The visitation by the Spirit of Christmas Present has shown me that it is difficult to write a series with continuity.
In Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol the Ghost or Spirit of Christmas Present takes Ebenezer Scrooge across the city to the home of his employee Bob Cratchit. Indeed one of my favorite images is the one of Scrooge peering through the frost covered windows of the Cratchit home. On the other side he sees expressions of familial love and cheeriness amongst the Cratchit clan. Mother and children express signs of affection for their young sick brother and joy for the Christmas season. But from Mrs. Cratchit we see some disdain for Mr. Scrooge.
Is it a subtle juxtaposition to have miserly Scrooge, practically naked in his nightshirt, suffering out in the frigid cold? While on the other hand Bob and Tiny Tim, alongside mother and siblings, remove their mufflers and coats sitting at the dinner table next to the hearth with a fire blazing. The comparison is stark. The stingy man with heaps of wealth is left outside with a cold heart and all alone, while the economically struggling and sick family exhibit joy and love despite their hardships.
As Ebenezer reflects on the meaning of this visitation, the Spirit reveals to him beneath his cloak two ashen and sullen faced children. With the appearance of death on their bodies, they suffer from starvation and cold. The Spirit tells Scrooge "beware" of them. Their names are Ignorance and Want; Beware mostly of "Ignorance."
Each of us, like Scrooge, should be brought to the window and peer into the homes of friends, families, and people we know. It would give us insight to how we are perceived by those we love or who love us, or those we disdain or who hate us. However, it is certain to make us very uncomfortable to be that vulernable. And so we are content to be our own critics justifying our behaviors with the phrase, "I'm only human."
What is happening now all around us in homes of people? In the midst of the Christmas season we might see warm friendly Christmas parties. We'd see happy faces spirited with drink and food. Colorful paper still decorates the floors; half eaten hams are in the refrigerator waiting to be made into a sandwich. Christmas is a time of Joy, Peace, and Love. These iconic words should never be removed from this festive occasion.
While we are still dancing we comically intimate at having emptied our pockets and given over our fortunes to the Mall, Neiman Marcus, or (God forbid) Walmart, the reality is most of us have savings, stocks, and/or assets.
Let us not be Ignorant. There are many things that we are willing to cast a blind eye toward. While we focus on Christmas lights, cards & mailings, toys for our children, grown up toys, and what other holy distractions we may occupy ourselves with, there is suffering Want all around us.
There are abused and neglected children. There are breaking relationships. There are broken people. There are the sick. There is opulence and selfishness. There are people who anonymously cast a gratuitous golden coin into Santa's red pale once per year. Is this actual generosity or the condescension of the lord-of-the-manner? Is this some eccentric lord who during the holidays offers the Christmas "drippings to the poor?" Indeed this may seem generous; perhaps it is?
Perhaps this secret Numismatist gives freely throughout the year? And at this Christmas season he finds an opportunity to inspire others to free their spirits from ignorance of the poor?
So his actions cause us to stop and consider the meaning of his gift. When we peer through the frosted glass and discover that even in the frivolity of Joy there is still Want. (Crippled Tiny Tim still needed healing.) Maybe we are confronted with the plight of the poor and are thankful that someone is doing something about it. Or maybe we are confronted with the plight of the poor and we ourselves are moved to action.
At this point in the story we must, like Scrooge, ask what is to be done? Are we content to remain Ignorant of the Want all around us. What shall we do then? What shall I do?
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Days of Christmas 1 of 3: The Ghost of Christmas Past
The visitation by the first Spirit came to remind me that Christmas pilgrimages always started late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve when mother returned home from work. Our bags were packed the night before, and the journeys began with extended car rides across the vast expanse of Texas highways. We crossed the great triangle between Houston, New Braunfuls, and Corpus Christi. This included stops along the way to visit multiples sets of grandparents and godparents.
Our car was not just our mode of transportation but was also our rolling opera house. Christmas Caroling was performed with radio turned off. The three of us, mother, brother, and I would take turns picking a song to sing. Somehow we knew every song, and if we didn't know the words, our approximations were close enough. Silent Night was as close to church as we got during the holiday.
