Nodding On

“No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted.” ~ Aesop, ancient Greek storyteller (620-564 BC)

He was hard to miss, even though I was staring across four lanes of traffic. I had noticed the front door open. It was a strange house with orange trim, shutters and doors. Then he appeared.

His head seemed hairless, but his eyebrows were dark. The draping garment he wore was the same orange color as the house trim and there were sandals on his feet.

I was standing on the doorstep of the Kappa Alpha Psi fraternity house at 1846 Crenshaw Boulevard in Los Angeles, just north of Washington Boulevard. This alumni chapter had offered the use of their facilities for a retreat for our graduating eighth grade class. The Principal and I were greeting students as they arrived.

Across the four lanes which comprised Crenshaw Boulevard was the Vijaya Dharma Buddhist Vihara. The man in orange was most certainly a Buddhist monk and, by the way he comported himself and perused the grounds, I guessed he was probably the “Head Monk.”

I watched with distracted interest as a Hispanic gardener worked feverishly with a gas-powered trimmer along the frontage of the property. The monk stood quietly nearby until the gardener noticed him. With small abbreviated gestures and movements of his head the Monk seemed to instruct the gardener as to what he wanted done. The gardener responded with his own animated nod.

The Monk started to turn back toward the house when he paused. Whether he felt the weight of my eyes upon him or just casually glanced across the street, I will never know.

Regardless, our eyes met for only an instant. Instinctively I brought my heels together, straightened my posture, steepled my fingers beneath my chin, and nodded, closing my eyes. When my head was again upright and my eyes open, I paused.

A brief smile seemed to glimmer across the face of the Monk. He too steepled his fingers, and nodded in my direction. We looked at one another across the busy morning traffic for another instant. Then the connection was broken.

The Monk turned and walked slowly back toward the house with the orange trim. He seemed to be contemplating every flower and shrub as he went. Finally he disappeared into the orange door from which he had first appeared.

We are a country which revels in grandiose dreams, grand ideas and magnanimous gestures. It’s hard not to look with admiration upon the great speech, the heroic attempt, the unbelievable turnaround or the incredibly generous donation.

It is easy to forget that our lives are made up of hundreds of momentary encounters and small gestures. From the person next to us at a stop light, to the barista who hands us our coffee concoction, to those we pass on the street, we are constantly interacting with one another. I would suggest, that based upon sheer volume, these constant interactions have more impact upon the world than do the few grand ones.

Most of us have experienced a kind act or gesture which seemed to buoy us up the rest of the day. Likewise most of have experienced a rude remark or unkind gesture which seemed to eat away at our peace of mind, sometimes for a very long period of time.

As good stewards, we realize that we are responsible not only for how we use our time talent and treasure. We know that we are also responsible for others, even when it comes to their mental and emotional well-being.

It is not just about making a few grand gestures in our lives. It is also how we invest our time in thousands of seemingly insignificant gestures -- even a simple smile and nod of the head.

Dear God: Remind me that you call me to make a difference every time I encounter another.

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.” ~ Felice Leonardo "Leo" Buscaglia Ph.D., American author and motivational speaker (1924-1928)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Entanglements

“All things are difficult before they become easy.” ~Saadi, one of the major Persian poets of the medieval period. (1184-1291)

The door slammed shut behind me as I exited. The small hydraulic door closer at the top of the door had lost its effectiveness long ago. My office was located at the opposite end of the property from the school office. To get there I had to traverse the length of the church parking lot which served as the school playground.

As I turned to begin my trek across the expanse of asphalt, I was confronted by a playground melee. A group of five students from the after-school program, had retrieved the pile of jump ropes from their box. In the process of trying to separate them, a multi-directional tug-of-war had ensued. Each of five students had grabbed one end of a jump rope and begun to pull on it. Rather than separating the ropes, their short-cut approach caused a rat’s nest of tangled jump ropes to form in the center.

The children shouted and tugged at their respective ends of the rope with gusto. But the more they pulled, the tighter the “nest” became.

“Stop! Stop pulling,” I barked, arriving on the scene. Immediately a cacophony of finger-pointing ensued. “Stop pulling and let me untangle this mess,” I responded. Kneeling down on the rough surface, I began the arduous task of tracing the course of each jump rope through the gigantic knot. Fortunately some were a different color, but not all.

