Diversity Not Adversity

“The wise man belongs to all countries, for the home of a great soul is the whole world.”  ~ Democritus, ancient Greek philosopher (460 BC – 370 BC)

It was late Saturday morning and I was standing in the stockroom of a vacant store sampling homemade catfish. Though it might have been vacant from a retail perspective, it was anything but quiet. From the front of the store came the clamor of commerce, people and activity; sounds which could be heard even in the back where I stood. They were the sounds of the Afro-Centric Market Place in Simi Valley, California.

I had been invited to participate, as a representative of my company, by my new best friend, Sandra Brown. Sandra and I had met in a leadership program sponsored by the local chamber of commerce. Her outgoing personality had made it easy to get to know her and to feel comfortable around her. Since I was a diversity marketing manager, she had encouraged me to participate in the African American Tradeshow she was chairing.

So here I was with a catfish sandwich in hand courtesy of Sandra’s best friend Lizzy. “How is it?” she asked with a smile. “Deee-licious,” I replied, still chewing. “It’s a bit early for catfish though.”  “It’s never too early for one of my catfish sandwiches,” retorted Lizzy, her hands on her hips. (This friendly banter had started when I arrived and would continue through-out the day. It was only one of Lizzy’s endearing qualities.)

“So what do you think of the trade show?” Sandra asked. “It’s really nice” I replied, still focused on the catfish. “Really nice,” Sandra said, mimicking my vocal pattern. “That is definitely a white person’s response.” Sandra’s head moved back and forth punctuating each word.  I stopped chewing, surprised to hear Sandra refer to me as a “white person.” After all I was a white person.

“Have you ever heard music like this?” “Have you ever seen booths like these?” Have you ever seen clothes like these?” Sandra’s head continued to go back and forth. “No, not really” I responded feebly.  “So tell me what you really think?” Sandra’s look had become penetrating.

 I put the sandwich down, realizing this was becoming more than a casual conversation. “I think it’s different,” I offered. “Different how?” Sandra was not going to let me off easily. “Different as in it is something I have never experienced before.”

Finally Sandra’s gaze began to soften. She broke into a litany about how they had set about to make this trade show different; one which truly reflected their culture. “We Black folk are different from you White folk, so what do you really think?” Sandra concluded. This final comment caught me off guard. I had come to believe it was impolite and perhaps inflammatory to suggest we were different.

I swallowed hard and then proceeded to tell Sandra all the things I liked and the few things I didn’t like about the trade show. More importantly, I asked about the things I didn’t understand. Sandra listened intently and offered explanations where necessary. Finally, I was done.

A big grin began to spread across Sandra’s face. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” she asked. “You see, we are different than you.” “Different in how we act, how we think and the things we value. Being different isn’t bad, it’s just…different. The good thing is we live in the 21^st century where we can acknowledge, talk about, and maybe even celebrate the differences. Now let’s get you some corn bread and butterbeans.”  

For centuries, cultures have often looked upon other cultures, races, religions and social groups as suspect, inferior and even subhuman. Blacks were sold as property and a Native American tribe was put on trial by the United States Government to determine if they were truly human. These biases continue in many parts of the world even today.

As we traversed the 20^th century, we reached a sort of middle ground where we convinced ourselves everyone was equal and therefore the same; to point out differences was often viewed as bigotry. Sandra taught me what many of us are coming to understand, that it is a good thing to discuss the differences. In fact, we are called to celebrate these differences.

As Christian Stewards, we understand that every person is, in a sense, his or her own individual culture. In today’s “culture,” it is not that we are becoming more the same; rather, we are each becoming more unique. While we may find some comfort where we overlap, in point of fact, our strength lies in the differences between us.

 This is one of the messages of Pentecost. While we are all members of the human race, we are each our own unique culture with unique gifts – “one Spirit, but different gifts”.  God made us all different for a reason. We are called to use our gifts to complement one another, not to be in conflict with one another.

As we celebrate Pentecost this weekend, it is a time to recognize and rejoice in the unique culture of the others in our lives. They are not adversaries, but gifts of God.

Dear God: Teach me to be grateful for all the other people you have created in this world.

