90 Second Stewardship

Friday, February 24, 2012

E-dging G-od O-ut

“Anytime there is a struggle between doing what is actually right and doing what seems right, then your ego is interfering with your decision.” ~Darren L. Johnson, President/CEO InsideOut Learning

Though it was early Thursday morning, my perfectionist/ego brain was operating at max capacity. The very thought of a “national webinar” was thrilling. My voice and thoughts being broadcast to people throughout the US was just so gratifying and energizing. It had taken weeks to perfect the slideshow. Even so I spent the next three hours rehearsing and re-rehearsing, making sure things flowed just so.

Finally, fifteen minutes before “show time” the technician checked in, the application uploaded, and the person responsible for introducing me was signed in. At 10:05 am PST we launched. The hour passed quickly and before I knew it I was answering questions and accepting congratulations for a job well done.

My sense of self-worth soared. Throughout the remainder of the day I frequently found myself sharing my experience with others. Of course the “sharing” was often accomplished by introducing the subject into a conversation to which it was irrelevant. No matter; I had done my first NATIONAL webinar. That night I slept soundly secure in the fact that I had done a “good job.”

Early Friday morning, I arrived at the office, coffee in hand. After I hung up my dress jacket, booted up my computer and checked my messages I settled into my routine.

I customarily did my morning prayers shortly after I arrived at the office. It was quiet at this early hour and free of distractions. I slid my keyboard tray open. Because I use a laptop, the sliding tray was available for other things. It was a particularly good place for my prayer book which could remain open, available and out of sight.

The tray slid open smoothly and quietly. I stared down at the open book, trying to comprehend what was staring me in the face. “Wednesday, Evening Prayer” it read at the top of the page. That was odd. It should have read: “Thursday, Evening Prayer.”

Slowly, I began to realize what had happened. The morning before I had been so focused on preparing for my “big moment” and in the afternoon, so exuberant over my fleeting “15 minutes of fame” I had forgotten to say my prayers. As a Deacon candidate, these prayers were more than just time well-spent with my Creator; they were a requirement.

I proceeded to do my Friday Liturgy of the Hours slowly and carefully. Having finished the prayers, I still felt the need to do something to “compensate” for my oversight. The daily Gospel readings are available online.

Keying to the correct screen, I began to read from the Gospel according to Mark. Suddenly, I stopped. There in the middle of the page it read: “What profit is there for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?”

“Thank God,” I thought to myself. “Message received.”

Ego may very well be the most destructive force on earth. Without a doubt it is one of the greatest enemies of human kind. It starts wars, fuels racism, justifies bad behavior and destroys relationships. It is what makes some people “believe that Earth is the center of the universe and humans are the most important species, the supreme expression of creation” (Ann Druyan, American author and CEO).

Ego feeds the need for approval, the desire to control and a willingness to judge others. From a steward’s point of view, our ego wastes our time. My ego distracted me from spending time in prayer; but it could have just as easily distracted me from my family, my friends or helping someone in need.

Ego is, first and foremost, an addiction. What separates addictions from other forms of behavior is that addictions require constant feeding and attention. A little does not go a long way. The gratification of today’s hard won honors quickly dissipates, requiring new honors to replace them.

The real irony is that, deep beneath an inflated ego, we usually find an insecure or fearful spirit. There are no superiority complexes; only inferiority complexes, pretending to be superior.

If I had spent my time in prayer that morning, trusting in God, and the abilities he has given me, I probably would have done just a well, and without all the stress.

Our egos can never be satisfied, but, through God, we can come to live a satisfying life.

Dear God: Today I will trust in you and not in me.

“It is the nature of the ego to take, and the nature of the spirit to share.” ~proverb

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

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Value Added

“The life I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place my touch will be felt.” ~Frederick Buechner, educator, writer, theologian (b 1926)

Mary and Margaret sat quietly sipping their soup. Sunlight poured in through the large glass windows of the dining room. Though it was a holiday, there were a number of people quietly eating their holiday luncheon, some sitting by themselves. It was surprisingly busy at the care facility for a day when businesses were closed and families were gathering to celebrate.

