Sitting outside my professor’s office I was getting antsier by the minute. It just wasn’t fair and I would tell him so! Dr. Bleasby’s Oral Interpretation class was required for every Speech Major. It was a simple class really. All one had to do was read aloud various pieces of literature in such a way people understood what each reading was about.
In preparation I practiced each assignment for hours in my dorm room to the point where every one was committed to memory. But, no matter what I did, or how much I prepared, I could never manage better than a ‘B’ from Dr. B.
Thoroughly frustrated I had made an appointment under the guise of asking for some “coaching.” In doing so, I figured I would get some answers and have the opportunity to convince him I deserved more A’s than B’s.
In the midst of my third (silent) rehearsal of what I was going to say, the door to Dr. Bleasby’s office suddenly swung open and there he stood. “Come on in Jim,” he said with a friendly smile and a beckoning wave of his hand. He motioned to a leather chair opposite his old wooden desk which he sat behind facing me. The afternoon sun filtered through the window warming the back of my neck.
Dr. Bleasby leaned back in his chair; his glasses perched on the end of his nose and his hands steepled in front of him. He looked like a painting by Norman Rockwell. “How can I help you?” he asked in his soft, mellifluous voice. “I would like to talk to you about these,” I responded, handing the rating sheets across the desk to him. My hand was steady, but my voice quavered a bit. He gave them what appeared to be only a cursory glance, as if he knew exactly what was in each one.
“What about them?” he asked. This was my opening. Leaning in slightly I launched into my well rehearsed rationale for why I deserved A’s and not B’s. Most of my arguments hinged on how hard I had worked and the amount of preparation I had done. Finishing with a flourish I leaned back in my chair crossing my arms.
Dr. Bleasby sat there quietly considering me for a bit, his chair swiveling slightly side to side. Finally he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and leaned forward over his arms which rested on his desk. “That was a nice little speech Jim,” he said with half a grin. “Your work is just fine and I can tell you spend a lot of time preparing.” “That’s not really the issue though.” “Even your elocution is good, but it’s not pronunciation or inflection that’s your problem.” I listened carefully as he seemed to be getting to his point. “If you want to learn to do this really well the solution is simple.” “You read the words, but you must learn to read the spaces as well.”
Great music requires notes and rests; otherwise what we call music would be nothing but a single tone modulating in pitch and volume. If musical rhythms are made up of rests (spaces) of different durations then the rhythm of our life must be made up of these same “rests” or spaces as well.
Our daily lives are filled with activity and events often overlapping, even occurring simultaneously (what we call multitasking.) Extended periods of activity give us a sense of purpose and a feeling of accomplishment, but they can often mask or distract us from fears of unworthiness or doubt. “If I stop moving something might happen to me.” Or, “If I don’t work all the time I might lose my job.” We seem to operate very successfully on the surface, but the result can be that our lives lack depth or what someone once called “interiority.”
Successful living is not measured by the amount of activity in our lives, but in the content of our lives. This “content” can often only be recognized in times of quiet contemplation and reflection. Otherwise it is like taking a vacation without ever getting off the bus.
In our lives we need to learn to read the spaces as well as the words. In other “words,” along with experiencing daily activity, we must take time to experience the spaces in between. To some of us this may feel like goofing off. Taking a few minutes to ourselves now and then will seem uncomfortable or unnecessary at first. Regardless, take the time to take the time to pause and reflect. Ask yourself “how are things going?” “What have I done well so far today?” “What could I do a little better?” “For what am I grateful today?” “What relationships need mending or tending to?” and so on.
The presence of God is found in the spaces of our lives, not in the flurries of activity. Take time to “read the spaces.” You will find it is the best part of your day.
Dear God: Remind me to meet you in the spaces of my life.
“The spaces between the beads are just as important as the rest of the rosary.” ~Unknown
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Re-Fresh-Ment
“Sometimes the most urgent thing you can possibly do is take a complete rest.” ~Ashleigh Brilliant, English author and cartoonist (b. 1933)
We had scored two coffees in a place where coffee was definitely not the drink of choice. They even had a “bold pick of the day.”
Initially, the cold, icy drizzle had driven us inside to warm up. But the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee had beckoned us like a siren’s song until we succumbed to buying two medium size cups. The counter person placed the cups in front of us as I handed her the requisite payment. “Do you have lids?” I asked, as she handed me the change. “If you turn right ‘round they are just there by the milk and sugar.” “Americans always ask for them,” she added with a smile. The reference was lost on me.
We snapped the lids down on the cups, turned up our collars and headed for the door, waving goodbye as we shouldered it open. The counter person waived back, but there was an expression on her face which I couldn’t quite read...amusement perhaps?
We headed down High Holburn toward Charterhouse Street. We were meeting a friend at St. Etheldreda’s Church (the oldest functioning Catholic Parish in the city). It was brisk and damp, the kind of weather which seeps into your bones, but the excitement of being in London drove out any discomfort we might have experienced. The coffee warmed us as we sipped away while we walked.
We had gone out of our way to avoid looking like Americans: no bright, white athletic shoes, no logo wear and no fanny pack (or bum bag as the English call them). The colors we wore were subdued and we were dressed a bit nicer than the usual tourist. Still, we seemed to catch people staring at us. One old gentleman greeted us with; “Pardon me Yank,” as he squeezed passed me.