Slowly I began to unravel the mess, but just as it seemed I was making headway, one of the children would become impatient and give a sharp tug on their rope cinching the knot up tight again. Patiently, I reassured them that I would get the ropes untangled, but they had to trust me and not pull on the ropes.

Eventually, one at a time, I was able to start extricating individual ropes. Each time I did so, a happy child would run off with the rope shouting, “Thanks, Deacon Jim!” And each time, because there was one less rope to manage, the process became easier and moved along more quickly. But this also meant reassuring the remaining children that their turn was coming.

Finally, the last two ropes were separated. As two happy children ran off yelling, “Thanks, Deacon Jim,” I stood and watched them go.

A sense of satisfaction came over me, which was quickly followed by a moment of confusion. Why was I going to the school office? I couldn’t remember. It must have been important. Finally, I turned and returned to my own office shaking my head.

 Perhaps God had once again put me where he needed me, I thought. 

Our culture is constantly in search of instant gratification. Internet providers and technology developers constantly promise faster response times and greater capacity. Advertising agencies encourage us to “Live for Now.” Everything must happen instantly.

Unfortunately, having an “I need it all and I need it now” attitude doesn’t work very well when there are problems to be solved, whether they are complex or as simple as untangling some jump ropes. All have to give a little, wait their turn, and realize some may have to wait longer than others.

Whether we are negotiating peace between two countries or waiting in line to fill up at a crowded gas station, force and aggression create more problems than they solve.

As Christian stewards, we are often called to model patience. Taking a step back when everyone else is trying to go first can sometimes tweak our egos. But ultimately we know we have contributed to a better more equitable result.

The gratification of doing the right thing and seeing a good result is much more lasting. One reason it’s called “instant” gratification may be that that’s how long it lasts.

Dear God: Remind me that the key to everything is patience.

“You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.” ~Arnold H. Glasow, American Humorist (1905-1998)

©2013 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 Deacon James E. Carper, Director of Marketing and Development at Holy Name of Jesus School in south/central Los Angeles. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2013 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 “© 2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message. Questions or comments may be directed to Jim Carper by return e-mail or at the contact information found below.

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Tagged!

“I was labeled a troublemaker, my Mom an unfit mother and I was not welcome anywhere.” ~Ryan White, an American teenager from Kokomo, Indiana, who became a national poster child for HIV/AIDS in the United States, after being expelled from middle school because of his infection. (1971-1990)

 It had been awhile since Claire had seen her mother. She didn't understand exactly why she had left in the first place. The only explanation she had been given was that she had to go away and would be gone for awhile.

Living with her aunt was OK. Her aunt was always nice to her and took good care of her. But she missed her mother. She worried that she was OK and whether she would ever come back again.

When her aunt told her they were going to visit her mom, Claire got very excited, but she was also a little worried. Why were they going to visit her? Did this mean she was never coming home?

The day came for the visit. It seemed like the middle of the night when her aunt woke her and told her it was time to go. They got on a big bus with a lot of other people with children like Claire. Then they went to another place where they ate breakfast and picked up more people with children.

The ride in the bus was really, really long, but the people at the last stop had given her a pretty purple shirt to wear, a bag of snacks, crayons, coloring books and other nice stuff. Claire’s Aunt told her funny stories about her mother to help her pass the time.

Finally, the bus turned into a driveway that looked like the entrance to a big park. Claire could only make out the few letters of the sign “C-H-O-W…” it read. Buildings started to appear; lots of them. It looked like her school, but with a lot more fences.

The bus stopped in front of one of the biggest buildings. A nice lady got on the bus and said a bunch of stuff Claire didn't understand. Then they exited the bus and headed for one of the big buildings.

The next part was confusing. Nice people in uniforms asked them to take off their shoes and their belts and put them in a tub that went through a machine. Then they were told to put them back on.

The people on her bus were sent out another door and through a series of gates. Finally everyone in the bus was told to walk to another building. There seemed to be fences everywhere and funny looking round wires.

Finally they came to a building with a double glass door. Inside they were met by two people in uniforms – a man and a woman. Claire wondered what they were guarding. They were directed to a large, locked door. Another man in uniform unlocked the door, let them go through, then locked the door behind them.

