“I expect to pass through this life but once. If therefore, there be any kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” ~William Penn, English real estate entrepreneur, philosopher, and founder of the “Province” of Pennsylvania (1644-1718)
“What do you think about us going to the mission and feeding the homeless for Thanksgiving?” I asked my dubious daughter. “I guess it’s OK,” she replied with a shrug. I could tell she had no idea what she was getting into. Frankly, neither did I.
It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and I was feeling particularly parental. My daughter was in fourth grade and I got the bright idea it was time to give her a “positive life experience.” My plan was to go to the local mission, feed the homeless Thanksgiving dinner for a couple hours, then go to a nice hotel brunch for our Thanksgiving dinner. There was a particularly lavish one I had wanted to try out.
(No good deed goes unpunished it seems. Particularly when it is our idea of a good deed and we have strings attached to it.) Leafing through the yellow pages I quickly found what I was looking for; the number of our local mission. Punching the numbers into the wall phone I waited expectantly; anticipating a cheerful “hello” followed by effusive gratitude. The phone rang for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, there was a click on the other end.
I half expected a dial tone or an answering machine. Instead, I was momentarily stunned by a gruff voice on the other end. “Mission!” was the only word they spoke. “Is this the city mission?” I asked pleasantly. “Yeah,” came the monosyllabic response. “My family and I would like to volunteer to help at your Thanksgiving Dinner.” Before I could even give my well rehearsed speech about how it would be a good experience for my daughter the curt voice on the other end of the phone cut me off, “We’re full…you’re the twentieth person whose called today.” My plans melted in front of me. “What about Christmas?” The “mas” wasn’t even out of my mouth when the response came. “We’re full then too…why don’t you call back in July when we really need help” (click).
I stood there staring at the lifeless receiver in my hand. My expectation of an ego boost from a grateful and gracious response had been doused with the ice water of reality. Everyone wants to volunteer at the holidays. Everyone wants to be a good person when “tis the season” to do good works. Though I promised myself I would, I never called back in July.
“If our entry into heaven required a letter of reference from the poor, would we be able to get one?” There are 1.02 billion hungry people in the world today. Every day over 16,000 children (1 every 5 seconds) will die from hunger. But how can there not be enough food to go around? The combined net worth of the three richest people in the world is greater than the combined net worth of the 48 poorest nations, representing one quarter of the world’s population. Hunger is a daily reality for most of the world.
Stewardship is not a seasonal occurrence. It is the lifelong response of a faithful disciple; a response which calls us to be grateful and giving year round. Am I suggesting the people who only volunteer during the holidays are misguided or unworthy?
No, all volunteers deserve our gratitude and affirmation. But, what if we, as a society, approached sheltering the homeless, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoner and providing for needy children with the same gusto, through out the year, as we exhibit during the holidays. What if we brought all that intensity, excitement and commitment to bear 24/7/365? How much suffering could we alleviate?
My gruff friend was right…Call back in July!
Dear God: Remind me I am called to be a full time steward not just a part time volunteer.
“Sometime in your life, hope that you might see one starved man, the look on his face when the bread finally arrives. Hope that you might have baked it or bought or even kneaded it yourself. For that look on his face, for your meeting his eyes across a piece of bread, you might be willing to lose a lot, or suffer a lot, or die a little, even.” ~Daniel Berrigan, American poet, peace activist and Catholic Priest (b1921)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“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.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Spiritual Conviction
“In prison, those things withheld from and denied to the prisoner become precisely what he wants most of all.” ~Eldridge Cleaver, American radical intellectual and author (1935-1998)
“Could I speak with you a minute?” is never a comforting prelude to any conversation. I followed the president of our Catholic men’s organization out the door of the parish center to a secluded spot in the exterior courtyard. “The Executive Council met last week to discuss your ministry proposal,” he began hesitantly. “We had a really good discussion and there are a lot of us who support your idea.” (The unspoken “BUT” hung over the conversation like a mist.) “I’m personally in favor of what you’re trying to do.” “BUT, after all was said and done we voted not to support your KAIROS weekend.” My brain wasn’t processing what he had just said. I stood there, my head cocked to one side, blinking.
Over a month earlier I had brought our Deacon to a meeting to enlist the group’s help with a Detention Ministry weekend (*KAIROS). Our requests were modest: Prayers during the weekend, chocolate chip cookies (as many dozen as possible), semi-anonymous letters written to the detainees and a coloring book picture of Jesus to be duplicated and colored (semi-anonymously) by whatever children we could muster.
“But, Bob!” I finally blurted out. “The weekend is less than two weeks away.” “You’re leaving me in a tough spot here.” Bob’s conciliatory tone turned defensive, “I’m sorry Jim!” “But the Executive Council doesn’t think we should be helping convicts.” “Besides, what possible good can cookies and coloring books do anyway?” The words were out before Bob realized he had said them. I allowed the intervening silence to be my response. “I am sorry,” Bob said finally and he departed without further conversation.
The drive home was dismal. Earlier that week another “Christian” organization had bailed on my grand plan for much the same reason. “The mothers don’t want their children writing to felons,” the coordinator had shared. “I’m sorry.”
Now what was I going to do?
The next morning my mood had not improved much. I arrived at my job at the YMCA in a storm cloud of a mood. “What’s up with you?” Flo, the Membership Director finally asked. I relayed the long, excruciating version of my sad story. “We can have the “Child Watch” color pages for you and as for the letters why don’t you talk to teens in Youth and Government?” “They are always looking for projects.”
Three days later I was in front of the Youth and Government teens. They cranked out fifty plus letters that same evening. I added another ten and the coordinator, whose group had bowed out, produced a pile of letters her and her daughter had written.
On the Wednesday before the KAIROS weekend the Child Watch coordinator proudly presented me with a two hundred “crayon covered” pages, many with small hand prints traced on the back replete with hugs and kisses (x’s and o’s). Notes such as “Jesus loves you” were scrawled in various places. “We ran out of the copies you gave us,” the coordinator said apologetically. “So we used our own.” She handed me another pile of coloring book pages. Mickey and Minnie smiled up at me from the paper. “I hope these are OK?” she asked. “I’m sure they are OK,” I responded with a smile.
Teresa spent the previous weekend baking dozens of her favorite chocolate chip cookies. We bagged them in sleeves of a dozen each. Thursday afternoon I delivered my boxes of cookies, letters and crayoned masterpieces to the appointed drop off site. As I pulled out of the parking lot I realized the irritations of the previous week had all but faded. How precious little it had taken to make a difference.
Jesus never asked who was worthy of his attention. Whether it was a scoundrel of a tax collector out on a limb or ten lepers blocking the road shouting his name, Jesus treated everyone with the same grace, compassion and love. He lived and worked in the tough part of town, on the wrong side of the tracks rubbing elbows with society’s discardable people. His actions are a contemporary template for our approach to ministry.
Ministry is, or should be, based on who needs help as opposed to who deserves help. We tread on dangerous ground when we start passing judgments predicated on worthiness or deservedness. Thank God our God is loving and compassionate toward us and none of us get what we really deserve.