We finished our coffees and began looking for a public trash can. There was none to be found. Undaunted , we finally ditched our cups in a public restroom. We reached Ely Place and turned toward St. Etheldreda’s where we found our friend waiting out in front. After a litany of greetings we shared our good fortune at finding an American coffee purveyor right in the heart of London.
“God, you didn’t take your cups out into the street, did you?” she asked dramatically. “That is soooo American.”
Traveling in a foreign country is often a good way to learn more about oneself. That which is common behavior in one country might be looked upon as amusing or even inappropriate in another. We Americans pride ourselves upon being great multi-taskers, particularly when it comes to food and drink. It is habitual for many of us to eat at our work stations and take our liquid refreshment (particularly coffee) whenever we can and wherever we go…even while we drive. A quick trip down any auto accessory aisle will reveal all manner of travel cups, cup holders and even refrigerators for your vehicle.
Unfortunately “multi-tasking” could very well be a euphemism for “being inattentive to more than one thing at a time” and perhaps for “being inconsiderate to more than one person at a time.” During our recent trip to London we learned the joy of “tea time.” What we discovered was the term “Refreshment” is not simply an object but an experience. “Refreshment” applies to not only the beverage, but the time taken to enjoy it.
Being a good steward of time is not simply a matter of the quantity of activity packed into a particular time frame, but the quality of the time spent. We need to find restorative time in our lives... daily periods when we take the time to restore our spirit, mind and body (and our relationships). Rather than gulping the latest energy drink at our desk in the afternoon, perhaps we would be better served to sit down with someone over a cup of tea and a scone just to decompress and clear our heads. We refresh our computers. Perhaps we should take time each day to refresh our lives as well.
Dear God, remind me to take time for refreshment.
Two woodcutters challenged one another to see who could chop the most wood in an eight hour day. The first diligently swung his ax over and over again, never once stopping during the entire eight hour period. At the end of the day, when their respective piles of chopped wood were compared, it was discovered that the second woodsman’s pile was much larger than that of the first. “You cheated!” the first man blurted out. “I watched you! Every hour or so you stopped to rest; I cut wood all day long. How could you have possibly cut more wood than I did?” The second woodsman smiled knowingly. “Yes, it is true I stopped every hour and a half to rest, but while I rested I was sharpening my ax.”
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
We had scored two coffees in a place where coffee was definitely not the drink of choice. They even had a “bold pick of the day.”
Initially, the cold, icy drizzle had driven us inside to warm up. But the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee had beckoned us like a siren’s song until we succumbed to buying two medium size cups. The counter person placed the cups in front of us as I handed her the requisite payment. “Do you have lids?” I asked, as she handed me the change. “If you turn right ‘round they are just there by the milk and sugar.” “Americans always ask for them,” she added with a smile. The reference was lost on me.
We snapped the lids down on the cups, turned up our collars and headed for the door, waving goodbye as we shouldered it open. The counter person waived back, but there was an expression on her face which I couldn’t quite read...amusement perhaps?
We headed down High Holburn toward Charterhouse Street. We were meeting a friend at St. Etheldreda’s Church (the oldest functioning Catholic Parish in the city). It was brisk and damp, the kind of weather which seeps into your bones, but the excitement of being in London drove out any discomfort we might have experienced. The coffee warmed us as we sipped away while we walked.
We had gone out of our way to avoid looking like Americans: no bright, white athletic shoes, no logo wear and no fanny pack (or bum bag as the English call them). The colors we wore were subdued and we were dressed a bit nicer than the usual tourist. Still, we seemed to catch people staring at us. One old gentleman greeted us with; “Pardon me Yank,” as he squeezed passed me.
We finished our coffees and began looking for a public trash can. There was none to be found. Undaunted , we finally ditched our cups in a public restroom. We reached Ely Place and turned toward St. Etheldreda’s where we found our friend waiting out in front. After a litany of greetings we shared our good fortune at finding an American coffee purveyor right in the heart of London.
“God, you didn’t take your cups out into the street, did you?” she asked dramatically. “That is soooo American.”
Traveling in a foreign country is often a good way to learn more about oneself. That which is common behavior in one country might be looked upon as amusing or even inappropriate in another. We Americans pride ourselves upon being great multi-taskers, particularly when it comes to food and drink. It is habitual for many of us to eat at our work stations and take our liquid refreshment (particularly coffee) whenever we can and wherever we go…even while we drive. A quick trip down any auto accessory aisle will reveal all manner of travel cups, cup holders and even refrigerators for your vehicle.
Unfortunately “multi-tasking” could very well be a euphemism for “being inattentive to more than one thing at a time” and perhaps for “being inconsiderate to more than one person at a time.” During our recent trip to London we learned the joy of “tea time.” What we discovered was the term “Refreshment” is not simply an object but an experience. “Refreshment” applies to not only the beverage, but the time taken to enjoy it.
Being a good steward of time is not simply a matter of the quantity of activity packed into a particular time frame, but the quality of the time spent. We need to find restorative time in our lives... daily periods when we take the time to restore our spirit, mind and body (and our relationships). Rather than gulping the latest energy drink at our desk in the afternoon, perhaps we would be better served to sit down with someone over a cup of tea and a scone just to decompress and clear our heads. We refresh our computers. Perhaps we should take time each day to refresh our lives as well.
Dear God, remind me to take time for refreshment.
