Flawed Execution

“Clutter and mess show us that life is being lived.” ~Anne Lamott, American nonfiction writer and novelist (b1954)

John sat nervously in the posh waiting room, fumbling with his Smartphone. His shoes were polished to a lustrous shine. His shirt was freshly pressed and his suit had only been removed from the dry cleaner’s bag that morning. The job description, along with his resumé, lay on the chair next to him.

He knew he was the right person for the job. John had a spotless work record and excellent references. This was his big opportunity to move up. Suddenly an interior door opened and two men stepped into the room. He recognized Bill, the company VP for whom he hoped he’d be working. The other one was an older man. His sports coat and tie didn’t quite go together and his hair was a bit disheveled. John thought he detected scuffs on his shoes.

Bill finished his pleasantries with the man, shook his hand, and then said goodbye. “I’ll call you later this afternoon, Matthew,” he said as the man exited.

The VP turned to John. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Absolutely,” John replied, trying to appear nonchalant.

They made their way through a series of hallways, arriving finally at Bill’s modest office. John was invited to take a seat at a small, round conference table. Bill offered him water or coffee. John declined politely. With that, Bill sat down at the table and the interview began.

For the next 45 minutes John regaled his interviewer with stories of corporate wins, flawlessly executed projects and well managed operations. Near the end of the interview Bill remarked, “Wow, you have had a very successful career so far, but tell me about a time when things went wrong and how you dealt with it?”

John’s mind went blank. He hadn’t anticipated such a question. Besides, who wants to talk about the things that went wrong in your career? He certainly didn’t. Panic set in as John stumbled through a couple of attempts to answer the question; none of which hit the mark. After several minutes of “circle talk” he simply stopped.

Bill wrapped up the interview cordially and, after asking John if he had any questions (of which he had none), escorted him back to the waiting room.

In the waiting room Bill shook John’s hand. “John you are obviously very competent and have a bright future, but I don’t think you are the person for this job.” “I’ve decided to give the position to a man named Matthew.” “You mean the guy who left just before my interview?” John blurted out.

Bill read the surprise on John’s face and in his voice. “Yes,” he replied. “And here’s the reason.”

“I have no doubt you would run a great operation. But we are a high risk operation here. Things break badly sometimes. More often than we like. Matthew has managed through his share of disasters and we need someone with his experience. We already have too many people in our organization who have experience in flawless execution. We need someone with life experience. Matthew knows what it’s like when things go really, really bad, and he knows how to deal with them.”

“Thank you for coming in. We’ll keep your resumé on file for six months in case another position comes open.”

Much as we would like it to be, life is not about flawless execution. The advertising industry has sold us on the idea that life can be effortless if only we purchase the right car, the right “smart phone” or the right set of kitchen appliances. In point of fact, life is messy. Things break bad more often than we care to admit.

John thinks a job is about always looking good. Bill, on the other hand, wants someone who understands the realities of his business: the difficulties and the troubles.

Is it any wonder that Jesus selects the odd collection of men he does for disciples? Why doesn’t he just go to the temple and choose the 12 holiest men he can find for his disciples? Instead he recruits the modern equivalent of dockworkers, a loan shark and day laborers. The answer is that life is lived on the streets and not in the church.

So Jesus recruits people with “street cred.” People who have experienced and understand the hardships of life. This also tells us that God understands us. His Son, Jesus, is willing to go everywhere and anywhere with us, and to travel in the company of everyday people.

While faith is lived out in the marketplace, on the freeway, in the office and at home, it is renewed at church and through our religious practices. Our spiritual activities provide spiritual nourishment for life’s journey. As stewards of our God-given time, we are called to refresh and renew ourselves through worship, prayer, study and contemplation.

Our faith is renewed in church, but it is practiced on the streets. And in this day and age, as in every one before it, there are plenty of opportunities to practice.

Dear Lord: Teach me to take my faith into the world.