The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds us it matters not who is lying in the ditch. It matters even less what station in life we hold. What does matter is that we bring our gifts of time, talent and treasure to bear to help the people God puts in front of us. The Priest and the Levite head off to the safety of their church, but the Samaritan goes down into the ditch with his sworn enemy to minister to him. Not a comfortable situation.
Yet, it is not about what makes us look good, feel comfortable or what is socially acceptable that matters. Somehow it has become easy to ignore the over 7.3 million people in the US who are on probation, in jail or prison, or on parole; perhaps because they are not always in plain sight. As stewards we are called to go looking in the ditches to see who needs our help. After all, if we choose, not to go looking in the gutters and ditches of life; if we choose not to minister to the prisoner who would we be avoiding? Paul? Nelson Mandela? Daniel Berrigan? Sir Thomas More? Anne Frank? Max Kolbe? Dorothy Day?
If we “shouldn’t be helping convicts” who should we be helping? We are not simply called to “visit” Jesus in church; we are called to visit him in prison as well.
Dear God: Teach me to minister to all who are in need.
“In prison, you get the chance to see who really loves you.” ~Marion Knight, Jr. Co-founder of Death Row Records. (b 1965)
*Kairos Prison Ministry International is a Christian, ecumenical, volunteer, lay-led, continuing ministry to prisoners incarcerated in maximum or medium facilities.
© 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.
“Could I speak with you a minute?” is never a comforting prelude to any conversation. I followed the president of our Catholic men’s organization out the door of the parish center to a secluded spot in the exterior courtyard. “The Executive Council met last week to discuss your ministry proposal,” he began hesitantly. “We had a really good discussion and there are a lot of us who support your idea.” (The unspoken “BUT” hung over the conversation like a mist.) “I’m personally in favor of what you’re trying to do.” “BUT, after all was said and done we voted not to support your KAIROS weekend.” My brain wasn’t processing what he had just said. I stood there, my head cocked to one side, blinking.
Over a month earlier I had brought our Deacon to a meeting to enlist the group’s help with a Detention Ministry weekend (*KAIROS). Our requests were modest: Prayers during the weekend, chocolate chip cookies (as many dozen as possible), semi-anonymous letters written to the detainees and a coloring book picture of Jesus to be duplicated and colored (semi-anonymously) by whatever children we could muster.
“But, Bob!” I finally blurted out. “The weekend is less than two weeks away.” “You’re leaving me in a tough spot here.” Bob’s conciliatory tone turned defensive, “I’m sorry Jim!” “But the Executive Council doesn’t think we should be helping convicts.” “Besides, what possible good can cookies and coloring books do anyway?” The words were out before Bob realized he had said them. I allowed the intervening silence to be my response. “I am sorry,” Bob said finally and he departed without further conversation.
The drive home was dismal. Earlier that week another “Christian” organization had bailed on my grand plan for much the same reason. “The mothers don’t want their children writing to felons,” the coordinator had shared. “I’m sorry.”
Now what was I going to do?
The next morning my mood had not improved much. I arrived at my job at the YMCA in a storm cloud of a mood. “What’s up with you?” Flo, the Membership Director finally asked. I relayed the long, excruciating version of my sad story. “We can have the “Child Watch” color pages for you and as for the letters why don’t you talk to teens in Youth and Government?” “They are always looking for projects.”
Three days later I was in front of the Youth and Government teens. They cranked out fifty plus letters that same evening. I added another ten and the coordinator, whose group had bowed out, produced a pile of letters her and her daughter had written.
On the Wednesday before the KAIROS weekend the Child Watch coordinator proudly presented me with a two hundred “crayon covered” pages, many with small hand prints traced on the back replete with hugs and kisses (x’s and o’s). Notes such as “Jesus loves you” were scrawled in various places. “We ran out of the copies you gave us,” the coordinator said apologetically. “So we used our own.” She handed me another pile of coloring book pages. Mickey and Minnie smiled up at me from the paper. “I hope these are OK?” she asked. “I’m sure they are OK,” I responded with a smile.
Teresa spent the previous weekend baking dozens of her favorite chocolate chip cookies. We bagged them in sleeves of a dozen each. Thursday afternoon I delivered my boxes of cookies, letters and crayoned masterpieces to the appointed drop off site. As I pulled out of the parking lot I realized the irritations of the previous week had all but faded. How precious little it had taken to make a difference.
Jesus never asked who was worthy of his attention. Whether it was a scoundrel of a tax collector out on a limb or ten lepers blocking the road shouting his name, Jesus treated everyone with the same grace, compassion and love. He lived and worked in the tough part of town, on the wrong side of the tracks rubbing elbows with society’s discardable people. His actions are a contemporary template for our approach to ministry.
Ministry is, or should be, based on who needs help as opposed to who deserves help. We tread on dangerous ground when we start passing judgments predicated on worthiness or deservedness. Thank God our God is loving and compassionate toward us and none of us get what we really deserve.
The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds us it matters not who is lying in the ditch. It matters even less what station in life we hold. What does matter is that we bring our gifts of time, talent and treasure to bear to help the people God puts in front of us. The Priest and the Levite head off to the safety of their church, but the Samaritan goes down into the ditch with his sworn enemy to minister to him. Not a comfortable situation.
Yet, it is not about what makes us look good, feel comfortable or what is socially acceptable that matters. Somehow it has become easy to ignore the over 7.3 million people in the US who are on probation, in jail or prison, or on parole; perhaps because they are not always in plain sight. As stewards we are called to go looking in the ditches to see who needs our help. After all, if we choose, not to go looking in the gutters and ditches of life; if we choose not to minister to the prisoner who would we be avoiding? Paul? Nelson Mandela? Daniel Berrigan? Sir Thomas More? Anne Frank? Max Kolbe? Dorothy Day?
If we “shouldn’t be helping convicts” who should we be helping? We are not simply called to “visit” Jesus in church; we are called to visit him in prison as well.
Dear God: Teach me to minister to all who are in need.
“In prison, you get the chance to see who really loves you.” ~Marion Knight, Jr. Co-founder of Death Row Records. (b 1965)
*Kairos Prison Ministry International is a Christian, ecumenical, volunteer, lay-led, continuing ministry to prisoners incarcerated in maximum or medium facilities.
© 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, November 12, 2010
Misery to Ministry
“We are always more anxious to be distinguished for a talent which we do not possess, than to be praised for the fifteen which we do possess.” ~Mark Twain, American writer and humorist (1835-1910) from “Mark Twain’s Autobiography”
The bright morning sun glittered on the fresh dew. The sliding glass door closed behind me rattling slightly as it clicked home. I stood there pondering what had just happened…sensing a change in my life’s direction.
Two weeks earlier, in my capacity as Capital Campaign Chair I had met with Monsignor to discuss the parish capital campaign and the upcoming building project. Monsignor had agreed to consider my recommendation to hire a full time development coordinator.
