from a neurosis which tends to destroy or mitigate our happiness. Rather than living a life of gratitude and thankfulness we sabotage our joy through guilt and envy. Guilt is insidious in that we are often so happy we somehow find a way to feel guilty for our happiness. It is the joy itself which becomes the source of our unhappiness.
Envy, which was the case with me and my new lap top, is that nagging perception that someone got more than I did…someone else got a better deal, a better break, a bigger portion or just plain more than I did. This doesn’t just apply to money and possessions, however. We become envious when others get more attention, a friendlier hello, more praise, a better title or even a nicer desk with a better location.
Happiness, however does not, can not, operate on a comparative basis. It can not be based on what I have and how it compares to how much someone else has. Why? Because there will always be someone else who has more! Someone else will always have gotten a better deal. If we base our happiness on a comparison of what we have to what everyone else has then ultimately the only happy person in the world will be the richest one (unless of course that person feels guilty about being happy.) Following a comparative approach to happiness makes us materialistically manic-depressive. Right now I’m joyful because I have a new car. A moment later I’m depressed because someone else got a nicer model or a better deal.
Stewardship calls us to an “attitude of gratitude”. If we are truly grateful for what we have joy follows naturally and can’t be shaken by comparisons. In my situation it wouldn’t have mattered if someone did pay a little less for the same lap top I purchased (and not a pink one either). I would still be experiencing the same joy I am right now as I type this reflection. If we are truly grateful for what we have our joy can not be sabotaged or taken from us. Otherwise we will “spend” our lives trying to keep up with the Jones and “SPEND” is the operative word.
Dear God: Teach me to be grateful for all that I have.
“Envy is the art of counting the other fellow’s blessings instead of your own.” ~Harold Coffin, humorist for the Associated Press (1905-1981)
© 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.
My fingers glided carefully over the black, gun metal surface of the flat oblong case. It was pristine, without a single finger print or blemish. I carefully pushed the button latch and lifted the lid. Virgin hinges gave gentle resistance. Inside I was greeted by the anticipated array of shiny black keys. The interior was sterile: no dust, no prints, no nada. I stared inside for another moment or two then deftly snapped the lid shut. Carefully I returned my new Dell laptop to its bubble wrap sheath and then to the box in which it has arrived. “You gotta Dell Dude!” the old slogan rang in my ears.
It had taken me two weeks to finally decide to free the new computer from the box in which it was shipped. After all, once I opened it, the computer wouldn’t be new any more, would it? I still wasn’t quite ready to boot it up, however. That pleasure would be saved for another day. The box, with the lap top safely inside, fit perfectly in the file drawer of my desk. In it went. I closed the drawer with a smile.
This was the final step of months spent trying to find the “best deal” on this particular lap top. I had poured over newspaper ads and checked the advanced notices which came directly to my desk top at work. Twice I had attempted to order this particular model at an “unbelievable rock bottom price” only to find it was out of stock. Finally, I was able to order the next to last one in stock at the lowest price I had found any where. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction, I headed downstairs for my favorite Sunday treat...my first cup of fresh, hot coffee.
When I arrived on the back deck, coffee in hand, Teresa was already enjoying her favorite Sunday treat. The Sunday paper was strewn about the patio table, located just outside the exterior door to our family room. Teresa sat contentedly at the glass top table, with her cup of coffee, reading the paper and periodically commiserating with the blue jay family which occupies our oleander tree. I sat down next to her and began absent-mindedly picking through the newspaper ads while sipping at my coffee.
My eye fell on the ad for one of those big box office supply stores. At first I simply glanced at the cover. Moments passed... then something caught my eye. Leaning in, I noticed there was a picture of a laptop on the cover. A laptop which looked just like mine and the cost? …hundreds less! Cursing loud enough to startle Teresa I tore open the ad to assess the financial damage…by how much had I been ripped off. I poured through the description of the machine, which was sparse to say the least. Frustrated I headed upstairs, yanked open the drawer and extricated the owner’s manual from the laptop box…by this time I was fuming. A quick comparison indicated the advertised machine was the same as mine…except the price.