The room was full of people. Many of the women were wearing denim pants and short-or long-sleeved denim shirts. Suddenly Claire heard someone yell her name. She turned and saw her mother running across the room toward her. Her mother went to her knees to embrace her daughter. Both her mother and her aunt began to cry. “What’s the matter, Mommy?” Claire asked in bewilderment. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

The Central California Women’s Facility in Chowchilla, California, is one of the largest correctional facilities in the world, but “the road to Chowchilla is paved with love.” The Get on the Bus Ministry brings children and their caregivers from throughout California to visit their mothers and fathers in prison. One thing that you learn on the road to Chowchilla is that stereotypes don’t work.

In today’s world of disposable things, people become easily disposable as well. It’s simple to label people as convicts and lock them away. Out of sight, out of mind. Problem solved.  But clichés like “throw away the key” or “they wouldn’t be there if they didn’t deserve to be,” don’t fit quite as comfortably when labels like “mother,” “sister,” “grandmother,” or “loved one,” also apply to the same human being. 

As stewards we are called to discover the value in everyone and to love everyone. We don’t get to choose who we love and who we don’t.

Why is it that small children know instinctively how to love unconditionally while we adults have so much difficulty loving one another?

Perhaps it’s because we read the labels on the outside before we really see the person who is inside.

Dear God: Remind me to love first and worry about the labels later.

“If you have always believed that everyone should play by the same rules and be judged by the same standards, that would have gotten you labeled a radical 60 years ago, a liberal 30 years ago and a racist today.” ~Thomas Sowell, American economist, social theorist, political philosopher, and author (b 1930)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Gratitudinal Adjustment

“We never know the worth of water till the well is dry.” ~Thomas Fuller, English churchman and historian (1608-1661)

Howard was curled up in a near-fetal position. The tiny space made simple movement nearly impossible. His arms ached.  The smell of sewage assaulted his olfactory and made his eyes water.

How had he gotten himself into this situation? Was it laziness, stupidity or just that he had tried to take a short cut he shouldn’t have taken? “Enough!” he thought. Slowly he began to try to extricate himself from the space in which he now found himself.

Almost immediately he realized some of his extremities had gone numb. CRAAACK! The back of his head made contact with a hard, solid object. Instantly a ribbon of pain shot down his spine and darkness danced at the edges of his eyesight. A string of obscenities followed.

After several moments, the sharp pain subsided to a dull ache. Howard began a second attempt to escape the confined space. He lowered his head even more than the last time. This time he successfully ducked under the low opening and inched his way backward into the light.

Finally out of the small space which had seemingly imprisoned him, he rolled over onto his back and sat up. His wife, Miriam, was standing at the kitchen counter, an amused smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I told you we should have called a plumber,” she said with a smirk. “Thank you for the help and support,” Howard replied grumpily. “Don’t mention it,” she rejoined. “Lots of entertainment value. I particularly enjoyed that colorful language of yours. Were you ever in the Navy?”

“Laugh all you want,” was Howard’s reply, but I think it’s running again. All I need to do now is put the pipes back together.”

Howard and Miriam’s kitchen sink had clogged. A plunger and chemical drain cleaner had been of no use. And rather than call a plumber, he had chosen to disassemble the pipes and “snake out” the pipe by hand. It was smelly and disgusting work.

The plumbing reconnected, Howard turned the water on full force. After a moment’s hesitation the water began to drain quickly and cleanly. “Well done, champ!” Miriam chirped, making a toasting gesture with her coffee cup. “And no charge,” smiled Howard.

“You know, we’re very fortunate,” Miriam mused. “You mean to have an in-house plumber?” Howard asked with a smile. “Well there is that,” she admitted. “But, I was thinking more of indoor plumbing and hot and cold running water.” Howard gave her a puzzled look.

“Remember that trip we took to Kenya a couple of years ago?” she continued. “I’ve never quite gotten over people who have to live in those kinds of conditions.”

“Maybe we should go back and do something about it,” Howard replied, snapping his toolbox shut.

One important aspect of stewardship is learning to be thankful for the things we normally take for granted. Most of us slept in a bed last night, had breakfast this morning, and didn’t have to walk to work unless we wanted to.

But, a majority of the world’s population does not share those benefits. What is even more disturbing is that we probably showered or bathed in water which was of better quality than much of the world has to drink. 780 million people lack access to clean water -- more than 2 ½ times the population of the US.  3.4 million people die each year of water-related diseases. That’s about equal to the number of people in Los Angeles.  And every 21 seconds, a child dies from a water related illness.