Yesterday he had called and asked me to meet with him following the 7:30 AM Mass. We carried our steaming cups of coffee to his office. After a modicum of chit chat we got down to business. I quickly recapped my original proposal; then folding my hands I asked, “What do you think?”
“What about you?” he asked simply. “What about me?” I responded, not grasping what he was inferring. “What about you for the job,” he clarified his eyes twinkling.
“Yes…of course I’ll do it,” I replied, hearing the words, but not realizing I had said them. “Fabulous,” Father Gary said with a grin. We agreed to a start date, shook hands and I left.
Now outside in the cool, clear morning air, the brevity of what I had just done began to sink in. The career I had nurtured in the insurance industry for over twenty years would forever be in my rear-view mirror. Not to mention I had neglected to ask what I would be paid. What was I thinking? How was I going to explain this one to my wife? “Teresa will think I’ve lost it!” I headed for the car trying to devise the best possible explanation why I had done, what I had done.
Four and a half weeks later I found myself ensconced in my new desk, located where the dining area use to be. (The parish office is in a converted house. “Even our office was a Catholic convert,” someone once quipped.)
The insurance agency where I worked had negotiated a four week notice rather than two. In the interim I shared my concern about the probable drop in income with Chris the Fitness Director at the YMCA where I taught classes. Chris arrange for me to teach additional classes, and pick up some fitness coach and life guarding hours. The real miracle was that I was now doing two things I loved (teaching classes and working for the Church) which ultimately resulted in no change in annual income.
Why is it we can be so critical when we think someone “threw away a perfectly good career” to do something meaningful they felt compelled to do. There is tremendous joy, energy and fulfillment in doing what God created us to do. As stewards of our talents we are called to discover and develop that special blend of abilities which makes us who we are.
Yet we are often distracted from our life’s work by the siren’s song of power and prestige. We shoulder and elbow our way into so-called careers with the expectation that income alone is the answer to our happiness or we buy into a bad case of “job title fulfillment”. But with each promotion and/or pay raise we still find ourselves wanting. Wondering why we are not happy even though we “have a good job.”
Pay, power and prestige provide no lasting answers. Life long satisfaction comes from doing what we are called to do, not what makes us look good or succumbing to the latest fad profession (Crime Scene Investigators are currently trendy).
It comes as no surprise many of our saints share this story. People like Francis, Ignatius, and Augustine, finding no satisfaction in their chosen careers, yearned for something more meaningful and fulfilling. You know the rest of the story.
So, why do we persist in working for “the bread which fails to satisfy” when, as unique creations of a loving God, we were put here with a purpose in mind? When we gratefully accept our God-given talents, work to develop them and use them for this purpose, improving the world around us, happiness and satisfaction will ultimately be ours. Then and only then will our work become an outward expression of our faith and being, rather than the inward validation of our ego.
Who would have thought going from the corner office to the corner of a dining room could be fulfilling…but it was!
Dear God: Fulfill the work you have begun in us Lord.
“Your talent is God’s gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God” ~Leo Buscaglia, PhD, American professor, author and motivational speaker (1924-1998)
© 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 bright morning sun glittered on the fresh dew. The sliding glass door closed behind me rattling slightly as it clicked home. I stood there pondering what had just happened…sensing a change in my life’s direction.
Two weeks earlier, in my capacity as Capital Campaign Chair I had met with Monsignor to discuss the parish capital campaign and the upcoming building project. Monsignor had agreed to consider my recommendation to hire a full time development coordinator.
Yesterday he had called and asked me to meet with him following the 7:30 AM Mass. We carried our steaming cups of coffee to his office. After a modicum of chit chat we got down to business. I quickly recapped my original proposal; then folding my hands I asked, “What do you think?”
“What about you?” he asked simply. “What about me?” I responded, not grasping what he was inferring. “What about you for the job,” he clarified his eyes twinkling.
“Yes…of course I’ll do it,” I replied, hearing the words, but not realizing I had said them. “Fabulous,” Father Gary said with a grin. We agreed to a start date, shook hands and I left.
Now outside in the cool, clear morning air, the brevity of what I had just done began to sink in. The career I had nurtured in the insurance industry for over twenty years would forever be in my rear-view mirror. Not to mention I had neglected to ask what I would be paid. What was I thinking? How was I going to explain this one to my wife? “Teresa will think I’ve lost it!” I headed for the car trying to devise the best possible explanation why I had done, what I had done.
Four and a half weeks later I found myself ensconced in my new desk, located where the dining area use to be. (The parish office is in a converted house. “Even our office was a Catholic convert,” someone once quipped.)
The insurance agency where I worked had negotiated a four week notice rather than two. In the interim I shared my concern about the probable drop in income with Chris the Fitness Director at the YMCA where I taught classes. Chris arrange for me to teach additional classes, and pick up some fitness coach and life guarding hours. The real miracle was that I was now doing two things I loved (teaching classes and working for the Church) which ultimately resulted in no change in annual income.
Why is it we can be so critical when we think someone “threw away a perfectly good career” to do something meaningful they felt compelled to do. There is tremendous joy, energy and fulfillment in doing what God created us to do. As stewards of our talents we are called to discover and develop that special blend of abilities which makes us who we are.
Yet we are often distracted from our life’s work by the siren’s song of power and prestige. We shoulder and elbow our way into so-called careers with the expectation that income alone is the answer to our happiness or we buy into a bad case of “job title fulfillment”. But with each promotion and/or pay raise we still find ourselves wanting. Wondering why we are not happy even though we “have a good job.”
Pay, power and prestige provide no lasting answers. Life long satisfaction comes from doing what we are called to do, not what makes us look good or succumbing to the latest fad profession (Crime Scene Investigators are currently trendy).
It comes as no surprise many of our saints share this story. People like Francis, Ignatius, and Augustine, finding no satisfaction in their chosen careers, yearned for something more meaningful and fulfilling. You know the rest of the story.
So, why do we persist in working for “the bread which fails to satisfy” when, as unique creations of a loving God, we were put here with a purpose in mind? When we gratefully accept our God-given talents, work to develop them and use them for this purpose, improving the world around us, happiness and satisfaction will ultimately be ours. Then and only then will our work become an outward expression of our faith and being, rather than the inward validation of our ego.
Who would have thought going from the corner office to the corner of a dining room could be fulfilling…but it was!
Dear God: Fulfill the work you have begun in us Lord.
“Your talent is God’s gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God” ~Leo Buscaglia, PhD, American professor, author and motivational speaker (1924-1998)
© 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, November 5, 2010
Make it Work?
“I’m so busy I don’t know if I found a rope or lost my horse.” ~Tee Shirt slogan
Sister Catherine poked her head into the doorway of my office. “What are you still doing here?” She asked in her clipped Irish brogue. The question was not unfamiliar. It was well past 7:30 PM on a Wednesday evening. As was my custom I had been at my Parish Center office since 5:00 AM. My eyes were dry and gritty from staring at the computer screen. “I have just a few things to finish up,” I replied with a weary smile. “Then I’ll be going.” (It seemed I always had something to “finish up” I thought to myself.)