Two woodcutters challenged one another to see who could chop the most wood in an eight hour day. The first diligently swung his ax over and over again, never once stopping during the entire eight hour period. At the end of the day, when their respective piles of chopped wood were compared, it was discovered that the second woodsman’s pile was much larger than that of the first. “You cheated!” the first man blurted out. “I watched you! Every hour or so you stopped to rest; I cut wood all day long. How could you have possibly cut more wood than I did?” The second woodsman smiled knowingly. “Yes, it is true I stopped every hour and a half to rest, but while I rested I was sharpening my ax.”
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Obituary
“One thing I can still do is pray. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)
A cold, icy rain was falling as we laid Stella to rest in the old church graveyard. The site, located in southwestern Pennsylvania, overlooked both the house she had lived in most of her life and her Parish Church, St. Luke’s. She had been baptized, married and now buried here.
While Stella never carried the title, she had been a “caregiver” most of her life. She cared for her invalid mother Rosalia for nearly ten years while continuing to run the family store and raising her children Teresa and Peter. She would often sleep on the floor next to her mother’s bed in case Rosalia needed her during the night. Even after her mother died Stella continued to send letters, often containing money, to her mother’s family in Lithuania; a family she had never met nor would ever meet.
Stella’s, and her husband Pete’s, best friends were Marie and Sty. When Sty contracted terminal lung cancer Marie took an unpaid leave of absence from work to care for him. At 2:00 AM one morning the phone rang in Stella’s bedroom. It was Marie. “I just can’t deal with this anymore” she cried. Stella woke Pete. They quickly dressed and made the hour long drive to their friends’ house in Pittsburgh. They stayed three days until Sty died. Even after the burial Stella and Pete went to Marie’s house every weekend to help her clean, cook and do household chores.
When Stella’s neighbor John, started going blind from glaucoma, Stella visited him twice daily taking him his meals, cleaning his house, driving him to doctor’s appointments and helping him pay his bills. Shortly before he died John offered to deed his house to Stella and Pete. They gently refused the gesture.
Throughout most of her life Stella brought groceries to shut-ins, cleaned houses for the elderly, drove people to medical appointments, gave generously to the needy and cooked meals for bereaved families. Finally her own health began to fail and her husband died.
In April of 2007 Stella became a resident of Vintage Senior Living in Simi Valley, California. Crippled with arthritis and suffering from bouts of dementia she spent most of her time confined to a wheel chair in the “Reminiscence” wing of the facility. One would have thought her years of serving others was over, but it was not. Somehow she found a way to be a servant to those who served; a giver of care to other caregivers.
Once she remarked to a Caregiver, “I know I’m old and my head doesn’t work right all the time, but one thing I can still do is pray.” “So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you.”
Caregivers would seek her out for solace and comfort. “Whenever, I was having a bad day I would go see Stella,” was an often heard comment. Stella offered people her bed when she wasn’t using it, food when they didn’t have any in front of them and money when she didn’t think they were paid enough.
From her little room with a few necessary pieces of furniture and a small closet of basic clothes she proved daily her greatest possessions were love, compassion and generosity. Stella passed quietly into the next world on a Saturday morning at 6:45 AM; three days short of her 91st birthday. Almost poetically her heart beat for 10 minutes after her breathing had ceased.
Many people leave legacies after they die. They leave charitable foundations, buildings, businesses, estates, wills and trusts. But the legacy Stella left us was a legacy of love and compassion. In her own way she was both Mary and Martha. Like Martha, she served at table making sure everyone else was fed and cared for first. But like Mary, she found time to kneel at the feet of Christ by attending Mass daily; a ritual carried on by the ministers to the sick and homebound who visited her weekly.
She created this legacy of love by constantly serving others. It mattered not what she had, but what she gave. Like a member of a religious order she lived simply, proving daily it is not money or power or prestige which makes a difference in this world. If the world is to be saved it will happen through the love, compassion and generosity of people like Stella.
“If you ever need anything, you come to me.” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
A cold, icy rain was falling as we laid Stella to rest in the old church graveyard. The site, located in southwestern Pennsylvania, overlooked both the house she had lived in most of her life and her Parish Church, St. Luke’s. She had been baptized, married and now buried here.
While Stella never carried the title, she had been a “caregiver” most of her life. She cared for her invalid mother Rosalia for nearly ten years while continuing to run the family store and raising her children Teresa and Peter. She would often sleep on the floor next to her mother’s bed in case Rosalia needed her during the night. Even after her mother died Stella continued to send letters, often containing money, to her mother’s family in Lithuania; a family she had never met nor would ever meet.
Stella’s, and her husband Pete’s, best friends were Marie and Sty. When Sty contracted terminal lung cancer Marie took an unpaid leave of absence from work to care for him. At 2:00 AM one morning the phone rang in Stella’s bedroom. It was Marie. “I just can’t deal with this anymore” she cried. Stella woke Pete. They quickly dressed and made the hour long drive to their friends’ house in Pittsburgh. They stayed three days until Sty died. Even after the burial Stella and Pete went to Marie’s house every weekend to help her clean, cook and do household chores.
When Stella’s neighbor John, started going blind from glaucoma, Stella visited him twice daily taking him his meals, cleaning his house, driving him to doctor’s appointments and helping him pay his bills. Shortly before he died John offered to deed his house to Stella and Pete. They gently refused the gesture.