Wherever we arrived we were met with the hearth of loving family. The signs of storge (the familial love) were conveyed liberally. Affectionate hugs and giant squeezes from aunts, grandparents, cousins were readily available. The token gesture of affection by uncles of mussing the head was always expected, although it was not always welcome, especially if it took the form of a noogie.
And the festivities began!
"You're too little; this is a grown up game. Y'all go play." This was the mantra of the adults as we sidled up to the card table. Our noses barely reaching the top edge of the table, we stood looking on as they played "42" and drank rum spiked eggnog, a drink that was off limits to us kids. "You wouldn't like it" was the response to the queries of, "Can I have a taste?"
The house was bedazzled with doubled sided tinsel of shiny red and silver. And the Christmas tree was adorned with a mixture of homemade ornaments, popcorn, and inexpensive orbs with sequins and cording. The tree lights were the small interior lights with pointy plastic ice crystals around them.
Candy dishes were placed throughout the house with treats waiting to be gobbled up by little mouths. Chocolate covered cherries and caramels, white after dinner mints, and cookies seemed to define Christmas for us each year. Occasionally you might accidentally pick up a chocolate covered scotch-mallow or rum nougat which quietly and stealthily made its way back into the See's Candies box. It wasn't uncommon to find a half-eaten chocolate in the box.
We never worried about ruining our dinner because "1" it was Christmas which meant we could do whatever we wanted; "2" we always seemed to arrive just as the Christmas turkey and ham were cooked and ready to serve. That meant that we started with a full meal which included stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans and giblet gravy to name just a portion of the feast. There were cherry, apple, and pumpkin pies topped with cool whip.
When it came to opening presents we were less consistent. Some years we opened gifts on Christmas morning while other years we opened them on Christmas eve. Christmas church services were never a part of our family's custom. Midnight mass was something the Romans did at St. Peter's. The tearing of paper and ripping off of bows was our religious practice. Sometimes family would have to work Christmas eve which always delayed our services. Either way, the gifts never seemed to disappoint. One year we received pop guns. These were rifles which cocked and shot a cork attached to the end of the barrel by a string. That was a winner! Another year we received a guitar with nylon strings and somehow right out of the box, I miraculously played Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. At least the adults didn't let on otherwise.
Looking back on Christmases past, church and religion were not a part of our holiday. The Baby Jesus with his golden fleece blanket was out there on the edge. Even still there was love. I wouldn't say there was a lot of peace, but there was love and joy. Everyone in our family of course believed in Jesus. But at least in this little boy's mind, Jesus had yet to become "the reason for the season."
Our car was not just our mode of transportation but was also our rolling opera house. Christmas Caroling was performed with radio turned off. The three of us, mother, brother, and I would take turns picking a song to sing. Somehow we knew every song, and if we didn't know the words, our approximations were close enough. Silent Night was as close to church as we got during the holiday.
Wherever we arrived we were met with the hearth of loving family. The signs of storge (the familial love) were conveyed liberally. Affectionate hugs and giant squeezes from aunts, grandparents, cousins were readily available. The token gesture of affection by uncles of mussing the head was always expected, although it was not always welcome, especially if it took the form of a noogie.
And the festivities began!
"You're too little; this is a grown up game. Y'all go play." This was the mantra of the adults as we sidled up to the card table. Our noses barely reaching the top edge of the table, we stood looking on as they played "42" and drank rum spiked eggnog, a drink that was off limits to us kids. "You wouldn't like it" was the response to the queries of, "Can I have a taste?"
The house was bedazzled with doubled sided tinsel of shiny red and silver. And the Christmas tree was adorned with a mixture of homemade ornaments, popcorn, and inexpensive orbs with sequins and cording. The tree lights were the small interior lights with pointy plastic ice crystals around them.