“Couldn’t it wait till the morning?” she inquired gently. I responded with my well rehearsed litany of excuses: “It needs to be done first thing in the morning when Monsignor comes in.” “I have another project I have to work on tomorrow, besides I’ll feel better if I finish this before I leave and the traffic will be lighter anyway.” Sister listened patiently, an understanding smile on her face. “Well don’t stay too long, you’ve got a long drive home,” and with that she disappeared down the hall.
I returned to the computer screen wondering what it was I had been thinking about before Sister’s well intentioned interruption. Pecking aimlessly at the keys, Sister Catherine’s question kept coming back to me: “What was I doing here?” This could wait till tomorrow couldn’t it. What was I worried about.
A “ding” sound aroused me from my thoughts alerting me of a new email in my electronic “inbox”. I left what I was doing and checked to see what it was. An email ad for a Christian Book site was bolded at the top of the list. I clicked the “delete” icon. Returning to my work I tried to concentrate for a few more minutes then decided to check the weather and the traffic. It was the same as it had been a half hour earlier. I glanced at the time on the lower right side of my screen: 7:59 PM glowed in white letters across a blue field.
Enough! I could finish this in the morning. I shut the computer down. Shrugging on my sports coat I put the remnants of the day’s meal in my gray soft-sided lunch box. Tossing a few items into my briefcase (a briefcase which would sit in the foyer at home unopened until I left again in the morning) I turned off the desk lamp and headed out my office door locking it behind me.
Halfway down the hall I remembered something else I needed to do. Reluctantly returning to the office I unlocked the door and went in. Rather than wait while my computer booted up again I jotted a note on a “post-it” and stuck it on my screen as a reminder to do it in the morning. Out the door I went again and down the hall having locked the door behind me a second time. As I went my unfinished work seemed to trail me down the hall.
Ever since we got ourselves tossed out of the Garden of Eden we have had to work for our daily bread: “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food” (Genesis 3:19). It is easy to forget work was the penalty for our transgression of eating the forbidden fruit. Yet we often behave as if this punishment were our sole purpose in life.
Work, however, is not the panacea we envision it to be. Most of us work because we have to, not because we want to. While it’s different for everybody fear often plays a major role in our obsession with work. Work gives us a false sense of security. It makes us feel as if we have our destiny within our control. Trust me…we don’t! There are plenty of disasters, economic downturns, layoffs and the like to remind us we don’t.
Discipleship calls us to something more than work. It is not surprising therefore, when we hear Jesus’ call; we drop our nets, put down our water jars by the well and take leave of our counting chambers. This is not to say work is bad or evil, but obsessions are, particularly when our obsessions are attempts to insulate us from irrational fear. A fear easily eliminated by our belief in a supreme being who loves us unconditionally.
As stewards of the 24 hours God gave us today we are called to a state of balance, not a state of compulsion, obsession or suppressed fear. God’s most frequent biblical command is “Be not afraid”. It reminds us we have no reason to hide from our fears and insecurity by submersing ourselves in work. We work to make a living, but work does not our life make.
Dear God: Help me to pray as though everything depended on you, rather than work as though everything depended on me.
“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.” ~Bertrand Russell, English logician and philosopher (1872-1970)
© 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.
Sister Catherine poked her head into the doorway of my office. “What are you still doing here?” She asked in her clipped Irish brogue. The question was not unfamiliar. It was well past 7:30 PM on a Wednesday evening. As was my custom I had been at my Parish Center office since 5:00 AM. My eyes were dry and gritty from staring at the computer screen. “I have just a few things to finish up,” I replied with a weary smile. “Then I’ll be going.” (It seemed I always had something to “finish up” I thought to myself.)
“Couldn’t it wait till the morning?” she inquired gently. I responded with my well rehearsed litany of excuses: “It needs to be done first thing in the morning when Monsignor comes in.” “I have another project I have to work on tomorrow, besides I’ll feel better if I finish this before I leave and the traffic will be lighter anyway.” Sister listened patiently, an understanding smile on her face. “Well don’t stay too long, you’ve got a long drive home,” and with that she disappeared down the hall.
I returned to the computer screen wondering what it was I had been thinking about before Sister’s well intentioned interruption. Pecking aimlessly at the keys, Sister Catherine’s question kept coming back to me: “What was I doing here?” This could wait till tomorrow couldn’t it. What was I worried about.
A “ding” sound aroused me from my thoughts alerting me of a new email in my electronic “inbox”. I left what I was doing and checked to see what it was. An email ad for a Christian Book site was bolded at the top of the list. I clicked the “delete” icon. Returning to my work I tried to concentrate for a few more minutes then decided to check the weather and the traffic. It was the same as it had been a half hour earlier. I glanced at the time on the lower right side of my screen: 7:59 PM glowed in white letters across a blue field.
Enough! I could finish this in the morning. I shut the computer down. Shrugging on my sports coat I put the remnants of the day’s meal in my gray soft-sided lunch box. Tossing a few items into my briefcase (a briefcase which would sit in the foyer at home unopened until I left again in the morning) I turned off the desk lamp and headed out my office door locking it behind me.
Halfway down the hall I remembered something else I needed to do. Reluctantly returning to the office I unlocked the door and went in. Rather than wait while my computer booted up again I jotted a note on a “post-it” and stuck it on my screen as a reminder to do it in the morning. Out the door I went again and down the hall having locked the door behind me a second time. As I went my unfinished work seemed to trail me down the hall.
Ever since we got ourselves tossed out of the Garden of Eden we have had to work for our daily bread: “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food” (Genesis 3:19). It is easy to forget work was the penalty for our transgression of eating the forbidden fruit. Yet we often behave as if this punishment were our sole purpose in life.
Work, however, is not the panacea we envision it to be. Most of us work because we have to, not because we want to. While it’s different for everybody fear often plays a major role in our obsession with work. Work gives us a false sense of security. It makes us feel as if we have our destiny within our control. Trust me…we don’t! There are plenty of disasters, economic downturns, layoffs and the like to remind us we don’t.
Discipleship calls us to something more than work. It is not surprising therefore, when we hear Jesus’ call; we drop our nets, put down our water jars by the well and take leave of our counting chambers. This is not to say work is bad or evil, but obsessions are, particularly when our obsessions are attempts to insulate us from irrational fear. A fear easily eliminated by our belief in a supreme being who loves us unconditionally.
As stewards of the 24 hours God gave us today we are called to a state of balance, not a state of compulsion, obsession or suppressed fear. God’s most frequent biblical command is “Be not afraid”. It reminds us we have no reason to hide from our fears and insecurity by submersing ourselves in work. We work to make a living, but work does not our life make.
Dear God: Help me to pray as though everything depended on you, rather than work as though everything depended on me.