Throughout most of her life Stella brought groceries to shut-ins, cleaned houses for the elderly, drove people to medical appointments, gave generously to the needy and cooked meals for bereaved families. Finally her own health began to fail and her husband died.
In April of 2007 Stella became a resident of Vintage Senior Living in Simi Valley, California. Crippled with arthritis and suffering from bouts of dementia she spent most of her time confined to a wheel chair in the “Reminiscence” wing of the facility. One would have thought her years of serving others was over, but it was not. Somehow she found a way to be a servant to those who served; a giver of care to other caregivers.
Once she remarked to a Caregiver, “I know I’m old and my head doesn’t work right all the time, but one thing I can still do is pray.” “So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll pray for you.”
Caregivers would seek her out for solace and comfort. “Whenever, I was having a bad day I would go see Stella,” was an often heard comment. Stella offered people her bed when she wasn’t using it, food when they didn’t have any in front of them and money when she didn’t think they were paid enough.
From her little room with a few necessary pieces of furniture and a small closet of basic clothes she proved daily her greatest possessions were love, compassion and generosity. Stella passed quietly into the next world on a Saturday morning at 6:45 AM; three days short of her 91st birthday. Almost poetically her heart beat for 10 minutes after her breathing had ceased.
Many people leave legacies after they die. They leave charitable foundations, buildings, businesses, estates, wills and trusts. But the legacy Stella left us was a legacy of love and compassion. In her own way she was both Mary and Martha. Like Martha, she served at table making sure everyone else was fed and cared for first. But like Mary, she found time to kneel at the feet of Christ by attending Mass daily; a ritual carried on by the ministers to the sick and homebound who visited her weekly.
She created this legacy of love by constantly serving others. It mattered not what she had, but what she gave. Like a member of a religious order she lived simply, proving daily it is not money or power or prestige which makes a difference in this world. If the world is to be saved it will happen through the love, compassion and generosity of people like Stella.
“If you ever need anything, you come to me.” ~Stella Rodzanskas Forte, wife, mother, grandmother, caregiver (1920-2011)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Give till it Feels Good
“Generosity consists, not of the sum given, but the manner in which it is bestowed.” ~Author unknown
After thirty years as a systems manager Harry Nix had been laid off. Whether it was because jobs were going to other countries or because replacements could be hired at entry level salaries it didn’t much matter. Regardless of the reason, at 63, Harry found himself in a nether world between pension, savings, social security and unemployment. In short, even if he qualified for it, it wasn’t enough. The necessary forms and mailings of his new unemplyed life required Harry make trips to the post office more often than he liked. So to save gas, he usually walked.
Outside the post office, Harry frequently crossed paths with a homeless man who loitered near the front of the building. Whenever, he encountered the man, though personally not in the best of financial conditions himself, Harry made it a habit of giving him whatever change he had in his pocket. They even, at times, engaged in brief conversations. Or, at the very least, “hello” and “how are you”.
On this particular day Harry had walked to the post office to mail a government form which required “proof of mail”. As he entered he noticed his homeless friend wasn’t around. Inside the line was long and there were only two postal clerks on duty. After twenty seven minutes Harry finally stepped to the counter, transacted his business and, with receipt in hand, headed out the door.
As he stepped out of the gloomy government building into the bright morning sunlight he stopped a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. As they did he noticed a homeless person (not the one with which he was acquainted) resting on the wall that encompassed the terrace surrounding the front of the building.
She had stringy blonde hair and wore what appeared to be men’s clothes. At her side sat a battered pullman suitcase and a backpack. Here most notable feature was that she was noticeably pregnant; third trimester no doubt. As Harry walked by her she muttered, “Hey Mister, got any change.” Instinctively he dug into his pocket. Glancing around, his friend was nowhere in sight. So Harry gave here all the coins in his pocket. “Thanks mister,” the woman muttered staring at the ground.
Harry turned and headed north on Fifth Street. Within a block he noticed his homeless friend shuffling down the street toward him. When they met Harry looked sadly at the man for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I gave all the change I had to a pregnant homeless woman outside the post office. “Ah, that’s OK,” the man said with a shrug. “I gave her all of mine too.”
Most of us tend to quantify our donations of time, talent and treasure. We speak in terms of our hours of service or the amount of money we donate. This type of quantitative thinking leads to the inevitable question: “How much should I donate?”
This well meaning question, one which most of us have asked ourselves, or posed to someone else, can lead us in a wrong direction. Gifts of time, talent or treasure are, above all, gifts of self. Only insomuch as we share these gifts from God can we participate in the life of the world and in our faith.
The question then is not, “How much do I give?” Rather, the question is “How deeply do I participate in life.” In this way, what we share ceases to arise out of a sense of obligation and thereby a need to be quantified. Rather, sharing our time, talent and treasure becomes a concrete expression of our gift of self.
The small amounts of change given by Harry and the homeless man were inconsequential in and of themselves, but they were tremendous gifts of “self.” In contrast, a large monetary gift, given from our surplus wealth, may not be a measure of our generosity, but of our capacity to give. It doesn’t make us any more participative in life and thereby doesn’t add to our spiritual growth.
So, don’t ask, “How much should I give to the church?” Ask, “How deeply am I participating in life?”
Dear God, make me fully participative.
“Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” ~John Wesley, English evangelist, founder of Methodism (1703-1791)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
After thirty years as a systems manager Harry Nix had been laid off. Whether it was because jobs were going to other countries or because replacements could be hired at entry level salaries it didn’t much matter. Regardless of the reason, at 63, Harry found himself in a nether world between pension, savings, social security and unemployment. In short, even if he qualified for it, it wasn’t enough. The necessary forms and mailings of his new unemplyed life required Harry make trips to the post office more often than he liked. So to save gas, he usually walked.
Outside the post office, Harry frequently crossed paths with a homeless man who loitered near the front of the building. Whenever, he encountered the man, though personally not in the best of financial conditions himself, Harry made it a habit of giving him whatever change he had in his pocket. They even, at times, engaged in brief conversations. Or, at the very least, “hello” and “how are you”.
On this particular day Harry had walked to the post office to mail a government form which required “proof of mail”. As he entered he noticed his homeless friend wasn’t around. Inside the line was long and there were only two postal clerks on duty. After twenty seven minutes Harry finally stepped to the counter, transacted his business and, with receipt in hand, headed out the door.
As he stepped out of the gloomy government building into the bright morning sunlight he stopped a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. As they did he noticed a homeless person (not the one with which he was acquainted) resting on the wall that encompassed the terrace surrounding the front of the building.
She had stringy blonde hair and wore what appeared to be men’s clothes. At her side sat a battered pullman suitcase and a backpack. Here most notable feature was that she was noticeably pregnant; third trimester no doubt. As Harry walked by her she muttered, “Hey Mister, got any change.” Instinctively he dug into his pocket. Glancing around, his friend was nowhere in sight. So Harry gave here all the coins in his pocket. “Thanks mister,” the woman muttered staring at the ground.
Harry turned and headed north on Fifth Street. Within a block he noticed his homeless friend shuffling down the street toward him. When they met Harry looked sadly at the man for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I gave all the change I had to a pregnant homeless woman outside the post office. “Ah, that’s OK,” the man said with a shrug. “I gave her all of mine too.”
Most of us tend to quantify our donations of time, talent and treasure. We speak in terms of our hours of service or the amount of money we donate. This type of quantitative thinking leads to the inevitable question: “How much should I donate?”
This well meaning question, one which most of us have asked ourselves, or posed to someone else, can lead us in a wrong direction. Gifts of time, talent or treasure are, above all, gifts of self. Only insomuch as we share these gifts from God can we participate in the life of the world and in our faith.
The question then is not, “How much do I give?” Rather, the question is “How deeply do I participate in life.” In this way, what we share ceases to arise out of a sense of obligation and thereby a need to be quantified. Rather, sharing our time, talent and treasure becomes a concrete expression of our gift of self.
The small amounts of change given by Harry and the homeless man were inconsequential in and of themselves, but they were tremendous gifts of “self.” In contrast, a large monetary gift, given from our surplus wealth, may not be a measure of our generosity, but of our capacity to give. It doesn’t make us any more participative in life and thereby doesn’t add to our spiritual growth.
So, don’t ask, “How much should I give to the church?” Ask, “How deeply am I participating in life?”
Dear God, make me fully participative.
“Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” ~John Wesley, English evangelist, founder of Methodism (1703-1791)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Thank Fullness
“You say grace before meals. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink.” ~G.K. Chesterton, English writer (1874-1936)
I love coffee and so did my former office partner Deacon Jerry. Occasionally we would take a stroll to the local coffee purveyor for a quick “cup of Joe”. Watching people, while waiting in line, is often the best part of the experience. It is fascinating to hear the many requests made for every possible combination of ingredients and preparation processes.
But what is most interesting is observing customers take their first sip. One morning I watched as a well dressed, middle-aged woman, in business attire, took her first careful taste of the dark brown elixir. After a brief “slurp”, she carefully placed her cup in front of her, tilted her head back, facing heavenward, closed her eyes with what approximated religious rapture and muttered, “Oh thank God”. If she was truly praying to a God at the time, I’m sure his name was STARBUCK.
In point of fact, just as we should thank God for everything in our lives, we should thank Him for that morning “jump start fluid” many of us crave. Our coffee comes from countries such as Brazil, Vietnam, Indonesia, Ethiopia, Honduras and Uganda. Harvesting requires a great deal of manual labor as the coffee berries have to be handpicked.
The berries are then roasted, stored, bagged, ground, repackaged, shipped and stocked. Just imagine the number of people who labor long and hard (many in third world countries, paid only a few dollars a day) to bring us our coffee. Not to mention the counter chemist who creates that special customized concoction just for us.
Yes, the lady had it right, though she probably didn’t realize it. We should take a moment to pray to God to thank Him for our cup of coffee every morning and for the health and well-being of all the people it took to get it to us. What a great way to get started in the morning…even if it did take a double macchiato, with a shot of caramel, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles…yuk! I’ll take mine black thank you.
Dear God: Thank you…for everything.
“Bless us o' Lord, and these thy (many) gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty.”
© 2008, 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
I love coffee and so did my former office partner Deacon Jerry. Occasionally we would take a stroll to the local coffee purveyor for a quick “cup of Joe”. Watching people, while waiting in line, is often the best part of the experience. It is fascinating to hear the many requests made for every possible combination of ingredients and preparation processes.