“The greater the diversity, the greater the perfection.”  ~Thomas Berry, CP, Catholic Priest, member of the Passionist order, cultural historian, ecotheologian, cosmologist and geologist (1914-2009)

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Happy Dance

“We wouldn’t ask why a rose, that grew from the concrete, has damaged petals, in turn we would celebrate its tenacity, we would all love its will to reach the sun, well, we are the roses, this is the concrete and these are my damaged petals, don’t ask me why, thank God and ask me how.” ~Tupac Shakur, American rap artist (1971-1996)

It was the middle of a Thursday morning and I found myself at my desktop computer grinding away at a document that needed to be out by lunch time. There are those times when words and expressions seem to flow effortlessly, but this was not one of those times. I found myself deleting more than I was writing; the words I needed seemed to be just beyond my reach. I knew they existed, but I just could not find them. 

The page was filled with four incomplete paragraphs and I was in the middle of starting a fifth when a noise from somewhere down the hallway distracted my struggling attention span. 

A moment later I recognized the noise. It was Renita, a member of the parish capital campaign staff. What had started as a “Woohoo!” was escalating into a series inexplicably gleeful sounds.  

Suddenly she appeared in my doorway. “We just got a $100,000 pledge!” she shouted. In an instant she threw her arms in the air and began gyrating. As she did so she repeated two words: “Happy dance, happy dance.”  

This was not the first time I had experienced this type of display. Renita’s island heritage made her particularly susceptible to spontaneous fits of celebration. She finished her impromptu choreography and stood there grinning at me. I’m sure my expressionless face spoke volumes. 

“Aren’t you going to happy dance with me?” she asked. “I’m a fifty-something, white male from back East,” I responded. “I don’t ‘happy dance.’” “Well you need to get yourself one,” she fired back. And with that she continued down the hall doing what looked like a cha-cha step, repeatedly exclaiming, “Happy dance!”  

I smiled to myself although I would never have admitted it to anyone. 

Returning to my document, I began to notice connections between my disjointed paragraphs. Slowly things began to flow: additions here, deletions there, some connecting explanations and paragraph rearrangement, etc. By 11:45 am I found myself putting the finishing touches on what had become a very acceptable piece of work. 

Carefully, I saved the document, tapped out a quick email, inserted the appropriate addresses, and attached the document. My hand on the wireless mouse, I pointed at the SEND box. I hesitated for only a moment, and then, with gusto, I “left clicked,” sending the email, document and all, off into cyberspace. 

Then listening intently, I made sure I heard no one in the hall. Then I rose from my chair and did a private impromptu jig whispering to myself, “Happy dance.” 

Joy is one of God’s greatest gifts and we seem to be losing our ability to express it, at least with any kind of spontaneity. When small children are happy, they irrepressibly dance, giggle, laugh and throw their arms into the air. As we get older we seem to suppress this unbridled joy of youth as if it is somehow wrong to be too happy, too celebratory. 

We tend to look upon other groups or cultures who instinctively feel the inspiration to dance and sing spontaneously as somehow less sophisticated or even underdeveloped. Perhaps one of the reasons we Americans gravitate to sporting events is because it gives us license to celebrate without reservation — to express unbridled joy; these events provide an acceptable excuse to demonstrate our joy publicly.  

On other occasions, perhaps in an effort to appear more sophisticated, we stifle our happiness. However, suppressing our joy is just as damaging as suppressing suffering. Both need to be validated and lived out. After all wasn’t waking up this morning worth celebrating, considering the alternative? 

Like Renita we all need a “happy dance” and we need to do it often, because we are all truly blessed. 

Dear God: Remind me to celebrate life today.

“The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.” ~Oprah Winfrey, American television personality, actress and producer (b. 1954)

 

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

Tragic Gifts

“When you are falling from a mountain you may as well attempt to fly.” ~Babylon 5, American TV show (1993-1997)

The gymnasium was deathly quiet, though it was filled to the rafters with Junior and Senior high school students. Moments before, with the utterance of a single sentence, the air had gone out of the room, leaving behind only stunned silence.

It was the second day of the “Every 15 Minutes” program at Simi Valley High School, a program intended to make the students aware of the dangers of drunk driving.  The first day was a simulation of an alcohol-related accident involving students from the school. 

"Every 15 Minutes" is an educational experience which drives home the reality of the dangers associated with driving while impaired. The crash was staged, but the emotions were real!

Today was the wrap-up session. Everyone who had “died” or been injured in the simulation the day before had been miraculously brought back to life and fully restored.

The day before I had been shadowing a Police Chaplain. Today I was sitting in the back row of the guest seating on the gym floor, thinking about how physically unforgiving metal folding chairs could be.