I headed for our desk top to look up the ad online…hoping to find more comparative information. While I was pounding away at the keys, Teresa wandered into the computer room with her second cup of coffee. She watched calmly while I swore at the screen. Finally, I turned away from the desktop to face her. “They’re the same,” I said dejectedly. I over paid. Teresa glanced at the ad. “Doesn’t your lap top have that built in camera thing?” she asked innocently. “Yeh, I guess?” “And didn’t you get a case and some extra memory with it?” she continued. “Umm, yeh.” (I was starting to feel very sheepish all of a sudden). She pointed at the ad. I don’t think you get any of that stuff with this one.” (pause) “Besides, this one only comes in pink.” She handed me the ad and left the room. Suddenly my computer didn’t seem so new any more. In a matter of minutes I had destroyed my joy.
Any true spirituality calls us to a life of joy and fulfillment…to live a happier life. Stewardship is a spirituality…a way of living…a way to a better life. It does not, as some might believe, call us to a life of oppressive requirements or obligations…a giving through guilt program so to speak. Rather stewardship calls us to a life of joy, abundance and freedom.
Unfortunately most of us suffer from a neurosis which tends to destroy or mitigate our happiness. Rather than living a life of gratitude and thankfulness we sabotage our joy through guilt and envy. Guilt is insidious in that we are often so happy we somehow find a way to feel guilty for our happiness. It is the joy itself which becomes the source of our unhappiness.
Envy, which was the case with me and my new lap top, is that nagging perception that someone got more than I did…someone else got a better deal, a better break, a bigger portion or just plain more than I did. This doesn’t just apply to money and possessions, however. We become envious when others get more attention, a friendlier hello, more praise, a better title or even a nicer desk with a better location.
Happiness, however does not, can not, operate on a comparative basis. It can not be based on what I have and how it compares to how much someone else has. Why? Because there will always be someone else who has more! Someone else will always have gotten a better deal. If we base our happiness on a comparison of what we have to what everyone else has then ultimately the only happy person in the world will be the richest one (unless of course that person feels guilty about being happy.) Following a comparative approach to happiness makes us materialistically manic-depressive. Right now I’m joyful because I have a new car. A moment later I’m depressed because someone else got a nicer model or a better deal.
Stewardship calls us to an “attitude of gratitude”. If we are truly grateful for what we have joy follows naturally and can’t be shaken by comparisons. In my situation it wouldn’t have mattered if someone did pay a little less for the same lap top I purchased (and not a pink one either). I would still be experiencing the same joy I am right now as I type this reflection. If we are truly grateful for what we have our joy can not be sabotaged or taken from us. Otherwise we will “spend” our lives trying to keep up with the Jones and “SPEND” is the operative word.
Dear God: Teach me to be grateful for all that I have.
“Envy is the art of counting the other fellow’s blessings instead of your own.” ~Harold Coffin, humorist for the Associated Press (1905-1981)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 30, 2010
The Church
“If you say that the history of the Church is a long succession of scandals, you are telling the truth, though if that is all you say, you are distorting the truth.” ~Gerald Vann, British Roman Catholic theologian and philosopher (1906 – 1963)
“What do you mean by THE CHURCH?” snarled the Deacon to my left. “I guess I mean Church with a big ‘C’” I responded rather timidly. “Shocked” would be the word which described my state of mind however. Teresa and I were attending our monthly Deacon Deanery meeting. We were in the midst of a contemplative reflection on John 21*…or so I thought. The concept is simple enough. The scripture passage is read aloud then, those who feel moved to do so, share whatever comes to mind. (*John 21: The Miraculous Catch of Fish)
Leaning on some recent reading, I had suggested Peter’s fishing boat could be seen as a symbol for “the church” and the turning of the boat toward Jesus on the shore indicated the importance of keeping “the church” focused in the direction of Christ. I had also thrown in some choice factoids regarding the symbolism of the “153 fish” in the catch and that Peter “throws on clothes” before entering the water. Admittedly, I was showing off a little.
“We all know the symbolism in the story”, grumped the Deacon. “But I’ve got people in my office everyday complaining about the Church.” “The Church is in trouble…” His rant continued.
It would not be unusual for someone to ask a clarifying question during a scripture meditation, but a confrontational diatribe is a bit like bringing a hand gun to a garden party. I put on my best conciliatory smile and listened, though I admit, not very attentively. Several times I tried to interject an explanation, but it didn’t really matter what I said. The script for the lecture we were receiving had undoubtedly been fixed in the Deacon’s mind before he arrived that evening. I had simply made myself a convenient target by trying to demonstrate my scriptural prowess. Finally… he was finished.