But what is most interesting is observing customers take their first sip. One morning I watched as a well dressed, middle-aged woman, in business attire, took her first careful taste of the dark brown elixir. After a brief “slurp”, she carefully placed her cup in front of her, tilted her head back, facing heavenward, closed her eyes with what approximated religious rapture and muttered, “Oh thank God”. If she was truly praying to a God at the time, I’m sure his name was STARBUCK.
In point of fact, just as we should thank God for everything in our lives, we should thank Him for that morning “jump start fluid” many of us crave. Our coffee comes from countries such as Brazil, Vietnam, Indonesia, Ethiopia, Honduras and Uganda. Harvesting requires a great deal of manual labor as the coffee berries have to be handpicked.
The berries are then roasted, stored, bagged, ground, repackaged, shipped and stocked. Just imagine the number of people who labor long and hard (many in third world countries, paid only a few dollars a day) to bring us our coffee. Not to mention the counter chemist who creates that special customized concoction just for us.
Yes, the lady had it right, though she probably didn’t realize it. We should take a moment to pray to God to thank Him for our cup of coffee every morning and for the health and well-being of all the people it took to get it to us. What a great way to get started in the morning…even if it did take a double macchiato, with a shot of caramel, whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles…yuk! I’ll take mine black thank you.
Dear God: Thank you…for everything.
“Bless us o' Lord, and these thy (many) gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty.”
© 2008, 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Gone in 60 Seconds
“We are dust with an attitude.” ~Dr. James Finley, author, clinical psychologist, former Trappist monk
The Bishop’s dinner was in full swing and the local chapter of the ICF (Italian Catholic Federation) was doing themselves proud. Mass, celebrated by the local Bishop, had ended and a steady stream of revelers had filled the parish hall. The men had been in the kitchen most of the day boiling pasta and putting the finishing touches on the sauce.
The salads had been plated and served while the wine glasses were being filled. Now the Strozzapreti with ragu and sausage was being served. The annual fundraiser for the Auxiliary Bishop was off to a great start. The men in black filled the long head table smiling paternally at their “constituents”.
At first the disturbance in the front corner went unnoticed, but soon people were looking in the direction of table #2 wondering what was going on. It quickly became apparent. Angela Cazzoni, a spry woman in her early seventies had, without warning, slumped onto the table in front of her. A moment later she slid off her chair onto the floor.
911 was called and a retired doctor who was attending the dinner checked her vital signs. A faint shake of his head indicated there was no proof of life. A group of teens (members of the youth group who had volunteered as servers) silently formed a circle, clasped hands, bowed their heads in silent prayer. One of the priests went to the stricken woman and prayed over her.
Tony, Angela’s husband, popped open his cell phone and called their children. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said simply. “Please be careful and don’t rush…she’s already gone.” He clicked off.
The EMT’s arrived and did a cursory exam. The teens continued their prayers. Finally Angela’s lifeless body was loaded onto the gurney. Tony at her side, they headed up the center aisle between the tables. “I’m sure she’s happy,” Tony remarked absent mindedly to one of the EMT’s. “She attended Mass said by her Bishop then died drinking wine and eating pasta with her friends.” She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
They disappeared out the door into the darkness.
The “If you had one day to live, what would you do?” question has made the rounds on websites, Facebook, blogs and even CNN. But what would you do if you only had one minute to live? In this scenario, you will never see your nice car again (even if it was valet parked). You won’t be able to return to your house or go to your office. Your titles and degrees will be meaningless. The size of your bank account won’t matter nor how well you have invested for the future. There will be unanswered messages in your email box. You won't even have time to go on Facebook to announce your unexpected departure from this earthly realm.
What would you do with the 60 seconds you had left? Would you tell someone you loved them? Would you forgive someone or perhaps ask for forgiveness? Would you let go of an old resentment or try to right some wrong? Would you call someone? Or, would you simply wait?
Once a year various Christian denominations observe Ash Wednesday. It is a holy day which celebrates our mortality (“from dust you came and to dust you shall return”). Why is it that church attendance increases exponentially on a day intended to remind us we will inevitably die…maybe today?
Death has a way of putting things into perspective. It sharpens our focus by cutting through pretense and sham. Death is the great equalizer. The Talmud says: "Be exceedingly humble of spirit, since the hope of man is but worms" (Aboth. iv. 4). In other words,” how can anyone who is going to die any minute think their important?”
Good stewards of time keep their eye on the prize. They know we are simply “dust in transition”. This viewpoint instills in us, not a morbid reality, but a sense of freedom. Most of us will not be as fortunate as Angela Cazzoni, but we can find a new freedom and a new happiness when we realize most of the things we stress over are not that important. When in doubt, apply the 60 second test.
Dear God, teach me to be grateful for every minute you have given me.
“There are a lot of important people in that cemetery. Unfortunately they’re all dead.” ~author unknown
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The Bishop’s dinner was in full swing and the local chapter of the ICF (Italian Catholic Federation) was doing themselves proud. Mass, celebrated by the local Bishop, had ended and a steady stream of revelers had filled the parish hall. The men had been in the kitchen most of the day boiling pasta and putting the finishing touches on the sauce.
The salads had been plated and served while the wine glasses were being filled. Now the Strozzapreti with ragu and sausage was being served. The annual fundraiser for the Auxiliary Bishop was off to a great start. The men in black filled the long head table smiling paternally at their “constituents”.