The speaker was relating the story of her best friend – a friend whose “drinking career” had begun in high school and had gradually escalated even as she worked multiple jobs, pursued a successful career, and raised two children.

Things were going well for her friend. She was careful to mask her drinking habits and never drove herself home from parties. One morning however, after a party, she realized she had neglected to pick up her children. “She grabbed her keys and headed out the door.”

Suddenly pictures of a totaled SUV flashed on the screen. “My friend woke up in the hospital, not able to remember how she had gotten there,” the speaker said with tears streaming down her face. “She found out from the medical staff she had been in a serious accident,” she continued.  

“And then she found out another person had been killed in the accident – an accident she had caused.” The gym got quiet. The speaker choked back another sob. “I know this story about my friend is true,” she continued, speaking through the tears. “Because the friend I’ve been telling you about, the friend who drove drunk and killed another person… was me!” 

Every once in a while, when a Lottery Jackpot rises to the mega millions, I am inclined to buy some tickets. I justify my greed by telling myself, “With that much money I could really do some good in the world.” It’s easy to convince ourselves we could really make a difference if only we had more time, greater talent, or abundant treasure. 

It is difficult, perhaps nearly impossible, for any of us to believe that our brokenness or personal tragedies have value; that God could use the worst days of our lives, those moments of epic failure, for good.  

God does not cause them to happen, but in our darkest hours God still cares for us. He can take our humanity, our failures, and use them in ways completely beyond our expectation.  

This is not simply a question of a “comeback” or our surviving the event. There are many stories of those who have rebounded from failures or underdogs who became successes. But it takes a loving and involved Creator to use the worst parts of our lives to positively affect the lives of others. The speaker’s personal tragedy became a means by which the lives of others might be transformed.

No one can ever measure the number of lives changed or saved by the speaker on that day. The tragedies of life are not gifts from God, nor created by Him. We are the ones who create tragedy in the world. But what God does with those tragedies, through us, can become miracles.

Dear God: Remind me that no matter what, I am valuable to you.

“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.” ~Oscar Wilde, Irish poet, dramatist, novelist and critic (1854-1900)

 ©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Face of the Poor

“Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work.” ~ Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Roman Catholic Sister, founder of the Missionaries of Charity order (1910-1997)

It was Sunday afternoon and the Parish Center was humming. The Ladies’ Tea started in less than 15 minutes and final preparations were being made. The annual event was a particular favorite for the women of St Peter Claver Parish.

Each of 30-plus tables had a hostess who took responsibility for the decorations and service ware. It was a chance for each to show off her finest china and tea service. Each table was a masterpiece reflecting the character of the hostess.

Husbands, sons and other male volunteers served as the waiters.

My wife, Teresa, was seated at our friend Jennifer’s table. The teapots were filled and I was just preparing to head for the kitchen, when Linda, one of our parishioners, came running up. “Jim, there’s a homeless person at the door who needs help.” “Since you are going to be ordained as a Deacon soon, I thought you would be the best person to handle it.”

Standing there in my crisp, starched tux shirt, black bow tie, cummerbund and matching cufflinks, I could not have felt more ill-equipped.  “Of course,” I responded, dutifully following Linda to the main entrance of the event.

Along the way I tried to prepare myself for what I might encounter - probably a scruffy old man with a foul smell and an attitude to match. But, as a soon-to-be Deacon, my principal responsibility was serving the marginalized. “This is what we do,” I thought.

Linda disappeared out the door ahead of me. I stepped outside behind her and turned, my eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. The sight which greeted me was unexpected, to say the least.

There, standing next to Linda, was not the man I had imagined. Instead, Linda was standing next to a wisp of girl who could not have been more than 20. Her lower lip was pierced in two places and her wispy blonde hair was pulled back with a well-worn scrunchie. She wore a pink and white striped knit top with short sleeves. At her feet lay two zippered bags which appeared to have once been nice carryon luggage.  Her nose was red, as if she had been crying.

“Hi, I’m Jim, What’s your name?”  “Christi” she responded, looking at her feet.  “How can I help you?” I asked.  She choked back a sob. “I’m hungry, I have no money and I need something to eat,” Christi said, looking to her right, tears leaking from her eyes.

I gently asked her a few questions regarding services she had tried or organizations she might have contacted. The problem was that it was Sunday and none of the usual services were open. Even our own parish office was closed. 