“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.” ~Bertrand Russell, English logician and philosopher (1872-1970)
© 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.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Hindsight
"Patience with others is love. Patience with self is hope. Patience with God is faith." ~ Adel Bestavros, Egyptian supreme court lawyer, preacher and scholar of the Coptic Christian faith (1924-2005)
Bert stepped away from his large, expensive oak desk and walked decisively past me to his office door. I didn’t turn around, but I heard the door shut and the thumb lock ram home. This didn’t bode well. “Now we can have some privacy,” he said in a business- like manner returning to his desk. He plopped into the plush leather office chair steepling his hands. Briefly making eye contact he casually glanced out the window. “You think you’re really something don’t you?” he began. “Excuse me?” came my knee-jerk response. “You heard me,” he continued. “You think you’re really something special, don’t you?”
The last two words rang like gunfire. Stomach acid started rising into my throat. “No, not particularly,” I responded carefully. “Yes, you do!” he said quickly rising to his feet. Suddenly the words started tumbling out of him faster than I could keep up. “You think you’re special because you’re a Christian don’t you?” “You think you’re better than everyone else.” “Well I’m here to tell you you’re not.” “You’re no better than anyone else here…especially me.” “You think you’re better than me?” “Let’s go out in the parking lot and see who the better man is.”
Bert’s neck was turning red and his hands were fisted at his sides. His tirade went on, only occasionally interrupted by my weak attempts to apologize for whatever mysterious offense I had committed. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” “No, I would never think that.” “I am grateful for my job.” “I appreciate all you do for me.” …and so on.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the rant ended as suddenly as it had begun. “Now get out of my office and close the door behind you.” Relieved I gently unbolted the door, stepped into the foyer and quietly closed it. A moment later I heard the bolt thrown shut behind me.
I stood there shaking. Somewhere to my right lay the door to the outside… tempting me. To my left was the path back to my office. “God! Why in the world did you put me here?”After a moment, I turned left and headed back to my office and away from Bert’s lair.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon three years later. I was sitting in a different office, with a different organization when my cell phone rang, “CALLER UNIDENTIFIED.” Without a thought I clicked on. A cheery, but unknown voice greeted me. “Heh Jimbo, how ya doin’?” “Merry Christmas.”
Caught off guard I proceeded to engage in one of the stupidest phone conversations of my life. In a vain attempt to determine the identity of the mystery caller I gave vague responses and asked even vaguer questions, but to no avail. Finally, after a particularly obvious conversational misfire I outed myself. “I’m sorry.” “Your voice is very familiar, but I’m not sure who you are.” The response came like a bucket of ice water. “This is Bert!!!”
“ Bert? Oh, Hi Bert (gulp)” “How can I help you?” “Help me?” he responded “You’ve already helped me.” “Thanks to you I found Christ.” This has to be a joke I thought. Maybe this isn’t really Bert. “How did I do that?” I asked cautiously. “Lots of things, but mostly the way you acted.” “Even the times I had you in my office you never got upset or angry” (little did he know). I let him finish his explanation. After a few more conversational niceties he extracted a promise from me to have coffee sometime. Then he wished me the best of the season and clicked off. I sat there staring at the cell phone display, wondering what had just happened. “God has a strange sense of humor,” I mused.
All too often we see God in our rear view mirror rather than in the driver’s seat. We wonder why things happen in our lives even to the point of bemoaning our fate. “Why is this happening to me?” we ask (with heavy emphasis on the “TO ME?”) only to find out days, weeks, months or even years later that our “best laid plans” were subverted by a higher power with a larger and longer range goal in mind. God does have a sense of humor, but he also has foresight with a range which is infinite and planning abilities to match.
On the other hand our foresight is minimal. In the confusion and stress of daily life we become upset or disenchanted because God isn’t making it easy on us. This is the “If God would just let me win the lottery everything would be OK” kind of thinking. Life should be green lights and blue skies. There should be no stop signs in our lane and no Berts in our lives to trouble us. There are, however, “Berts” in our world and we are called to be there for them, even if we have to wait awhile to find out why. “The times we find ourselves having to wait on others may be the perfect opportunities to train ourselves to wait on the Lord.” (Joni Eareckson Tada)
Admittedly, many is the day I wish God would just send me a copy of his strategic plan or that I could at least win the lottery (just a small one). In the end, however, rather than having things my own way, it is much more gratifying to believe there is a supreme and benevolent being who has a master plan in place and, in which I play a supporting role.
Dear God: Remind me that life is worth the wait.
“Biblically, waiting is not just something we have to do until we get what we want. Waiting is part of the process of becoming what God wants us to be.” ~John Ortberg, Jr., American evangelical Christian author, speaker and senior pastor (b 1957)
© 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.
Bert stepped away from his large, expensive oak desk and walked decisively past me to his office door. I didn’t turn around, but I heard the door shut and the thumb lock ram home. This didn’t bode well. “Now we can have some privacy,” he said in a business- like manner returning to his desk. He plopped into the plush leather office chair steepling his hands. Briefly making eye contact he casually glanced out the window. “You think you’re really something don’t you?” he began. “Excuse me?” came my knee-jerk response. “You heard me,” he continued. “You think you’re really something special, don’t you?”
The last two words rang like gunfire. Stomach acid started rising into my throat. “No, not particularly,” I responded carefully. “Yes, you do!” he said quickly rising to his feet. Suddenly the words started tumbling out of him faster than I could keep up. “You think you’re special because you’re a Christian don’t you?” “You think you’re better than everyone else.” “Well I’m here to tell you you’re not.” “You’re no better than anyone else here…especially me.” “You think you’re better than me?” “Let’s go out in the parking lot and see who the better man is.”
Bert’s neck was turning red and his hands were fisted at his sides. His tirade went on, only occasionally interrupted by my weak attempts to apologize for whatever mysterious offense I had committed. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” “No, I would never think that.” “I am grateful for my job.” “I appreciate all you do for me.” …and so on.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the rant ended as suddenly as it had begun. “Now get out of my office and close the door behind you.” Relieved I gently unbolted the door, stepped into the foyer and quietly closed it. A moment later I heard the bolt thrown shut behind me.
I stood there shaking. Somewhere to my right lay the door to the outside… tempting me. To my left was the path back to my office. “God! Why in the world did you put me here?”After a moment, I turned left and headed back to my office and away from Bert’s lair.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon three years later. I was sitting in a different office, with a different organization when my cell phone rang, “CALLER UNIDENTIFIED.” Without a thought I clicked on. A cheery, but unknown voice greeted me. “Heh Jimbo, how ya doin’?” “Merry Christmas.”
Caught off guard I proceeded to engage in one of the stupidest phone conversations of my life. In a vain attempt to determine the identity of the mystery caller I gave vague responses and asked even vaguer questions, but to no avail. Finally, after a particularly obvious conversational misfire I outed myself. “I’m sorry.” “Your voice is very familiar, but I’m not sure who you are.” The response came like a bucket of ice water. “This is Bert!!!”
“ Bert? Oh, Hi Bert (gulp)” “How can I help you?” “Help me?” he responded “You’ve already helped me.” “Thanks to you I found Christ.” This has to be a joke I thought. Maybe this isn’t really Bert. “How did I do that?” I asked cautiously. “Lots of things, but mostly the way you acted.” “Even the times I had you in my office you never got upset or angry” (little did he know). I let him finish his explanation. After a few more conversational niceties he extracted a promise from me to have coffee sometime. Then he wished me the best of the season and clicked off. I sat there staring at the cell phone display, wondering what had just happened. “God has a strange sense of humor,” I mused.