The meeting broke up shortly thereafter. As we headed for the parking lot I grumbled under my breath “This is the last one of these meetings I’m going to attend.” Teresa just smiled and patted me on the back. That’s her code for, “Yes Dear.”
“What do we mean when we refer to “the church”? When we complain about “the church” who or what do we identify as “the church”? Undoubtedly, to many of us, “the church” is in Rome or, no closer than the Archdiocesan Offices in downtown LA. We institutionalize the church believing it is represented by the guys in pointy hats, red beanies and black suits with backwards collars. However, as stewards of “the faith” we are, for all intents and purposes, stewards of “the church” as well. In other words, “we are the church”. Vatican II said as much.
Regardless of how one defines “the Church” our church is currently being severely criticized and not without provocation or precedence. For most of its 2000 year history, the Church has been in conflict. We have experienced periods of great persecution and confrontation. Surprisingly, the times of great persecution have also been times of great evangelization. Look at the first 300 years of Christianity.
While today’s institutional church fights press releases with press releases…trading punches with the media like a couple of heavyweight boxers, how do we, as the stewards of the faith, respond? The perfunctory response would be to “circle the wagons” to protect ourselves from attack. We envision this as a war and we are under siege. So we turn inward in an attempt to defend ourselves…to protect ourselves
In point of fact, our response should be quite the opposite. Taking our queue from Christ we must turn ourselves outward and open ourselves to the world. Christ never defended himself. Our principle image of Him is nearly naked, arms outstretched, nailed to a cross…defenseless, vulnerable. If we are to see our current state of affairs for the gift that it is…we must acknowledge it is an opportunity to reform and renew, to go deeper in our faith. Only then can we return this gift to God with increase, but we can not do so from a protectionist posture.
Closed, fisted hands can neither give nor receive. We must open ourselves compassionately to the world allowing it to engage us…to experience our faith at street level. Society can not see into our churches. Society can only see those of us who come out into the light of the world. We can ill afford to allow our church to be defined by the 6:00 news. Therefore, we need to “stop doing church and start being the church” (Albert L. Winseman).
In our very secularized culture our lives may be the only scripture others read or the only homily some people hear. Our behaviors may be the only liturgy they experience. Only 28% of the American population is Catholic, so we may well be the only version of Catholicism the general populace will ever encounter, except for the New York Times…scary thought.
Christ does not call us to be protectionists, but evangelists. This time of confrontations and sometimes persecution is a time for evangelization. Evangelization is not about indoctrination, it is about conversation. We are not called to educate but to demonstrate. To be stewards of our faith we must begin by being present to our faith in the world as well as in our churches. Our lives are our best advertisement.
Jesus stumbled and fell often on his way to Calvary only to be ultimately resurrected. As the face of Christ to our communities we must come to expect that we too will stumble and fall on the way to our reward. There is no reason to believe otherwise. St Paul reminds us that all things are possible through Christ; but he never said things would be easy.
Dear God: Help me to make my life a homily.
“Church isn’t where you meet. Church isn’t a building. Church is what you do. Church is who you are. Church is the human outworking of the person of Jesus Christ. Let’s not go to Church, let’s be the Church.” ~Bridget Willard, contemporary American author
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
“What do you mean by THE CHURCH?” snarled the Deacon to my left. “I guess I mean Church with a big ‘C’” I responded rather timidly. “Shocked” would be the word which described my state of mind however. Teresa and I were attending our monthly Deacon Deanery meeting. We were in the midst of a contemplative reflection on John 21*…or so I thought. The concept is simple enough. The scripture passage is read aloud then, those who feel moved to do so, share whatever comes to mind. (*John 21: The Miraculous Catch of Fish)
Leaning on some recent reading, I had suggested Peter’s fishing boat could be seen as a symbol for “the church” and the turning of the boat toward Jesus on the shore indicated the importance of keeping “the church” focused in the direction of Christ. I had also thrown in some choice factoids regarding the symbolism of the “153 fish” in the catch and that Peter “throws on clothes” before entering the water. Admittedly, I was showing off a little.
“We all know the symbolism in the story”, grumped the Deacon. “But I’ve got people in my office everyday complaining about the Church.” “The Church is in trouble…” His rant continued.