“Wait right here,” I said finally. I trotted back into the parish center where I was greeted by the hum of convivial conversation. We tapped the cash box for a few dollars, enough for some food and bus fare to the Samaritan Center which would be open in the morning.  

When I returned, Christi was still standing there.  “Here’s enough money to get you through the rest of the day and bus fare across town,” I said with a hopeful smile. “Thank you, Deacon,” she sniffed, looking at her shoes. “May I pray for you?” I asked. For the first time, Christi made eye contact. “Yes, thank you.” 

I prayed briefly over her, asking God to give her help and strength. “Thank you,” she exclaimed again as I pronounced the “Amen.”  Then she hugged me. 

Even outside I could hear the opening announcements for the Ladies’ Tea. “I’ve got to go,” I told Christi. “Will you be all right?” “I think so,” she said simply; picking up her bags. Turning, I headed for the door. As I reached it, I glanced back just in time to catch a glimpse of her disappearing around the corner.  

I paused for a moment: Funny, I never told her I was a Deacon. Heading back into the crush of activity in the parish center I wondered what other surprises God might have in store for me. 

“The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me,” (Matthew 26:11 Jesus tells his disciples.  That phrase (a version of which appears in three of the four Gospels) has generated much discussion and debate as to what Jesus really meant.   

It seems to me that the words mean more than just the continued existence of the poor – that they will always be around. Rather, the words imply a relationship in the same way that “I have a child” or “I have a spouse” implies a relationship. “I have the poor with me” also means I have a relationship with them. So, perhaps the implication here is: “You will not always have me (here), but you will always have the poor (instead).” 

On the day of the Ladies’ Tea, this passage took on a special meaning for me. Whether or not we acknowledge their presence, the poor are always with us, and they are often nearer than we think. Sometimes we pass them on the street, sometimes they are on the highway exit ramps, and sometimes they are literally right outside our door.  

Those in need seem to appear at the most inconvenient of times. They appear just as we are trying to get something else done, something important to us. Perhaps they are a reminder of what really is or isn’t important. The poor don’t require an appointment, but they do require our attention.  

The poor don’t always fit neatly into our stereotypes. They are not simply the local wino from the gutter. They can be people who are uncomfortably close to us, even family and friends.  

Once, while working in a homeless shelter, a former, fellow employee appeared asking for food. He had gone from being the head of a department to being homeless. The poor and needy are closer than we think. 

Whether it is a grizzled old man, a scared young girl, or a former co-worker, when we look into the face of the poor, the homeless, or the marginalized, we are looking into the face of Christ. After all, he promised that they – and he – would always be with us. 

Dear God: Help me to see you in everyone I meet today. 

“If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.” ~John F. Kennedy, 35^th President of the United States (1917-1963) 

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Food for Life

“Food is a central activity of mankind and one of the single most significant trademarks of a culture.” ~Mark Kurlansky, 'Choice Cuts' (2002) American writer and journalist (b 1948)

It was Easter Saturday just before noon. Easter Saturday is a nether world between the somber services of Good Friday and the joyous, Spirit-filled celebration which is Easter Vigil.

We had just completed the second Easter Vigil rehearsal: one with the clergy (priests and deacons) and one with those to be baptized and confirmed. At noon was the traditional blessing of Easter baskets, a Middle European custom.

In the early church, fasting and abstaining from all meat products lasted the entire 40 days of Lent. By the time a family sat down on early Easter Sunday afternoon for their celebratory meal, it was truly something special. Therefore, it became customary for the first food to be eaten, when the fast was broken, to be food blessed by a priest or deacon.

It was 11:45 and I still needed to put on my alb and set up. Out the window of the sacristy, which looked out onto the plaza, I could see the early arrivals already placing their baskets on the concrete wall under the large oak tree. Quickly I pulled my alb from the hanger and slipped it on.

With Teresa’s help, we set up the folding table, covered it with a borrowed lace table cloth, and placed on it the Book of Blessings and a small bottle of Holy Water. Finally, we carried the stand for the thurible (for incensing the baskets) and the boat (containing unburned incense) into the courtyard.

It was noon. The participants proudly placed their baskets on the wall, carefully opening the linen covers so that the Holy Water could fall directly onto the food. Each of the baskets’ contents bore a specific meaning: Lamb sculptures made of butter represented Jesus the Lamb of God.  Red beets, sweetened with just bit of sugar, reminded us of His passion and the wounds He bore.