All too often we see God in our rear view mirror rather than in the driver’s seat. We wonder why things happen in our lives even to the point of bemoaning our fate. “Why is this happening to me?” we ask (with heavy emphasis on the “TO ME?”) only to find out days, weeks, months or even years later that our “best laid plans” were subverted by a higher power with a larger and longer range goal in mind. God does have a sense of humor, but he also has foresight with a range which is infinite and planning abilities to match.
On the other hand our foresight is minimal. In the confusion and stress of daily life we become upset or disenchanted because God isn’t making it easy on us. This is the “If God would just let me win the lottery everything would be OK” kind of thinking. Life should be green lights and blue skies. There should be no stop signs in our lane and no Berts in our lives to trouble us. There are, however, “Berts” in our world and we are called to be there for them, even if we have to wait awhile to find out why. “The times we find ourselves having to wait on others may be the perfect opportunities to train ourselves to wait on the Lord.” (Joni Eareckson Tada)
Admittedly, many is the day I wish God would just send me a copy of his strategic plan or that I could at least win the lottery (just a small one). In the end, however, rather than having things my own way, it is much more gratifying to believe there is a supreme and benevolent being who has a master plan in place and, in which I play a supporting role.
Dear God: Remind me that life is worth the wait.
“Biblically, waiting is not just something we have to do until we get what we want. Waiting is part of the process of becoming what God wants us to be.” ~John Ortberg, Jr., American evangelical Christian author, speaker and senior pastor (b 1957)
© 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.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Prayer Connection
“Rich is the person who has a praying friend.” ~Dr. Janice Hughes, American speaker and writer
Travis was running…hard. “Hail Mary full of grace.” … heading for the thump, thump, thump sound of the rotors. “Hail Mary full of grace.” “Hang in there RJ!” “Hang in there!” “Hail Mary full of grace.” All he could do was run, head down, fast as he could. “Hail Mary full of grace.” RJ had taken two rounds in the chest and was bleeding out. “Hail Mary full of grace.” The Medevac was just up ahead. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Corpsmen were shouting at him, waving him on. “Hail Mary full of grace.” “Hang in there RJ!” “Hail Mary full of grace.” Without realizing it he was at the Medevac chopper. “Hail Mary full of grace.” The Corpsman hauled RJ in, waved Travis off and signaled the pilot. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Travis saw RJ’s gangly looking legs partially protruding from the chopper as it lifted off. “Hail Mary full of grace.” For an instant he wished he could hold onto those goofy legs and fly along with him. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Pulling his weapon from his shoulder he turned and headed back into Hell: the hills of Afghanistan. “Hail Mary full of grace.” RJ didn’t make it. He bled out in the Medevac. “Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”
It was July 23, 2009, more than a year earlier. Teresa and I sat in the parish hall, attending a Bethany. Bethany’s are meals of remembrance which follow funeral services. The funeral had been for our good friend Joan, Travis’ grandmother. Several of the young men from the 3-7 (3rd Battalion, 7th Marines out of 29 Palms), Travis’ unit, were there. In addition to Lance Corporal Travis Ford, there was Lance Corporal Steven Wright and Lance Corporal Andy Kuether. Their very presence was impressive. Uniformed in “Dress Blues” with creases so sharp you could cut your fingers on them, hair cuts high and tight, they stood together in a quiet calm; their presence almost regal.
We poked at our meals. They were about to be deployed, we wondered what we could do for them. Finally, we timidly walked over and asked a simple question: “Can we pray with you?” For an uncomfortable moment they remained expressionless. But then slight smiles broke onto their faces. “Yes, sir, ma’am, Thank you sir.” We stood in a circle, laid our hands on their shoulders and prayed a simple prayer of intercession and ask God to send His archangel, Michael, to protect them. (RJ wasn’t there at the time.) They thanked us simply, but profoundly. We promised to continue to pray for them and returned to our meals.
Prayer is an extremely important part of stewardship. Yet it is often the last thing we think about and the first which we abandon. But it is prayer (along with regular worship) which carries us for the long term. Prayer provides us with spiritual nutrition. It is medicine for the soul and can provide great comfort in difficult times. In other words, it sustains us.
This spiritual sustenance is an important aspect of prayer. Most of us serve in ministry part time. We do what we can when we can. The poor we serve, the bereaved we comfort and the children to which we teach scripture are only encountered on an occasional and often irregular basis. These ministry experiences are important to our lives as stewards; not just to those we serve, but to us as well.
Experiencing the gratitude of the poor and the needy first hand helps to make us more grateful. But, if we are often separated from the people we serve, for which we care or for whom we care about, how do we sustain that experience? How do we stay connected to those we serve and those we love? The simple answer is we pray for them. By placing them spiritually in our midst, through the power of prayer, it helps to keep them in our hearts and minds. It is an opportunity to experience our relationship to them daily or whenever we want.
Prayer is itself a ministry. Praying for people and there needs regularly is not simple. It takes some work and planning. Early on I told lots of people I would pray for them, and then promptly forgot to do so. Now I carry a small notebook everywhere I go so I can jot down prayer requests: names and needs. Over the years I have created a few categories to make it easier: my family, those who are sick, those who have died, those in the military, etc. I even have a category for those for whom I promised to pray and forgot.
Prayer is not only personally therapeutic, but it is socially beneficial as well. It makes it easier to remember those who are in need, hurting or ill and therefore reminds us to ask family members how the person is doing. Knowing someone made the effort to remember and ask provides remarkable healing results and comfort.
Case in point, Teresa and I would never profess RJ would not have died if he had been under the protection of our prayer…far from it. But those young men, for whom we prayed, have been in our prayers every day since that day in July of 2009. We have asked their families often how they are doing and listen attentively to their responses. This is the most important gift we can give them…to stay connected.
The 3-7 will be coming home soon and while RJ didn’t survive, his family will be there to greet the others. Pray for RJ’s family and pray the 3-7 doesn’t have to go back.
Dear Lord: Keep me connected.
“There is nothing that makes us love a person so much as praying for them.” ~William Law, English Cleric (1686-1761)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 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.