It would not be unusual for someone to ask a clarifying question during a scripture meditation, but a confrontational diatribe is a bit like bringing a hand gun to a garden party. I put on my best conciliatory smile and listened, though I admit, not very attentively. Several times I tried to interject an explanation, but it didn’t really matter what I said. The script for the lecture we were receiving had undoubtedly been fixed in the Deacon’s mind before he arrived that evening. I had simply made myself a convenient target by trying to demonstrate my scriptural prowess. Finally… he was finished.
The meeting broke up shortly thereafter. As we headed for the parking lot I grumbled under my breath “This is the last one of these meetings I’m going to attend.” Teresa just smiled and patted me on the back. That’s her code for, “Yes Dear.”
“What do we mean when we refer to “the church”? When we complain about “the church” who or what do we identify as “the church”? Undoubtedly, to many of us, “the church” is in Rome or, no closer than the Archdiocesan Offices in downtown LA. We institutionalize the church believing it is represented by the guys in pointy hats, red beanies and black suits with backwards collars. However, as stewards of “the faith” we are, for all intents and purposes, stewards of “the church” as well. In other words, “we are the church”. Vatican II said as much.
Regardless of how one defines “the Church” our church is currently being severely criticized and not without provocation or precedence. For most of its 2000 year history, the Church has been in conflict. We have experienced periods of great persecution and confrontation. Surprisingly, the times of great persecution have also been times of great evangelization. Look at the first 300 years of Christianity.
While today’s institutional church fights press releases with press releases…trading punches with the media like a couple of heavyweight boxers, how do we, as the stewards of the faith, respond? The perfunctory response would be to “circle the wagons” to protect ourselves from attack. We envision this as a war and we are under siege. So we turn inward in an attempt to defend ourselves…to protect ourselves
In point of fact, our response should be quite the opposite. Taking our queue from Christ we must turn ourselves outward and open ourselves to the world. Christ never defended himself. Our principle image of Him is nearly naked, arms outstretched, nailed to a cross…defenseless, vulnerable. If we are to see our current state of affairs for the gift that it is…we must acknowledge it is an opportunity to reform and renew, to go deeper in our faith. Only then can we return this gift to God with increase, but we can not do so from a protectionist posture.
Closed, fisted hands can neither give nor receive. We must open ourselves compassionately to the world allowing it to engage us…to experience our faith at street level. Society can not see into our churches. Society can only see those of us who come out into the light of the world. We can ill afford to allow our church to be defined by the 6:00 news. Therefore, we need to “stop doing church and start being the church” (Albert L. Winseman).
In our very secularized culture our lives may be the only scripture others read or the only homily some people hear. Our behaviors may be the only liturgy they experience. Only 28% of the American population is Catholic, so we may well be the only version of Catholicism the general populace will ever encounter, except for the New York Times…scary thought.
Christ does not call us to be protectionists, but evangelists. This time of confrontations and sometimes persecution is a time for evangelization. Evangelization is not about indoctrination, it is about conversation. We are not called to educate but to demonstrate. To be stewards of our faith we must begin by being present to our faith in the world as well as in our churches. Our lives are our best advertisement.
Jesus stumbled and fell often on his way to Calvary only to be ultimately resurrected. As the face of Christ to our communities we must come to expect that we too will stumble and fall on the way to our reward. There is no reason to believe otherwise. St Paul reminds us that all things are possible through Christ; but he never said things would be easy.
Dear God: Help me to make my life a homily.
“Church isn’t where you meet. Church isn’t a building. Church is what you do. Church is who you are. Church is the human outworking of the person of Jesus Christ. Let’s not go to Church, let’s be the Church.” ~Bridget Willard, contemporary American author
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Night and Day
“In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening, love can hear the rustle of a wing.” ~Robert Ingersoll, Civil War veteran, American political leader and orator (1833-1899)
It was 6:55 AM Wednesday morning and Monsignor went flying past my open office door. “Tell me the days are worth the nights Jim” he called out over his shoulder, never breaking stride. “The days are worth the nights Monsignor,” I shouted back. He continued on. Our Parish Administrator’s wife had died tragically only three days earlier and we were all pondering that same question. Are the days worth the nights?
For more than a year prior to her death, every time I left my mother’s bedside, I reminded myself it might be the last time I saw her alive. For this reason, I tried to make each departure count by telling her repeatedly I loved her. When someone is in hospice care we are super-attentive to the proximity of death. However, if we left the house on a beautiful, sunny, Sunday afternoon to run a few errands, we would not expect to be called to the local emergency room, only to discover our spouse had died.