At the ripe old age of 99, an age she stubbornly refused to admit, Mary had outlived her family. Her husband had passed away years before and her son only recently. There was grandchild somewhere, who appeared at random times, allegedly for “gas money.” Margaret was simply unsure if she had any living relatives, but the staff confirmed there was no known family and no one visited her.

The soup bowls were removed and the salad brought. “Would you like turkey or roast beef?” the server asked with a warm smile. Mary chose turkey and Margaret roast beef, but only after a lot of questions about how it had been prepared. Mary talked about her husband-- her handsome husband -- and their life together. But it was her son’s death she was thinking about. “No one should have to bury a child.” Her tone was almost instructive.

After some gentle questioning, Margaret revealed she was from California. She had been a school teacher, but had never married. “The children I taught were my life.”

So went the meal: gentle questions and much repetition.

We were finishing the cheesecake and coffee when Mary began to ponder something. “Where is your family today?” she asked, holding us with her inquisitive gaze. Teresa and I looked at each other, surprised by the question.

“Our families are all back east,” I responded finally. Our daughter’s husband’s family lives in Virginia, so the two of them are back there spending the holidays with them. It’s just the two of us this year,” I finished with a smile.

Mary considered my answer for a few moments. “So you’re here because you needed someone to spend the holiday with I imagine.”

My response stuck in my throat. I was about to tell Mary and Margaret that we had made a special effort to spend the holiday with them. That we had even brought them presents. I wanted her to know we were good people who were trying to do a good thing for their benefit.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” I said finally. “We didn’t have anyone to spend the day with so we came here. Thank you for sharing this meal with us.”

Mary and Margaret looked at each other and smiled. “Glad we could be of help,” Mary responded. “You’re pretty good company, too.”

“Think we could get a little more coffee over here?” she said to the server.

Many of us view “being of service” to others as fulfilling their physical needs. And the importance of this type of service should not be diminished. We should feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, heal the sick and visit the lonely. There is, however, a deeper need that we often overlook while ministering to the physical needs of others.

We all need to feel valued and have the sense that our lives count for something. Often we judge our value by our careers. Productivity equals value. As a consequence of people living longer, we long out-live our careers and, for many of us, also the thing which gave value to our lives. Our seniors do still add value to the world, and we need to take every opportunity to remind them of that.

Teresa and I were being good stewards when we chose to spend time with Mary and Margaret on that holiday afternoon. And it would have been easy to take credit for what we were doing. But the greater gift was the one Mary and Margaret gave us – the vision to see that they were good stewards, too – sharing themselves with us and reminding us that every life and all time is a gift. Ours and theirs!

Dear God: Help me to add value to the lives of others.

“Helping, fixing and serving represent three different ways of seeing life. When you help, you see life as weak. When you fix, you see life as broken. When you serve, you see life as whole. Fixing and helping may be the work of the ego, and service the work of the soul.” ~ Rachel Naomi Remen, clinical professor, holistic healer, speaker and writer.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

We're #1

“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it’s much more serious than that.” ~Bill Shankly, Scottish soccer player and manager (1913-1981)

Maureen made her way along 4^th Street. The spires of St. Michael the Archangel loomed at the end of the next block. She had already circumnavigated the line coming out of the bodega on 2^nd. People were stocking up on beer and munchies for the big game and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Maureen Malachy MacQuade had traveled this route to church every Sunday for the past 57 years. She would leave her little brownstone walk-up on O’Meara Avenue and make the 15 minute walk to St Mike’s. She always thought of the tough old Archangel as Mike. Michael was a name for cute little boys.

Today the trip was going to take her almost 25 minutes. People were everywhere trying to get things done, errands run, and party supplies and snacks purchased before the 3:30 pm kickoff time. The street was crowded and the going was slow.

She had left at noon for the 12:30 PM Mass. Still a block away, it was already 12:20. There would be no time today for her to say her rosary.

Maureen turned left and started up the stone stairs taking them carefully one at the time. At this hour there should have been people rushing into church. Instead, there were only a couple of the die-hards on the expansive staircase ahead of her.