Travis was running…hard. “Hail Mary full of grace.” … heading for the thump, thump, thump sound of the rotors. “Hail Mary full of grace.” “Hang in there RJ!” “Hang in there!” “Hail Mary full of grace.” All he could do was run, head down, fast as he could. “Hail Mary full of grace.” RJ had taken two rounds in the chest and was bleeding out. “Hail Mary full of grace.” The Medevac was just up ahead. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Corpsmen were shouting at him, waving him on. “Hail Mary full of grace.” “Hang in there RJ!” “Hail Mary full of grace.” Without realizing it he was at the Medevac chopper. “Hail Mary full of grace.” The Corpsman hauled RJ in, waved Travis off and signaled the pilot. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Travis saw RJ’s gangly looking legs partially protruding from the chopper as it lifted off. “Hail Mary full of grace.” For an instant he wished he could hold onto those goofy legs and fly along with him. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Pulling his weapon from his shoulder he turned and headed back into Hell: the hills of Afghanistan. “Hail Mary full of grace.” RJ didn’t make it. He bled out in the Medevac. “Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”
It was July 23, 2009, more than a year earlier. Teresa and I sat in the parish hall, attending a Bethany. Bethany’s are meals of remembrance which follow funeral services. The funeral had been for our good friend Joan, Travis’ grandmother. Several of the young men from the 3-7 (3rd Battalion, 7th Marines out of 29 Palms), Travis’ unit, were there. In addition to Lance Corporal Travis Ford, there was Lance Corporal Steven Wright and Lance Corporal Andy Kuether. Their very presence was impressive. Uniformed in “Dress Blues” with creases so sharp you could cut your fingers on them, hair cuts high and tight, they stood together in a quiet calm; their presence almost regal.
We poked at our meals. They were about to be deployed, we wondered what we could do for them. Finally, we timidly walked over and asked a simple question: “Can we pray with you?” For an uncomfortable moment they remained expressionless. But then slight smiles broke onto their faces. “Yes, sir, ma’am, Thank you sir.” We stood in a circle, laid our hands on their shoulders and prayed a simple prayer of intercession and ask God to send His archangel, Michael, to protect them. (RJ wasn’t there at the time.) They thanked us simply, but profoundly. We promised to continue to pray for them and returned to our meals.
Prayer is an extremely important part of stewardship. Yet it is often the last thing we think about and the first which we abandon. But it is prayer (along with regular worship) which carries us for the long term. Prayer provides us with spiritual nutrition. It is medicine for the soul and can provide great comfort in difficult times. In other words, it sustains us.
This spiritual sustenance is an important aspect of prayer. Most of us serve in ministry part time. We do what we can when we can. The poor we serve, the bereaved we comfort and the children to which we teach scripture are only encountered on an occasional and often irregular basis. These ministry experiences are important to our lives as stewards; not just to those we serve, but to us as well.
Experiencing the gratitude of the poor and the needy first hand helps to make us more grateful. But, if we are often separated from the people we serve, for which we care or for whom we care about, how do we sustain that experience? How do we stay connected to those we serve and those we love? The simple answer is we pray for them. By placing them spiritually in our midst, through the power of prayer, it helps to keep them in our hearts and minds. It is an opportunity to experience our relationship to them daily or whenever we want.
Prayer is itself a ministry. Praying for people and there needs regularly is not simple. It takes some work and planning. Early on I told lots of people I would pray for them, and then promptly forgot to do so. Now I carry a small notebook everywhere I go so I can jot down prayer requests: names and needs. Over the years I have created a few categories to make it easier: my family, those who are sick, those who have died, those in the military, etc. I even have a category for those for whom I promised to pray and forgot.
Prayer is not only personally therapeutic, but it is socially beneficial as well. It makes it easier to remember those who are in need, hurting or ill and therefore reminds us to ask family members how the person is doing. Knowing someone made the effort to remember and ask provides remarkable healing results and comfort.
Case in point, Teresa and I would never profess RJ would not have died if he had been under the protection of our prayer…far from it. But those young men, for whom we prayed, have been in our prayers every day since that day in July of 2009. We have asked their families often how they are doing and listen attentively to their responses. This is the most important gift we can give them…to stay connected.
The 3-7 will be coming home soon and while RJ didn’t survive, his family will be there to greet the others. Pray for RJ’s family and pray the 3-7 doesn’t have to go back.
Dear Lord: Keep me connected.
“There is nothing that makes us love a person so much as praying for them.” ~William Law, English Cleric (1686-1761)
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 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, October 15, 2010
Warm Hand, Pure Heart
“You matter because you are you. You matter to the last moment of your life and we will do all we can, not only to help you die peacefully, but also to live until you die.” ~ Dame Cicely Saunders, OM, DBE, Founder of the Hospice Movement (1918-2005)
Madeline had been with her mother for almost two full days. It was the last leg of a long life. The painful treatments, which only seemed to cause discomfort, had ended weeks ago. Now, it was just a waiting game. The staff at the skilled nursing facility was attentive, kind and efficient. But they too could only wait.
Helen’s eyes fluttered open. “Madeline?” she whispered. “I’m here Mum,” Madeline replied quietly. “How are you doing?” “I’m just a little tired,” Helen responded feebly. She took a sip of water with Madeline’s help, then her eyes fluttered closed again. This had been the sum total of the past two days: Helen’s eyes opening briefly then closing again.
There was a rustle behind her. Madeline turned to find Mary, the Hospice volunteer, shrugging off her coat. Mary had been a Godsend ever since here mother had entered hospice care several weeks before. The last two days she had been there almost as much as Madeline.”Need a break?” Mary said with her infectious smile. “Yeh,” Madeline replied rubbing her neck. “How’s she doing?” Mary continued. “Same old, same old.” “She occasionally opens her eyes then closes them again.” “The nurse said it could go on like this for hours…or days.”
“I need to run a couple errands” Madeline thought out loud. “Go ahead,” said Mary. “I can stay for a while.” “Would you?” Madeline said hopefully. “I won’t be long.” She grabbed her jacket and bag and headed out the door, a sense of urgency in her step.
Mary pulled a chair to the bed and settled in. Like Madeline she had made it a habit of placing here right hand underneath Helen’s with her left hand on top thus cradling Helen’s right hand in between. “A hand sandwich,” she mused. Time crept by.
Mary thought of the hours she had spent with her husband Bill doing just this. It had been weeks before the pancreatic cancer had finally taken him, but it seemed like years. Mary was brought suddenly out of her daydream. Without any warning, Helen took a deep breath of air in through her nose and then she relaxed. Mary felt a strange sensation, that something, or someone, had passed through her. There was a lingering sweetness as if a loved one had just hugged her. Slowly, the sensation quietly dissipated. What had just happened?
Helen punched the call button and in moments the nurse appeared at the door. “What’s up?” she asked. “I think something…happened” Mary replied slowly. The nurse came to the bed, placed the stethoscope in her ears and slipped the metal disc through the opening in Helen’s nightgown. “She’s gone,” she said quietly. “I’ll make the calls.” She started out the door, then stopped. “Where’s Maddy?” “She just stepped out to run a few errands,” replied Mary, still a little shaken. “She should be back soon.” And with a nod of acknowledgment the nurse left.
The nurse made the necessary calls, then went about her business. Time flew by in this job. She was always busy, checking vitals, answering questions, but she had sensed from the beginning, it was what she was meant to do in life. Working her way back up the wing toward Helen’s room she glanced at her watch. It had been nearly two hours since she had been there. Someone in the room cleared their throat. “Madeline must be back,” she thought.