“Too late, I found you can't wait to become perfect, you got to go out and fall down and get up with everybody else.” ~Ray Bradbury, American fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery writer (1920-2012) from Something Wicked this Way Comes

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship”  All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Resolution Solution

“Beware the sound of one hand clapping.” ~Will Rogers, American cowboy, vaudeville performer, humorist, social commentator and motion picture actor (1879-1935). 

It was time to settle things once and for all. I had had enough of putting up with Billy Barker. We were friends once, but that ended when he started going behind my back.  He had been lying about me and it was going to stop.

Try as I might, Billy was not to be found though I had searched the entire building.  He must have discovered I was looking for him and made himself scarce.

I headed out the front door to search the grounds when I caught sight of Billy. He was standing just outside the glass double doors talking to Melissa Gilbertson. Having found my tormentor I crashed through the doors and headed straight for him.

“You jerk!” I yelled. Billy turned to face me. “What’s your problem?” he asked with a sneer. “You’re my problem!” I taunted back. “Everything about you is a problem!” We squared off opposite of one another. Melissa wisely disappeared.

“I’m tired of you sneaking around behind my back,” I snarled accusingly. “You’re tired? I’m tired of putting up with you.” Billy was facing me, arms folded, his cheeks turning scarlet. 

“Well if you’re so tired why don’t you lie down and take a nap?” I barked.

“Not until you lie down first,” Billy shouted, stiff-arming me in the shoulder.

The taunts grew louder, and the shoves got harder. Before I knew it we found ourselves on the ground wrapped in mortal combat. Moments later I felt hands, other than Billy’s, grabbing me, pulling us apart and leading us away. 

We found ourselves sitting on a hard, unforgiving, wooden bench outside a foreboding door, with opaque glass. We could hear muffled voices coming from inside the office, but could not make out what was being said.

Finally the door swung open and Jim Simpson appeared in the doorway. He silently motioned to Billy and me with the first two fingers on his right hand, indicating we were to enter the office. Once inside he indicated we were to sit in the chairs opposite his desk.

Mr. Simpson sat down behind his desk, crossed his arms, leaned forward and stared at us. “OK Barker, Carper, what is it this time?” Mr. Simpson was our grade school principal. Billy and I were eight years old.

The playground mentality of escalation is alive and well in the adult world. I call you a name, you call me something worse. I push you, you push back harder. We see this approach in business, foreign affairs, political campaigns and all too often in personal relationships. This approach creates an insidious dynamic that can only end badly unless the cycle is broken.

Jesus broke this cycle by dying for us on the cross while giving his persecutors and us unconditional forgiveness. It was the consummate de-escalation. It is an incredibly radical departure from what we would consider “the norm.”

Sometimes we find ourselves believing that, as long as we stay out of the fray, as long as we behave ourselves and keep our heads down, we are fulfilling our part of the bargain. But I think we are called to something more than that. As Christian stewards we are not only responsible for the care and use of our own gifts of time, talent and treasure, but we are called to help others realize theirs as well.

What if tomorrow, Mitt Romney walked into the Oval Office or Barrack Obama appeared at Romney’s campaign headquarters and they decided to take the billions of dollars being spent on the presidential election and worked together to fix the problems in our country? What if the Tea Partiers and the Occupy Wallstreeters chose, instead of protesting, to use their collective volunteer power to eliminate poverty in America?

Clearly escalation is not the answer. It was not the answer for me when I was eight and it is not the answer to the problems of the world today. It is only when we begin to value one another and use that new found respect to work toward mutual resolutions that things will change. We are called to be stewards of all…not just ourselves.

Dear God: Help me to stop worrying about whose right long enough for me to help save the world.