So often when we experience the death of another, particularly those who are closest to us, we envision enveloping darkness…the end of life. Death, however, can produce a response, an innate light, so kinetic as to be illuminating.
After a death, the first thing we often experience is raw, unbridled emotion. The insulation of decorum, image and civility are stripped from the wires of our being. The raw grief, despair and hopelessness rises in us unfiltered and unfettered often coming unexpectedly in fits and sparks. In a way we are being reconnected with the purest state of our emotions.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is purgative, purifying. It allows us the opportunity to “vent” our grief, relieving the emotional pressure of trying to hold it in. “The grief that does not speak whispers to the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break” wrote William Shakespeare. We may wish, at times like these, to try to keep up appearances. But this is not a time when appearances should be expected, requiring energy which we do not possess. This is undoubtedly why certain cultures openly wail at funerals and wakes. It is a way of “getting it all out.” Dumping the grief as it were.
Experiencing the death of another also provides us with perspective, clarity. What a friend of mine calls a “reality check”. The petty, superficial and unnecessary blanch when illuminated by the harsh reality of death. Petty grievances or disagreements which previously irked or disturbed us simply fall away. We see them for what they were and wonder why we held onto them so tightly in the first place.
Possessions, power and prestige cannot protect us from the grave, nor insulate us from our grief. Real grief is an opportunity to reconnect with who we are, what we should be and what is really important to us. There is a reason why so many return to the church after the death of a loved one. What they thought was important in their lives pales in the face of death.
As stewards we acknowledge everything is a gift. Within the illuminating night, which is death, we recognize the extent to which the deceased was a gift to us. As mourners come together there is a growing recognition of the extent to which the deceased was a gift to all. This is why communal events, times when mourners can come together to share (such as wakes, vigils or Bethany meals), are so important. There is a communal and complete exposition of the gift…the deceased.
Grief not only looks backward at the gift which is no longer, but looks forward as well. It helps us to see the gifts in others and of others. That which we have lost we can find again in other people, though perhaps not in exactly the same way. Those things which we had wished we had done we are now called upon to do again.
The last time I spoke with my friend Michael I made a perfunctory offer: “If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know and I will do it gladly.” Mike didn’t hesitate with his response: “There is one thing you can do for me,” he began. “You can make sure and tell your wife you love her every morning.”
The days are worth the nights, but it is the nights which illuminate the days.
Dear God: During these dark nights remind me of the gifts lost and the gifts to be discovered so my days may be ever brighter.
“They, who have gone, so we but cherish their memories, abide with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living.” ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French writer and aviator (1900-1944)
In loving memory: Mary Trudeau-Mottola and Alvin Hopkins
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
It was 6:55 AM Wednesday morning and Monsignor went flying past my open office door. “Tell me the days are worth the nights Jim” he called out over his shoulder, never breaking stride. “The days are worth the nights Monsignor,” I shouted back. He continued on. Our Parish Administrator’s wife had died tragically only three days earlier and we were all pondering that same question. Are the days worth the nights?
For more than a year prior to her death, every time I left my mother’s bedside, I reminded myself it might be the last time I saw her alive. For this reason, I tried to make each departure count by telling her repeatedly I loved her. When someone is in hospice care we are super-attentive to the proximity of death. However, if we left the house on a beautiful, sunny, Sunday afternoon to run a few errands, we would not expect to be called to the local emergency room, only to discover our spouse had died.
So often when we experience the death of another, particularly those who are closest to us, we envision enveloping darkness…the end of life. Death, however, can produce a response, an innate light, so kinetic as to be illuminating.
After a death, the first thing we often experience is raw, unbridled emotion. The insulation of decorum, image and civility are stripped from the wires of our being. The raw grief, despair and hopelessness rises in us unfiltered and unfettered often coming unexpectedly in fits and sparks. In a way we are being reconnected with the purest state of our emotions.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is purgative, purifying. It allows us the opportunity to “vent” our grief, relieving the emotional pressure of trying to hold it in. “The grief that does not speak whispers to the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break” wrote William Shakespeare. We may wish, at times like these, to try to keep up appearances. But this is not a time when appearances should be expected, requiring energy which we do not possess. This is undoubtedly why certain cultures openly wail at funerals and wakes. It is a way of “getting it all out.” Dumping the grief as it were.