Stewardship begins with gratitude. Gratitude means thankfulness, acknowledging everything we receive. It means living our lives, constantly aware of how much we’ve been given.

This can be sometimes difficult when we live in a state of abundance. The key is to shifts our attention from what our life seems to lack to the abundance which we already enjoy.

Dear God: Fill my life with gratitude rather than desire for the things I think I need.

If the only prayer you say in your life is ‘thank you,’ that would suffice. ~Meister Eckhart, German theologian, philosopher and mystic (1260-1327)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

BFF

“It is much more valuable to look for the strength in others. You can gain nothing by criticizing their imperfections.”  ~Daisaku Ikeda, president of Sōka 

Gakkai International, a Nichiren Buddhist lay association (b 1928)

The Marine Gunnery Sergeant carefully slipped the tightly-wrapped flag into the widow’s lap. Her black dress made her appear even more pale and drawn than she actually was. She sat quietly hunched in her wheelchair; her eyes, now dry, were red from crying.

Kneeling in front of her, I solemnly offered my condolences then paid my respects to the other family members. From time to time I paused to offer assurances that their grief would gradually lift though never completely go away.

Having made the circuit of people remaining outside the church, I approached the three Marines who had performed the flag ceremony. “Thank you for protecting us,” I said. They turned toward me, surprised at first, and then smiled.

Shaking their hands, I offered them a brief blessing then headed for the Sacristy, casting one last glance at the thinning group of mourners. In the distance, I saw the widow being wheeled toward the parking lot.

Turning away, I quickly headed into the church, across the narthex, and in through the sacristy door. The communion vessels were waiting for me to perform the post Communion purification. I jokingly referred to it as ‘doing God’s dishes.’

Five minutes later I was finishing the task when Mary, the funeral coordinator, entered the sacristy.

“We’re pretty much done out there. How are we doing in here?”

“Almost done,” I replied. 

“Deacon Jim!” she responded, realizing who had answered her.  “Deacon Jim, that may have been the best funeral homily I've ever heard,” Mary effused. “You must have known him very well."

“No, not really” I replied, drying my hands. “Our paths crossed on several occasions.”

“Wow, you made it sound like he was your best friend.”

“Shouldn't he be?” I asked with a grin.

What we say about one another is important. Unfortunately, it has become increasingly common to speak badly of one another. Social media and electronic media have made it possible to spread verbal ill-will all too quickly.  In the vernacular of the day, we call this “bashing.”

When a celebrity bashes another celebrity (particularly when it is an ex-spouse or partner) it makes for entertaining news. Sadly, it has become common practice to bash neighbors, family members, public figures, communities, our country, and even others’ religion.

Some seem to think the only way to get attention, to gain an advantage, or to be seen as popular or perceptive is to point out the perceived weaknesses of others. But this kind of behavior is never appropriate.

Stewardship teaches us that as God creatures, we were all created for a reason and each of us has an inherent purpose. We are called to treat all of God’s creation with respect whether it is the environment, an unborn child, or an annoying next door neighbor.

One of the first steps in loving one another, as Jesus called us to do, is to find the good in one another. When we truly like someone, we are quick to overlook their faults and emphasize their good points.

The next time we are tempted to criticize others --  or “bash” them -- we should ask ourselves, “If I truly loved and respected this person, would I say what I’m about to say?”

Dear God: Remind me that everyone deserves to be treated as if he or she is my best friend.

“Criticism of others is thus an oblique form of self-commendation. We think we make the picture hang straight on our wall by telling our neighbors that all his pictures are crooked.”  ~Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, American Archbishop (1889-1979)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Whose Right?

“‎Consider the rights of others before your own feelings, and the feelings of others before your own rights.” ~ John Wooden, American basketball player and coach (1910-2010)

“I saw it first!” Joel pointed as he spoke to punctuate his statement. “First come, first served, that’s the rule, Daddy-o.”

“Whose rule?” Stan responded flatly. “Last I checked, rank had its privileges. I’m a higher salary grade than you, so you need to step aside. This is mine.”

This was not the first time Stan and Joel had been at odds over which came first, longevity or seniority. This time was no different. Joel had been at the company five years longer than Stan, but Stan was a higher salary grade.