“Between an uncontrolled escalation and passivity, there is a demanding road of responsibility that we must follow.” ~Dominique de Villepin, French politician and former French Prime Minister (b1953)

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship”  All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Who I Am

Commit everything you do to the Lord. Trust him to help you do it and he will. ~Psalm 37:5

We were seated at a center table in “Vegan Glory,” on Beverly Boulevard, with our friend Poppy. I was tucking into my order of Mee-Krob (crispy rice noodles, bean curd, and fried soy shrimp caramelized in a sweet sauce, garnished with bean sprouts). Teresa was happily munching away on her spring rolls stuffed with cabbage, carrot, mung bean noodles, baked tofu, and shitake mushrooms, and served with sweet & sour sauce.  

Poppy was chowing down on a Japanese Seaweed salad with a side of Miso soup. Suffice it to say, the Seaweed salad is what I fondly refer to as a “don’t ask, don’t tell dish.” 

Teresa and I do not usually eat vegan, but we are adventurous when it comes to food. So when Poppy invited us, we decided to give it a try. So far, it had proved to be unique but tasty, though the carnivore in me still felt something was missing (like a nice slice of brisket). 

“So how do you like it so far?” Poppy asked with a grin. Poppy is fifty-something, but looks thirty-something. She is slender and tall, with a glowing complexion and lustrous hair. The humorous thing about Poppy is that she is her own best caricature, looking as if she had just stepped out of a Mary Engelbreit greeting card. 

Teresa and I responded to her question by simultaneously making an “hmm-hmm” sound; our mouths still full of food. “Eating Vegan was not what you expected, huh?” she continued; taking a quick slurp of her Miso soup.

“You know, more and more of our friends are becoming vegans,” I managed to say between bites. “Are they vegans? Or do they just abstain from eating meat?” Poppy asked with a bit of an edge to the question. Missing the slight tone of irritation in her voice, “I didn’t know there was a difference,” I replied.  

Our friend patiently wiped her mouth with her napkin, carefully laid it on the table and looked at me with her luminous blue eyes glittering. “Jim, there is a big difference.” 

“Veganism is the practice of abstaining from the use of animal products, in one’s diet, but also in other areas. I am a ‘lifestyle vegan.’ That means, not only do I follow a vegan diet, but I follow a vegan philosophy in all areas of my life, which includes the rejection of all animal products on the premise that the exploitation of animals is environmentally damaging.” 

I sat there stunned, feeling as if I had just been read the “Vegan Manifesto” from a pamphlet. Poppy stared at me for a moment, and then smiled. She replaced her napkin on her lap and resumed munching on her Seaweed salad, chattering happily away between bites.  

“You need to try the mango with sticky rice for dessert,” she chirped energetically, waving at the server. Though I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, I wasn’t about to ask any more questions.  

Most of us try a great many new things in the hope that the “latest thing” will make our lives better or at least make us happier. These new things may be products, diets, self-help strategies, or even philosophies, but in the long run, we rarely commit to anything new, at least for very long.  

Our faith can be like that. Many of us can quickly become “Christians of convenience” depending on the circumstances. Our Christianity becomes “something I am,” rather than “who I am.” 

Poppy made a wonderful point when she called herself a “lifestyle vegan.” As Christian Stewards one of the many gifts we receive from God is our Christian faith – a faith we are called to attend to and to pass along. It is not something we “do” just on Sundays and high holy days; it is who we are and how we live on all days.  

Just as our friend Poppy is a lifestyle vegan, we are called, by God, to be lifestyle Christians, a lifestyle which affects all aspects of our lives.  

Dear God, teach me to live the Christianity I profess.

 “Men cannot make Scripture conform to their lifestyle; they must make their lifestyle conform to Scripture.” ~Edwin Louis Cole, American founder of the Christian Men’s Network (1922-2002)

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper of Simi Valley, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Dying to Live

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear God: Help me to live!

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

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

 ©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper of Simi Valley, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Where You Live?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship” is Deacon James E. Carper of Simi Valley, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

Spread it Around

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

“90 Second Stewardship”  All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the “© 2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.

Friendly Competition

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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