The bitter herbs of the Israelites and the bitterness of Christ’s crucifixion could be found in the small containers of horseradish. Salt in shakers appeared in some of the baskets. The salt represented both purification as well as the saltiness of blood and sweat.

Linen basket coverings and liners were used to remind us of the linen in which Christ was wrapped at his burial. Hams for joy and abundance, bread symbolic of Jesus, and beautifully decorated Easter eggs represented the resurrection – life coming from the tomb.

The blessings were spoken; the baskets incensed and sprinkled with Holy Water. By 12:30 the blessing ceremony was complete. As I began packing things up, one of the participants came up to me and handed me an ornate gift bag sealed at the top. “This is for you,” was all he said. He bowed slightly and he walked away.

Later as I was preparing to go home, I retrieved the gift bag from the counter in the sacristy. But I couldn’t resist peeking inside. When I opened it, however, I didn’t need to look inside to know what I would find. The pungent aroma of homemade Polish sausage wafted up from the open bag. At that instant, I knew what I would be having with my eggs for Easter breakfast!

Food is one of the most distinctive aspects of any culture. Even here in the US we have regional distinctions. Food defines us. Families have “signature dishes” – certain food items which are prepared only at holidays or for special family gatherings. Some people even have certain food traditions crafted to assure the success of their local sports teams.

What is it about food which is so personal? Food goes beyond mere physical maintenance of our bodies. Not only does it provide us with sensual enjoyment: it gives spiritual sustenance as well. The first “request” made in the Lord’s Prayer is “Give us this day our daily bread.” One translation of this phrase in Aramaic reads: “Give us wisdom (understanding, assistance) for our daily need.”

In many ways food, particularly in its preparation, is a consummate act of stewardship. We receive the raw gifts of God’s creation: fruits, meats, vegetables and spices. We apply our talents to these ingredients, perhaps employing the advice and wisdom of others (family or professional), and in so doing create dishes which both delight and physically sustain others.

Is this not one way to return God’s gifts with increase? How appropriate it is to speak a blessing over these gifts at our family table! Or, at Easter time, to bring them to church to have them blessed in a community of believers.

It is therefore not surprising that our worship service, the Mass, is our coming together over a meal of very special significance. Jesus spent much of his time preaching, teaching and healing. Throughout that time we find many of his actions consummated by celebrations over food.

It is little wonder then, that the defining moment of our faith, was a meal with the closest of friends; the Last Supper.

Dear God: Bless this food which you provide for us and bless it to our use, physical and spiritual.

"Food to a large extent is what holds a society together and eating is closely linked to deep spiritual experiences." ~Peter Farb (1929-1980) and George Armelagos (b 1936) 'Consuming Passions: The Anthropology of Eating', American anthropologists and writers

©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Here and Now

“Life is now. There was never a time when your life was not now, nor will there ever be.” ~Eckhart Tolle, German-born, Canadian author (b1948)

The Melkite Priests, Deacons and the Bishop began to sing the funeral chant. The words were not unlike my own Roman Catholic prayers. The casket, draped with roses had been preceded to the altar by a bagpipe and the immediate family. It was a unique fusion of customs since John was a Roman Catholic, Scottish immigrant who had adopted his wife’s Melkite Greek Catholic tradition.

Now, the casket was resting quietly in the middle of the altar area surrounded by clergy. A large photographic portrait of my friend, John, rested on an easel facing the mourners. Dressed in full formal attire, he was smiling his typical radiant smile.

As the wave of chants swept over me, I found myself pondering the many years I had known John.  We had been introduced by a mutual friend and client 21 years earlier. Having just moved back to California from Ohio we needed a tax accountant. Our friend recommended John, and even though his office was 28 miles away, he became our “tax man.”

Twice a year (once before the end of the calendar year to assure we had paid sufficient taxes and once during tax season), we made our pilgrimage to John’s office. Strangely, it never seemed like business. Each and every visit felt like a social visit.

For a moment the chanted prayers brought my wandering mind back to the funeral.

What was this strange gift John had for making something as dull, and potentially threatening, as tax preparation, an enjoyable event; one to which we actually looked forward? It was more than just his positive attitude and love of life.

As I rolled this question over in my mind, the answer seemed obvious but not necessarily logical. Our good friend had a remarkable ability to live in the present moment and remain focused on the people he was engaging. I, on the other hand, was the king of the “yes, buts…” and “what ifs?”

John never rushed; he was always patient, kind and available. Once I jokingly told him I was “shocked to discover he had other clients” because he gave everyone such special, personal attention.