Up the hall and into the room she went, prepping herself for the conversation she knew she would have with “Maddy”. As she turned into the doorway she was greeted by a strange sight. There sat Mary, right where she had left her, now two hours later, still cradling Helen’s hand between her own. She was gazing at Helen’s peaceful face. The nurse went quietly to Mary’s side and put her hand on her shoulder. “We can handle it from here.” “You don’t have to stay.” “No, I want to stay,” Mary replied with a sad smile. “I want to be here when Madeline comes back…just so I can pass on a warm hand to her.”
The great Broadway showman, George M. Cohan was fond of saying, “Make it big, do it right, give it class.” This phrase could be a mantra for modern life. We are expected to do things of great significance, flawlessly executed and with a sense of style. It is irritating when our lives aren't validated , our birthdays unacknowledged or our accomplishments unnoticed. In short, we want to make a big splash in the world…and a nice looking one too.
As Christian Stewards we are not called so much to do things of great significance as we are called to do the insignificant things with great love. Mary’s act of incredible love would go unnoticed by the world except for the nurse, Madeline (and from my point of view, Helen).
Mary hadn’t been trained to do what she did. In fact, she had been excused from any further involvement by an expert…the nurse. Yet, it would be Mary’s simple act, the passing of a warm touch, the last vestiges of Helen’s earthly life, which would dissipate any guilt Madeline might have had for not being there at the “exact moment” of her mother's death.
Love doesn’t come with an instruction book. Nobody trained Mary to remain behind until a family member arrived, “to pass on a warm hand”, even if it took hours. She did so intuitively. Intuitive acts are not something we can be trained to do. Rather, intuitive acts of love only come at those times when we can step outside ourselves and in so doing allow ourselves to become insignificant.
Dear God: May the only significant thing about me be the intensity with which I love others.
“Somewhere deep within us our souls are crying out
‘We're here to help our neighbors out in their hour of pain and doubt.’
God gave us something special to help us see you through
We do it 'cause we love you, and we care about you too.” ~excerpted from the “EMS Prayer” Author Unknown
Special acknowledgment to our sisters and brothers who are Hospice volunteers; for walking the last mile with so many and for being “Stewards of the Door.”
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 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.
Madeline had been with her mother for almost two full days. It was the last leg of a long life. The painful treatments, which only seemed to cause discomfort, had ended weeks ago. Now, it was just a waiting game. The staff at the skilled nursing facility was attentive, kind and efficient. But they too could only wait.
Helen’s eyes fluttered open. “Madeline?” she whispered. “I’m here Mum,” Madeline replied quietly. “How are you doing?” “I’m just a little tired,” Helen responded feebly. She took a sip of water with Madeline’s help, then her eyes fluttered closed again. This had been the sum total of the past two days: Helen’s eyes opening briefly then closing again.
There was a rustle behind her. Madeline turned to find Mary, the Hospice volunteer, shrugging off her coat. Mary had been a Godsend ever since here mother had entered hospice care several weeks before. The last two days she had been there almost as much as Madeline.”Need a break?” Mary said with her infectious smile. “Yeh,” Madeline replied rubbing her neck. “How’s she doing?” Mary continued. “Same old, same old.” “She occasionally opens her eyes then closes them again.” “The nurse said it could go on like this for hours…or days.”
“I need to run a couple errands” Madeline thought out loud. “Go ahead,” said Mary. “I can stay for a while.” “Would you?” Madeline said hopefully. “I won’t be long.” She grabbed her jacket and bag and headed out the door, a sense of urgency in her step.
Mary pulled a chair to the bed and settled in. Like Madeline she had made it a habit of placing here right hand underneath Helen’s with her left hand on top thus cradling Helen’s right hand in between. “A hand sandwich,” she mused. Time crept by.
Mary thought of the hours she had spent with her husband Bill doing just this. It had been weeks before the pancreatic cancer had finally taken him, but it seemed like years. Mary was brought suddenly out of her daydream. Without any warning, Helen took a deep breath of air in through her nose and then she relaxed. Mary felt a strange sensation, that something, or someone, had passed through her. There was a lingering sweetness as if a loved one had just hugged her. Slowly, the sensation quietly dissipated. What had just happened?
Helen punched the call button and in moments the nurse appeared at the door. “What’s up?” she asked. “I think something…happened” Mary replied slowly. The nurse came to the bed, placed the stethoscope in her ears and slipped the metal disc through the opening in Helen’s nightgown. “She’s gone,” she said quietly. “I’ll make the calls.” She started out the door, then stopped. “Where’s Maddy?” “She just stepped out to run a few errands,” replied Mary, still a little shaken. “She should be back soon.” And with a nod of acknowledgment the nurse left.
The nurse made the necessary calls, then went about her business. Time flew by in this job. She was always busy, checking vitals, answering questions, but she had sensed from the beginning, it was what she was meant to do in life. Working her way back up the wing toward Helen’s room she glanced at her watch. It had been nearly two hours since she had been there. Someone in the room cleared their throat. “Madeline must be back,” she thought.
Up the hall and into the room she went, prepping herself for the conversation she knew she would have with “Maddy”. As she turned into the doorway she was greeted by a strange sight. There sat Mary, right where she had left her, now two hours later, still cradling Helen’s hand between her own. She was gazing at Helen’s peaceful face. The nurse went quietly to Mary’s side and put her hand on her shoulder. “We can handle it from here.” “You don’t have to stay.” “No, I want to stay,” Mary replied with a sad smile. “I want to be here when Madeline comes back…just so I can pass on a warm hand to her.”
The great Broadway showman, George M. Cohan was fond of saying, “Make it big, do it right, give it class.” This phrase could be a mantra for modern life. We are expected to do things of great significance, flawlessly executed and with a sense of style. It is irritating when our lives aren't validated , our birthdays unacknowledged or our accomplishments unnoticed. In short, we want to make a big splash in the world…and a nice looking one too.
As Christian Stewards we are not called so much to do things of great significance as we are called to do the insignificant things with great love. Mary’s act of incredible love would go unnoticed by the world except for the nurse, Madeline (and from my point of view, Helen).
Mary hadn’t been trained to do what she did. In fact, she had been excused from any further involvement by an expert…the nurse. Yet, it would be Mary’s simple act, the passing of a warm touch, the last vestiges of Helen’s earthly life, which would dissipate any guilt Madeline might have had for not being there at the “exact moment” of her mother's death.
Love doesn’t come with an instruction book. Nobody trained Mary to remain behind until a family member arrived, “to pass on a warm hand”, even if it took hours. She did so intuitively. Intuitive acts are not something we can be trained to do. Rather, intuitive acts of love only come at those times when we can step outside ourselves and in so doing allow ourselves to become insignificant.
Dear God: May the only significant thing about me be the intensity with which I love others.
“Somewhere deep within us our souls are crying out
‘We're here to help our neighbors out in their hour of pain and doubt.’
God gave us something special to help us see you through
We do it 'cause we love you, and we care about you too.” ~excerpted from the “EMS Prayer” Author Unknown
Special acknowledgment to our sisters and brothers who are Hospice volunteers; for walking the last mile with so many and for being “Stewards of the Door.”
© 2010 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 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.
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