Experiencing the death of another also provides us with perspective, clarity. What a friend of mine calls a “reality check”. The petty, superficial and unnecessary blanch when illuminated by the harsh reality of death. Petty grievances or disagreements which previously irked or disturbed us simply fall away. We see them for what they were and wonder why we held onto them so tightly in the first place.
Possessions, power and prestige cannot protect us from the grave, nor insulate us from our grief. Real grief is an opportunity to reconnect with who we are, what we should be and what is really important to us. There is a reason why so many return to the church after the death of a loved one. What they thought was important in their lives pales in the face of death.
As stewards we acknowledge everything is a gift. Within the illuminating night, which is death, we recognize the extent to which the deceased was a gift to us. As mourners come together there is a growing recognition of the extent to which the deceased was a gift to all. This is why communal events, times when mourners can come together to share (such as wakes, vigils or Bethany meals), are so important. There is a communal and complete exposition of the gift…the deceased.
Grief not only looks backward at the gift which is no longer, but looks forward as well. It helps us to see the gifts in others and of others. That which we have lost we can find again in other people, though perhaps not in exactly the same way. Those things which we had wished we had done we are now called upon to do again.
The last time I spoke with my friend Michael I made a perfunctory offer: “If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know and I will do it gladly.” Mike didn’t hesitate with his response: “There is one thing you can do for me,” he began. “You can make sure and tell your wife you love her every morning.”
The days are worth the nights, but it is the nights which illuminate the days.
Dear God: During these dark nights remind me of the gifts lost and the gifts to be discovered so my days may be ever brighter.
“They, who have gone, so we but cherish their memories, abide with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living.” ~Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French writer and aviator (1900-1944)
In loving memory: Mary Trudeau-Mottola and Alvin Hopkins
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Meltdown
“Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before, how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way, and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatever…” ~Isak Dinesen, (pseudonym of Baroness Karen Blixen), Danish author (Out of Africa), 1885-1962
“Honey! I’m home!” My wife’s voice wafted into my electronically induced coma. “Are you asleep or watching TV?” Her voice came from somewhere far away. “Just a minute,” I responded. On TV in HD the “perp” was starting to sweat. I was not going to miss this, even though I had recorded the program weeks earlier and could pause it any time I wanted.
“Where’s the basket of food we had blessed at the church this afternoon?” My wife’s voice was now emanating from the kitchen. “It should be there,” was my perfunctory response. “I don’t see it,” she said as she came around the corner. At that point the fog lifted and I remembered. “Oh, it’s in the back of the car,” I replied offhandedly, looking away from the TV, but only for an instant. “I hope not,” responded Teresa as she headed for the front door. It must be 85 degrees outside.
The unsuspecting suspect finally fell prey to the detectives’ clever mental gambit. The perp collapsed into a fit of heaves and sobs, between which he blubbered out a confession, which conveniently explained the entire plot. Teresa returned with the basket. “I think the chocolate has liquefied,” she observed heading for the kitchen…and the refrigerator. The credits were running so I quickly deleted the program and followed her into the kitchen.
“How is everything,” I asked casually. Teresa had finished her triage and was undertaking a salvage operation transferring the deformed chocolate bunnies and eggs to a shelf she had cleared in the frig. “It’s not looking good.” “They are kind of deformed,” she remarked working quickly and carefully. She was right. The bunnies’ tummies, were no longer round and nicely formed, now they had big dimples in the middle. The ears were laid back having been weakened at the base and the brightly colored foil had taken on a rumpled appearance. The chocolate eggs were similarly dimpled and had flattened on one side.
Teresa stood in front of the open refrigerator with her head cocked to one side contemplating the condition of her chocolate creatures. Easter is a big deal for my wife. She takes pride in the Easter baskets she assembles for our daughter, son-in-law, her mom (and me). In her world chocolate is to be purchased from purveyors of fine chocolate, not chain stores or pharmacies. For her it is a labor of love.
It had been my responsibility to bring home the basket of food (which contained the foil wrapped chocolate) from the church where the food had been blessed for Easter. Teresa departed the blessing ceremony to run errands, but I had headed home and gone straight to the couch. Now I was trying to think of some really good excuse other than, “I forgot.” Thank goodness we didn’t have the usual lamb, sculpted out of butter, in the basket. Teresa was still looking into the refrigerator when the laughter started. “God they look awful,” she said shaking her head in amusement. I started to apologize, but realized as long as she was laughing I was safe. Teresa shut the refrigerator door and returned to the other, less perishable, items in the basket.