Joel decided to try a new approach. “Besides, I need the space. I have to keep all the old paper files in my cubical. I’m sure we’re violating some safety code by them being there. This one is a full foot wider. They will fit here perfectly, assuring my safety.”

“Baloney!  We’re not violating any safety regs. Besides, I need that space to meet with my staff when we do our ‘One-on-Ones.’”

“‘One-on-Ones!’ You told the admin assistant you needed the conference room for that so you could have a closed door. How are you going to close the door on a cubicle?”

Stan and Joel stood facing each other just outside the cubicle entry. “Excuse me!” came the voice, startling both of them. Marjorie, the Office Services Manager, passed quickly between them and into the cubicle. Once inside, she dropped a pile of notebooks on the desktop and plunked her laptop bag and purse in the chair.

Her two male coworkers stared at her in disbelief. “What do you think you’re doing?” they barked almost simultaneously. “Settling in,” she replied calmly.

“But I was here first,” sputtered Joel. “And I out-rank you,” exclaimed Stan.

“And I’m here to tell you both that this cubicle is slated to be relocated to another building along with 18 others.  If either of you want it, you are welcome to move in. If however, it gets relocated and your old cubicle has been occupied by someone else, you will probably end up with a desk out on the floor. Wha-da-ya-say, boys? Any takers? ” Marjorie gestured with her open hand like a carnival barker.

Joel and Stan looked at each other then back at Marjorie. “We’ll stay where we are,” they replied simultaneously and quickly disappeared.

Marjorie was placing her purse in the drawer when Joanna, her Administrative Assistant appeared in the doorway. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with those two mutton-heads. This cubicle isn’t on our list to be relocated is it?”

“No,” Marjorie replied with a sly smile. “But, by the time those two yahoos figure that out, I’ll already be moved in and settled.”

We live in a world where personal rights sometimes supplant the public good. It has been referred to as the “tyranny of relevancy.” The problem with exercising our personal rights comes when we interfere with someone else exercising their personal rights. In such a case, whose rights are right?

When this occurs, as in the story of Stan, Joel and Marjorie, rights are often decided by such things such as entitlement, status, power, wealth – or sometimes by being downright devious.

Stewardship, on the other hand, operates on the basis of the common good, rather than personal rights. If we see all that we have and all that we are as gifts from a higher power, rather than rights to which we are entitled, the outcome is quite different. 

The question is, are we willing to share all that we have in order to make the world a better place, or are we going to continue to insist that the only rights that matter are our own?

Dear God: Remind me that I am only right when I am doing your will.

 “The good we secure for ourselves is precarious and uncertain until it is secured for all of us and incorporated into our common life.” ~Jane Addams, American pioneer settlement worker, founder of Hull House in Chicago, public philosopher, sociologist, author, and leader in woman suffrage and world peace.

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

Turn It Over!

“All of you will have your faith shaken…” ~Mark 14:27

During the last 24 hours of his physical life on earth, Jesus had many encounters with many different people. We will also meet a lot of people and do a lot of things this coming week.

As we enter Holy Week, we might find it helpful to ask ourselves, “Where will I meet Christ this week? Will I encounter Christ at a quiet reflective dinner with friends, or will I meet him when a close friend or coworker betrays my trust?

Perhaps I will meet Christ while praying in a quiet garden or some other contemplative place; Or perhaps when I am confronted by angry, judgmental people. 

Will I encounter Christ when I am judged by others because of my race, nationality, religion, age, sexual orientation, opinions, physical appearance or even the way I dress? Will I realize Christ’s presence whether people are cheering with me or jeering at me?

Will I meet Christ in the friend who tells me what I don’t want to hear, but need to hear? Or will I hope to find Christ in the person who only tells me what I want to hear for their own personal benefit?

Will I find him when I am with my family and friends, or when I am abandoned by all of them?

At the end of the week, will I drag my cross, laden with problems, resentments, disappointments, failures, personal tragedies, shame and unhappiness, to the top of a hill, and find that the only person there willing to help is Christ?

In that moment, in that encounter, he will smile and say, “Let me take that from you. I can handle it.”

Have a Blessed Holy Week.

“I got this Jesus tattoo on my wrist when I was 18 because I know that it’s always going to be part of me. When I’m playing, it’s staring right back at me, saying, ‘Remember where you came from.’” ~Katy Perry, American recording artist, songwriter, and actress (b 1984)

©2013 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.