At first the disturbance in the front corner went unnoticed, but soon people were looking in the direction of table #2 wondering what was going on. It quickly became apparent. Angela Cazzoni, a spry woman in her early seventies had, without warning, slumped onto the table in front of her. A moment later she slid off her chair onto the floor.
911 was called and a retired doctor who was attending the dinner checked her vital signs. A faint shake of his head indicated there was no proof of life. A group of teens (members of the youth group who had volunteered as servers) silently formed a circle, clasped hands, bowed their heads in silent prayer. One of the priests went to the stricken woman and prayed over her.
Tony, Angela’s husband, popped open his cell phone and called their children. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said simply. “Please be careful and don’t rush…she’s already gone.” He clicked off.
The EMT’s arrived and did a cursory exam. The teens continued their prayers. Finally Angela’s lifeless body was loaded onto the gurney. Tony at her side, they headed up the center aisle between the tables. “I’m sure she’s happy,” Tony remarked absent mindedly to one of the EMT’s. “She attended Mass said by her Bishop then died drinking wine and eating pasta with her friends.” She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
They disappeared out the door into the darkness.
The “If you had one day to live, what would you do?” question has made the rounds on websites, Facebook, blogs and even CNN. But what would you do if you only had one minute to live? In this scenario, you will never see your nice car again (even if it was valet parked). You won’t be able to return to your house or go to your office. Your titles and degrees will be meaningless. The size of your bank account won’t matter nor how well you have invested for the future. There will be unanswered messages in your email box. You won't even have time to go on Facebook to announce your unexpected departure from this earthly realm.
What would you do with the 60 seconds you had left? Would you tell someone you loved them? Would you forgive someone or perhaps ask for forgiveness? Would you let go of an old resentment or try to right some wrong? Would you call someone? Or, would you simply wait?
Once a year various Christian denominations observe Ash Wednesday. It is a holy day which celebrates our mortality (“from dust you came and to dust you shall return”). Why is it that church attendance increases exponentially on a day intended to remind us we will inevitably die…maybe today?
Death has a way of putting things into perspective. It sharpens our focus by cutting through pretense and sham. Death is the great equalizer. The Talmud says: "Be exceedingly humble of spirit, since the hope of man is but worms" (Aboth. iv. 4). In other words,” how can anyone who is going to die any minute think their important?”
Good stewards of time keep their eye on the prize. They know we are simply “dust in transition”. This viewpoint instills in us, not a morbid reality, but a sense of freedom. Most of us will not be as fortunate as Angela Cazzoni, but we can find a new freedom and a new happiness when we realize most of the things we stress over are not that important. When in doubt, apply the 60 second test.
Dear God, teach me to be grateful for every minute you have given me.
“There are a lot of important people in that cemetery. Unfortunately they’re all dead.” ~author unknown
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Built to Last
“For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city which is to come.” ~ Hebrews 13:14
Most of the morning had been spent kneeling on the cold concrete floor of my Grandparent’s breezeway. Next to me sat a large wicker basket which held my supply of building blocks. The basket, after almost two full hours of work, was nearly empty.
Laid out carefully in front of me stood a magnificent wooden castle, the result of my loving and careful labor. Gingerly, I added a few small colored blocks to the windows to make them stand out. Then and only then did I finally pause and step back to look. It was marvelous.
Having completed my work, it needed to be appreciated by someone other than me. So, I headed into the main part of the house to find my Grandmother. Passing through the dining room I found my younger brother Fritz playing on the floor. Paying him little attention I continued on into the back bedroom where I found Grandma making the bed. She made me wait for what seemed like an eternity while she finished.
The bed finally made, I grabbed her by the hand and led her out into the hallway. When we reached the dining room, I was in too great a hurry to notice my little brother wasn’t there. Only two rooms left until the big unveiling. I tugged at Grandma’s arm with even greater urgency.
Halfway through the last room (the kitchen) a terrible sound brought me up short. It was the cascading sound of a group of wooden blocks hitting a concrete slab in mass. Immediately, I released my Grandmother’s hand and bolted for the open breezeway door.
The sight I beheld could not have been worse. My magical castle, the efforts of an entire morning, lay in a heap. My younger brother stood in the middle of the devastation; like Godzilla in the middle of Tokyo. In each hand he held one of the colored blocks I had so carefully placed in the windows. He was clacking them together…giggling.
“NOOOOOO,” I wailed. In a moment I was upon him snatching the blocks from his grasp. He sat down with a thump and immediately began to cry. Grandma quickly intervened. “You can build it again, Jimmie,” she said quietly, but firmly. “No I can’t!” I stammered.
By this time Grandma, had picked Fritz up to comfort him. Quickly I whisked the blocks from the floor in armloads, flinging them back into the basket. Then with two kicks I shoved the filled basket against the wall. Still unwilling to be soothed, I stormed out the back door sniveling as I went; wiping my nose on my sleeve.
The wicker basket rotted away long ago and the blocks have succumbed to the fiery furnace. Even the breezeway floor on which I knelt is no longer there, but I still have my brother. Fritz has blessed me with a wonderful sister-in-law and three talented nephews of which I am very proud.
We have cleaned fencerows together; cut, split and loaded fire wood. Every time I venture home to Pennsylvania we always schedule breakfast just to catch up. He is a successful independent business man who can master anything mechanical he puts his mind too. Wooden, building block castles don’t last for long, but our personal relationship has stood the test of time...