Quickly weighing my options; should I ask if she was mad at me (even though she was laughing) or attempt an apology. I took the high ground. “So you think they’ll be alright,” I asked? “No,” she replied still laughing. “They look hideous,” she concluded. “Maybe no one will notice,” I suggested. “Hun, chocolate turns white from heat…they’ll notice, trust me.” At this point, I was quickly running out of options. “Should I go back and buy more bunnies?” I offered, hoping she would say no…and she did. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied, turning toward me with a smile. “Besides…this will make a good story for you to tell.” Teresa, still laughing, turned back to the basket. I headed for the safety of the sofa.
There was a time in our marriage when the molten chocolate creatures would have provided an opportunity for a vigorous argument. Fortunately we approach things differently these days. When seemingly bad things happen, one of us will undoubtedly say “well at least nobody died.” Compared to world hunger, global financial collapse and catastrophic natural disasters a few melted chocolate rabbits and eggs are not of much concern. But as stewards of time, acknowledging every moment we have on earth is a gift from God, it seems somehow inappropriate to cope with life’s events by simply characterizing all the potentially annoying ones as insignificant.
The “don’t worry because it’s not important” approach can be dangerous because it requires us to make a determination between significant events and insignificant ones. As stewards we are called to recognize every moment of our life as precious. Therefore, we must treat all our time as being of value. Arguing over my mental lapse would not have been a very valuable use of our time. Further, if it had become a point of contention, every time we returned to the event, the memory would have been painful. On the other hand, seeing the humor in the situation, not only strengthened our relationship, but produced a pleasurable moment in our life. One we will fondly recall over and over again.
This does not mean we should fill every second of our lives with what we perceive as significant events. There is a difference between something being “of value” and being “significant”. When time is “valued” our cup is full and our heart is light. Seemingly small things take on new meaning. This “value” can never be taken from us like laughter over melted chocolate. “Significance,” on the other hand, can be taken away from us at any time. Even if I broke a world record, eventually that achievement will be eclipsed, rendering it less significant.
Like my loving wife, I want to have a full cup and a light heart. It is not simply a matter of surviving potentially emotional situations, like melted rabbits, by deeming them to be insignificant (small stuff). Rather, it is about seeing these incidents as something of value…something to be approached joyfully. Teresa turned her attention away from herself and saw the humor in the situation: the chocolate cadavers laid out on the glass shelf of the fridge looking as if they were on a slab in the morgue. She returned the time to God with increase, full of warmth and laughter.
It is not about surviving life by rendering most of our lives as insignificant, nor is it about filling our lives with things we deem to be of great significance. Rather it is about approaching life realizing all our time is a gift of great value, to be approached reverently and joyfully…traversing each day with a full cup and a light heart.
Dear God: Remind me time is free, but priceless. I can not own it, but I can use it. I can not keep it, but I can spend it and once I have lost it, I can never have it back.
“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” ~Henry Van Dyke, American short-story writer, poet and essayist (1852-1933)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
“Honey! I’m home!” My wife’s voice wafted into my electronically induced coma. “Are you asleep or watching TV?” Her voice came from somewhere far away. “Just a minute,” I responded. On TV in HD the “perp” was starting to sweat. I was not going to miss this, even though I had recorded the program weeks earlier and could pause it any time I wanted.
“Where’s the basket of food we had blessed at the church this afternoon?” My wife’s voice was now emanating from the kitchen. “It should be there,” was my perfunctory response. “I don’t see it,” she said as she came around the corner. At that point the fog lifted and I remembered. “Oh, it’s in the back of the car,” I replied offhandedly, looking away from the TV, but only for an instant. “I hope not,” responded Teresa as she headed for the front door. It must be 85 degrees outside.
The unsuspecting suspect finally fell prey to the detectives’ clever mental gambit. The perp collapsed into a fit of heaves and sobs, between which he blubbered out a confession, which conveniently explained the entire plot. Teresa returned with the basket. “I think the chocolate has liquefied,” she observed heading for the kitchen…and the refrigerator. The credits were running so I quickly deleted the program and followed her into the kitchen.