Monsignor Joe was greeting people at the main door. “Good afternoon,” he greeted Maureen in his deep baritone voice. “How are you this fine Sunday afternoon?” “Good as I can be at my age,” she replied with a smile.

Maureen glanced past the Pastor into the sanctuary. “I don’t think there are 20 people in there” she said with surprise.” “It is Super Bowl Sunday after all,” the Monsignor mused. “Well I’m sure God doesn’t give a toss about the Super Bowl,” Maureen retorted. “He’s here with us, where he belongs.”

She started into the church. Then a thought struck her. Turning she looked squarely at the Monsignor. “What are you doing out here greeting,” she asked. “Aren’t you saying 12:30 Mass, Father?”

“Not today,” he replied with a wry smile. “I have somewhere I’m supposed to be this afternoon.” Our new young Associate is saying Mass.”

The bells began to ring and Msgr. Joe started down the stairs.

“Where do you have to be that’s so important?” Maureen persisted.

Turning to face her, he considered his response for a moment.

“A Super Bowl party at the O’Shaugnessy’s,” he said finally with a glint in his eye and his palms turned outward in a placating manner.

He turned away heading for the rectory across the street.

“Does God care about the Super Bowl?” writes Michael Freund in the Jerusalem Post. (This insightful article can still be read on line).

Freund quotes Hall of Fame quarterback Fran Tarkenton: “As a player… I never understood why God would care who won a game between my team and another. It seemed like there were many far more important things going on in the world.”

If God numbers the hairs on each of our heads, it would be surprising that an event involving 111.4 million human beings would escape his notice, or not be worthy of his time.

We mortals have a compulsion to prioritize things by their importance to us. Doing this is worthy of my time, doing that is not. This event is worthy of my attention, that event is not. This group of people or person is worthy, that group or person is not.

In a sense we profile things and people based on what we think deserves our attention; perhaps looking for those things which will improve our own profile. Essentially, we spend our time on our priorities; those things which will give us the most pleasure, enhance our image or further our careers.

God doesn’t operate this way. He is the great equalizer. We are all number 1. He loves and values everything and everyone the same. He loves Madonna, the rock star, just as much as the original Madonna, Mary, his mother. He loves the people praying at Mass the same as he loves those cheering at the Super Bowl.

God is not some far-away being, too supreme and too busy to be bothered with us because he has more important things to do. Rather God, and his love for us, is so all encompassing He embraces all of us and all of his creation; yes even football.

This should remind us that as stewards of God’s creation, we too are called to pay attention to what is going on around us; to not be so self absorbed, but to be very aware. The great figures of the parables (the Good Samaritan, the Father of the Prodigal Son) are people who stepped outside themselves. Being very aware, they had a sense of global goodness rather than a self centered importance.

In the final accounting, it’s not about us. We are called to see everything as being of value. We are called to love everything, just the same.

Dear God: Remind me today that all your creation is important.

“And just as a father takes pleasure in watching his children play, I’d like to believe that our Father in Heaven will also take delight in this Sunday’s drama on the field.” ~Michael Fruend, Native New Yorker (and Giants fan), correspondent and syndicated columnist for the Jerusalem Post

Friday, February 3, 2012

Ancient Doors

“A small key opens big doors.” ~Turkish proverb

Abdul-Fattah quietly closed the door to his little house in the Muslim Quarter. He didn’t want to wake his family who were all sleeping. It was early and still dark at this hour.

He checked one last time, patting his jacket to make sure he had the old key. His own door safely latched and the “other” key secured in his pocket, he paused to look up and down the narrow street. He saw no one, though if he had he would have known them on sight. Abdul-Fattah knew everyone. His family and their ancestors had lived here for many years.

He turned and headed toward Lion’s Gate Street. Praying to himself as he went; carefully fingering his Misbaha (prayer beads). Abdul prayed the Tasbih of Fatima. Thirty four times he would recite “Allahu Akbar” (God is the greatest), then “Al-hamdu lilah” 33 times (Praise be to God), and finally “Subhan Allah” 33 times (Glory be to God). This was the best time of the day – just him, his prayers and his God.