All too often, when stewardship is mentioned our minds immediately skip to money, offertory, donations or campaigns. Teaching stewardship through offertory increase programs is a castle made of wooden blocks. It tumbles easily and quickly. Unless we catechize, sanctify and form our lives first, offertory giving is simply an empty gesture.
Just as my personal relationship with my brother has grown over the years, so to must we develop a personal relationship with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. This intimate relationship grows through prayer and worship (not guilt and demands). It is within this personal relationship stewardship finds its beginnings.
Once this relationship is established we start to recognize God has gifted us in special ways. As we identify and cultivate these gifts we realize we are a unique creation of God put on this earth for a purpose; to help save the world. We are special and God made us so. With this realization a sense of gratitude develops and grows. (It was not until I became grateful for my brother, that I truly appreciated him.)
Once we become grateful for the many gifts God has given us, the sharing of our time, talent and treasure becomes a natural outgrowth of our faith, rather than a trained or manipulated response.
This Lent, commit to developing a personal relationship with Christ. He will be the best friend you've ever had.
Dear God: Remind me that I can never know myself except through Christ.
“In your heart God has excavated an immense space where he has placed a precious treasure. From now on you have the twofold duty of receiving and giving: sharing the treasure of the kingdom you bear within you and stretching the area of your tent for those around you.” ~Anonymous
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Most of the morning had been spent kneeling on the cold concrete floor of my Grandparent’s breezeway. Next to me sat a large wicker basket which held my supply of building blocks. The basket, after almost two full hours of work, was nearly empty.
Laid out carefully in front of me stood a magnificent wooden castle, the result of my loving and careful labor. Gingerly, I added a few small colored blocks to the windows to make them stand out. Then and only then did I finally pause and step back to look. It was marvelous.
Having completed my work, it needed to be appreciated by someone other than me. So, I headed into the main part of the house to find my Grandmother. Passing through the dining room I found my younger brother Fritz playing on the floor. Paying him little attention I continued on into the back bedroom where I found Grandma making the bed. She made me wait for what seemed like an eternity while she finished.
The bed finally made, I grabbed her by the hand and led her out into the hallway. When we reached the dining room, I was in too great a hurry to notice my little brother wasn’t there. Only two rooms left until the big unveiling. I tugged at Grandma’s arm with even greater urgency.
Halfway through the last room (the kitchen) a terrible sound brought me up short. It was the cascading sound of a group of wooden blocks hitting a concrete slab in mass. Immediately, I released my Grandmother’s hand and bolted for the open breezeway door.
The sight I beheld could not have been worse. My magical castle, the efforts of an entire morning, lay in a heap. My younger brother stood in the middle of the devastation; like Godzilla in the middle of Tokyo. In each hand he held one of the colored blocks I had so carefully placed in the windows. He was clacking them together…giggling.
“NOOOOOO,” I wailed. In a moment I was upon him snatching the blocks from his grasp. He sat down with a thump and immediately began to cry. Grandma quickly intervened. “You can build it again, Jimmie,” she said quietly, but firmly. “No I can’t!” I stammered.
By this time Grandma, had picked Fritz up to comfort him. Quickly I whisked the blocks from the floor in armloads, flinging them back into the basket. Then with two kicks I shoved the filled basket against the wall. Still unwilling to be soothed, I stormed out the back door sniveling as I went; wiping my nose on my sleeve.
The wicker basket rotted away long ago and the blocks have succumbed to the fiery furnace. Even the breezeway floor on which I knelt is no longer there, but I still have my brother. Fritz has blessed me with a wonderful sister-in-law and three talented nephews of which I am very proud.
We have cleaned fencerows together; cut, split and loaded fire wood. Every time I venture home to Pennsylvania we always schedule breakfast just to catch up. He is a successful independent business man who can master anything mechanical he puts his mind too. Wooden, building block castles don’t last for long, but our personal relationship has stood the test of time...
All too often, when stewardship is mentioned our minds immediately skip to money, offertory, donations or campaigns. Teaching stewardship through offertory increase programs is a castle made of wooden blocks. It tumbles easily and quickly. Unless we catechize, sanctify and form our lives first, offertory giving is simply an empty gesture.
Just as my personal relationship with my brother has grown over the years, so to must we develop a personal relationship with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. This intimate relationship grows through prayer and worship (not guilt and demands). It is within this personal relationship stewardship finds its beginnings.
Once this relationship is established we start to recognize God has gifted us in special ways. As we identify and cultivate these gifts we realize we are a unique creation of God put on this earth for a purpose; to help save the world. We are special and God made us so. With this realization a sense of gratitude develops and grows. (It was not until I became grateful for my brother, that I truly appreciated him.)
Once we become grateful for the many gifts God has given us, the sharing of our time, talent and treasure becomes a natural outgrowth of our faith, rather than a trained or manipulated response.
This Lent, commit to developing a personal relationship with Christ. He will be the best friend you've ever had.
Dear God: Remind me that I can never know myself except through Christ.
“In your heart God has excavated an immense space where he has placed a precious treasure. From now on you have the twofold duty of receiving and giving: sharing the treasure of the kingdom you bear within you and stretching the area of your tent for those around you.” ~Anonymous
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
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