The jingling sound of the bells on the thurible, as the coffin was being incensed by one of the Deacon,s brought my attention back to the funeral. The final prayers were sung as the coffin was led up the aisle and the preliminary hum of the bagpipe commenced. In that moment, I was reminded of an old Eskimo proverb: “Yesterday is ashes. Tomorrow is green wood. Only today does the fire burn brightly.”

The gift of time on this earth may be the greatest gift God gives us. Without the time to use them, our other gifts don’t matter match. But, rather than spending our valuable gift of time in the here and now, many of us wander off. We find ourselves worrying about the “shoulds” in life – should have done this, should be doing that or should do it tomorrow – and it sometimes makes us miserable.

In this respect, misery is a destination, rather than a condition. Most of us have to travel (mentally) to find misery in our lives. We visit our pasts, which are laden with regrets, guilt, old hurts, and unresolved issues. Our futures are a mysterious fog of uncertainty. What will tomorrow bring? The unknown future becomes a vessel which is filled with dread and angst.

We are certainly entitled to our happy memories. Happiness, however, most often resides in the here and now. Unfortunately though, most of us operate in a realm of marginal attentiveness, cycling back and forth through past, present and future.

God made us stewards of our time and we have a responsibility to use that time well. Time is wasted when we spend it regretting our past or doubting our future rather than living in the joy of the present.

John’s gift was his passion for the intense happiness of the present. Like John, we are called to live here…now…and forever.

Dear God: Focus me on the present moment. Cleanse my heart of any worthless, evil or distracting thoughts.  

“If you aren't in the moment, you are either looking forward to uncertainty, or back to pain and regret.” ~Jim Carrey, Canadian-American actor and comedian (b1962)

 ©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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

Doubt less

“Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty is ridiculous.”  ~Voltaire, French philosopher and author (1694-1778)

The conversation was not going well at all. The waitress was still refilling our coffee and its effect was making me jittery. “Why don’t you just admit that I’m right?” I was saying. “Because you’re not right,” my friend responded. “You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” I retorted. “Do you want me to admit you’re right, even if I don’t believe you are right?” he fired back.

My friend John liked to refer to himself as a pagan. “If I call myself an atheist, that would mean I have to admit to some higher power in order to dismiss him,” he would say. John’s initial question had been, “Why are you so sure there is a God?” “Why are you so sure there isn’t?” had been my clever response.

This had been the sum and substance of our conversation for the last hour or so. It had started innocently enough over the discussion of whether or not there was a God. 

At first, I had patiently tried all the “pat answers,” suggesting that we see God in nature and that the logic of the universe implied a higher intelligence at work. Finally, I bemoaned the possibility that if mankind were actually the highest authority, our world was really in trouble. 

Try as I might to remain calm, the conversation had quickly turned into a playground spat. Logic had left our table a while ago and now it was just a civilized argument, verbal arm-wrestling.

 “Why can’t you accept that I prefer to live with my doubt rather than accept your beliefs?” John concluded. My response was to ask the waitress for the check.

The great French philosopher and devoted Roman Catholic, Rene Descartes is credited with the statement: “I doubt, therefore I think; I think, therefore I am.”  One of the recent criticisms of the church is that we are “doubt-less.”  In other words, the church seems bent on eliminating doubt, rather than helping people process doubt.

Put another way, some people see wrestling with doubt as a good thing. At first blush this seems counter–intuitive.  Isn’t doubt an obstacle to faith?

I suggest that the strength of our faith rests as much on our doubts as it does upon our sureties. When we are sure of ourselves, we stop searching and therefore stop growing. As Descartes observed, doubt makes us think. 

Being in doubt  causes us to continue to process information, rather than discard it when it seems contradictory to what we want to believe.

Doubt opens us to new possibilities and forces us to continue to consider, to search, to look deeper… Shakespeare referred to doubt as the “beginning, not the end, of wisdom.”

Doubt is not the enemy of faith. Rather, it is a necessary ingredient in a strong and resilient faith, a faith that can weather the test of living it.  After all, if everything were assured, clear and without ambiguity, there would be no faith!

To rephrase Shakespeare: Doubt is the beginning of faith, not the end of it.

Dear God: Help me use my doubt to find you in new and deeper ways.

“Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is one element of faith.”  ~Paul Tillich, German born American theologian and philosopher (1886-1965)
©2012 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
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