“Al-hamdu lilah.” Abdul turned left on Al Wad. When he had first been entrusted with the duties of caretaker of the key he had thought it a great inconvenience. As a male member of the Nuseibeh family (the oldest Arab family in Jerusalem), responsibility for the key had fallen to him – a responsibility which went back generations. “Why couldn’t these so-called “Men of God,” handle this on their own,” he had wondered.

Now, many years later, he finally understood the wisdom of the Sultan Saladin. It had been the right thing to do. It had become, for Abdul-Fattah, a daily mission; a holy thing. His parents must have known this when they named him. After all, his name, Abdul-Fattah, meant “Servant of the Opener of the Gates of Sustenance”. The thought made him smile.

He said his last “Al-hamdu lilah” and began the first “Sudhan Allah” as he turned right continuing along the Via Dolorosa. Bits of sunlight began to appear at the edges of the ancient walls.

Passing the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer on his left he smelled Turkish coffee brewing somewhere. He would have a cup with his old friend Abad later that morning. Stepping through the archway in front of him, the ancient church appeared on his right. It had been a holy site since 300 CE. Abdul made his way down the stone steps to the courtyard. Even at this early hour there were already pilgrims and tourists lingering by the door.

Reaching the doorway, he reverently removed the key from his pocket. The key slid home into the lock. Leaning his weight slightly against the door Abdul turned the key, throwing the bolt, and opened the door. The waiting pilgrims rushed inside before the key was out of the lock.

Returning the key to the safety of his pocket, he gazed upward at the ancient walls. He, a Muslim, had just opened the door to one of the holiest sites in all of Christendom, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, where Jesus had been entombed.

A warm, reassuring feeling came over him. After a last look at the open door, Abdul headed off for his coffee with Abad. As he went he wondered if both Muhammad and Jesus would greet him when he got to heaven. “Allahu Akbar” (God is the greatest).

God gifts us all with a unique array of time, talents and treasure. So unique, in fact, that God made each of us “one of a kind.” Stewards (of all faiths) do their best to fulfill God’s intent by using their gifts to better the world and its inhabitants.

Using our gifts for the benefit of others is important, but how do we go about the reception of the gifts of others? In other words, how do we respond when someone else’s “stewardship” is directed at us?

In the individualistic world we live in, many of us have difficulty accepting help from anyone, even family and friends. How do we respond when that help comes from a totally unexpected source – one foreign to us?

Sometimes, the people God sends our way are not the ones we would like to encounter and yet each one is exactly the right person for the situation. Putting a Muslim family in charge of the entrance to Christianity’s holiest location seems counter-intuitive. And yet, amongst a group of feuding and stubborn Christians, it was exactly the right choice. It is a decision which has worked for 820 years.

When God’s help comes, we should not turn it away, regardless of who our benefactor might be.

Dear God: Who will you send to help me today?

“You can’t always get what you want, but you always get what you need.” ~Mick Jagger 1969 (“Let it Bleed” album)

*Note: The primary custodians of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher are the Eastern Orthodox, Armenian Apostolic, and Roman Catholic Churches. The Greek Orthodox control the largest portion. The Coptic Orthodox, the Ethiopian Orthodox and the Syriac Orthodox have lesser responsibilities, including shrines and other structures within and around the building. Times and places of worship for each community are strictly regulated in common areas.

We often hear about discord amongst Jews, Muslims and Christians, but at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, it is the Christians who can’t seem to get along. As a result, none of them control the main entrance. In 1192, Sultan Saladin (Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb) the Sultan of Egypt and Syria assigned responsibility for the front door to the Nuseibeh family (the oldest Arab family in Jerusalem). The Joudeh Al-Goudia family was entrusted with the keys of the Holy Sepulchre by the Ottomans a few hundred years later. These two Muslim families now share the responsibility. (See Wikipedia, Church of the Holy Sepulcher, Status Quo)

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

Friday, January 27, 2012

Today, I'm a Christian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday, January 6, 2012

A Very Different Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“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, December 29, 2011

No Matter What!

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

(Email dated 11/17/2011)

From the heart:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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