“How is everything,” I asked casually. Teresa had finished her triage and was undertaking a salvage operation transferring the deformed chocolate bunnies and eggs to a shelf she had cleared in the frig. “It’s not looking good.” “They are kind of deformed,” she remarked working quickly and carefully. She was right. The bunnies’ tummies, were no longer round and nicely formed, now they had big dimples in the middle. The ears were laid back having been weakened at the base and the brightly colored foil had taken on a rumpled appearance. The chocolate eggs were similarly dimpled and had flattened on one side.
Teresa stood in front of the open refrigerator with her head cocked to one side contemplating the condition of her chocolate creatures. Easter is a big deal for my wife. She takes pride in the Easter baskets she assembles for our daughter, son-in-law, her mom (and me). In her world chocolate is to be purchased from purveyors of fine chocolate, not chain stores or pharmacies. For her it is a labor of love.
It had been my responsibility to bring home the basket of food (which contained the foil wrapped chocolate) from the church where the food had been blessed for Easter. Teresa departed the blessing ceremony to run errands, but I had headed home and gone straight to the couch. Now I was trying to think of some really good excuse other than, “I forgot.” Thank goodness we didn’t have the usual lamb, sculpted out of butter, in the basket. Teresa was still looking into the refrigerator when the laughter started. “God they look awful,” she said shaking her head in amusement. I started to apologize, but realized as long as she was laughing I was safe. Teresa shut the refrigerator door and returned to the other, less perishable, items in the basket.
Quickly weighing my options; should I ask if she was mad at me (even though she was laughing) or attempt an apology. I took the high ground. “So you think they’ll be alright,” I asked? “No,” she replied still laughing. “They look hideous,” she concluded. “Maybe no one will notice,” I suggested. “Hun, chocolate turns white from heat…they’ll notice, trust me.” At this point, I was quickly running out of options. “Should I go back and buy more bunnies?” I offered, hoping she would say no…and she did. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied, turning toward me with a smile. “Besides…this will make a good story for you to tell.” Teresa, still laughing, turned back to the basket. I headed for the safety of the sofa.
There was a time in our marriage when the molten chocolate creatures would have provided an opportunity for a vigorous argument. Fortunately we approach things differently these days. When seemingly bad things happen, one of us will undoubtedly say “well at least nobody died.” Compared to world hunger, global financial collapse and catastrophic natural disasters a few melted chocolate rabbits and eggs are not of much concern. But as stewards of time, acknowledging every moment we have on earth is a gift from God, it seems somehow inappropriate to cope with life’s events by simply characterizing all the potentially annoying ones as insignificant.
The “don’t worry because it’s not important” approach can be dangerous because it requires us to make a determination between significant events and insignificant ones. As stewards we are called to recognize every moment of our life as precious. Therefore, we must treat all our time as being of value. Arguing over my mental lapse would not have been a very valuable use of our time. Further, if it had become a point of contention, every time we returned to the event, the memory would have been painful. On the other hand, seeing the humor in the situation, not only strengthened our relationship, but produced a pleasurable moment in our life. One we will fondly recall over and over again.
This does not mean we should fill every second of our lives with what we perceive as significant events. There is a difference between something being “of value” and being “significant”. When time is “valued” our cup is full and our heart is light. Seemingly small things take on new meaning. This “value” can never be taken from us like laughter over melted chocolate. “Significance,” on the other hand, can be taken away from us at any time. Even if I broke a world record, eventually that achievement will be eclipsed, rendering it less significant.
Like my loving wife, I want to have a full cup and a light heart. It is not simply a matter of surviving potentially emotional situations, like melted rabbits, by deeming them to be insignificant (small stuff). Rather, it is about seeing these incidents as something of value…something to be approached joyfully. Teresa turned her attention away from herself and saw the humor in the situation: the chocolate cadavers laid out on the glass shelf of the fridge looking as if they were on a slab in the morgue. She returned the time to God with increase, full of warmth and laughter.
It is not about surviving life by rendering most of our lives as insignificant, nor is it about filling our lives with things we deem to be of great significance. Rather it is about approaching life realizing all our time is a gift of great value, to be approached reverently and joyfully…traversing each day with a full cup and a light heart.
Dear God: Remind me time is free, but priceless. I can not own it, but I can use it. I can not keep it, but I can spend it and once I have lost it, I can never have it back.
“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.” ~Henry Van Dyke, American short-story writer, poet and essayist (1852-1933)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)