Candy dishes were placed throughout the house with treats waiting to be gobbled up by little mouths. Chocolate covered cherries and caramels, white after dinner mints, and cookies seemed to define Christmas for us each year. Occasionally you might accidentally pick up a chocolate covered scotch-mallow or rum nougat which quietly and stealthily made its way back into the See's Candies box. It wasn't uncommon to find a half-eaten chocolate in the box.
We never worried about ruining our dinner because "1" it was Christmas which meant we could do whatever we wanted; "2" we always seemed to arrive just as the Christmas turkey and ham were cooked and ready to serve. That meant that we started with a full meal which included stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans and giblet gravy to name just a portion of the feast. There were cherry, apple, and pumpkin pies topped with cool whip.
When it came to opening presents we were less consistent. Some years we opened gifts on Christmas morning while other years we opened them on Christmas eve. Christmas church services were never a part of our family's custom. Midnight mass was something the Romans did at St. Peter's. The tearing of paper and ripping off of bows was our religious practice. Sometimes family would have to work Christmas eve which always delayed our services. Either way, the gifts never seemed to disappoint. One year we received pop guns. These were rifles which cocked and shot a cork attached to the end of the barrel by a string. That was a winner! Another year we received a guitar with nylon strings and somehow right out of the box, I miraculously played Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. At least the adults didn't let on otherwise.
Looking back on Christmases past, church and religion were not a part of our holiday. The Baby Jesus with his golden fleece blanket was out there on the edge. Even still there was love. I wouldn't say there was a lot of peace, but there was love and joy. Everyone in our family of course believed in Jesus. But at least in this little boy's mind, Jesus had yet to become "the reason for the season."
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
I did a bad thing...
...and I thought an apology might ease my sense of guilt, but that didn't work. I debated about calling this volume of the blog, "Winning and Losing." But I opted for the title that expressed how I felt.
In the last week, three teams that I give-a-care about all lost their big games. For each of them, I had high hopes and expectations that they should win. But alas, it was not to be. Two Sundays ago, the Houston Dynamo lost the MLS Cup (1-nil) to those left-coast Galaxies. (I even wore orange.) On Thanksgiving night, my Aggies did not prevail against you-know-who, and on Saturday, Klein Oak (my high school alma mater) lost to some school from Dallas (ugh).
Needless to say I'm a competitive guy. The first two losses were pretty tough. By Saturday, I was in a tryptophan stupor and the high school loss was like throwing salt on a dead horse (sic-mixed metaphors).
Well, to compound the angst, I got into it on Facebook after replying to a thread by someone that casts his lot with the burnt orange. His original post was hyperbolic rhetoric against the good Ags, and I innocently replied to his post about how his side obviously paid the zebras. I expected a reply, and I got one. At that point, it was time to stop. I was going to walk away having expressed an appropriate amount of displeasure toward the outcome of the match and his initial statement.
But he egged me on, and I bit down on the hook like a starving fish. That's when I opened up a can of rhetorical whup-ass that I wish I had kept in the pantry.
Amongst other things, he postulated that some traditions that I hold dear were "stupid" and that they should be changed. That made me hot. I retorted by casting aspersions on his knowledge of both school's traditions and made an accusation that he had no voice in the conversation since he attended neither school. Now I was feeling righteous! So I posted again attacking his original post.
Unfortunately when words are spoken (typed) under the influence of frustration or anger (or tryptophan) they often lead to misunderstanding. What I believe he took aversion to was the manner in which I approached my below-the-belt attacks. Rather than sticking to the issue at hand, I mentioned that he did not attend either school.
In war, there is collateral damage. And that's what happened in my righteous posting. By picking up on words he used about his own education, he took my attack (I think) as a personal affront to his intelligence and/or motivation at the collegial level. That was not my intention. But my rhetorical attack was pretty hard. For that misunderstanding, I am deeply grieved. And it is probably the reason I sense the need to write this article.
I'd like to defend what I wrote, but I won't because it wouldn't be right. And because I wish I hadn't written it.
He responded, rightly so, with a good old fashion guilt trip by projecting onto me the expectations of a religious leader, not that I've ever tried to preach to him or pretend I'm something other than what I am. But it was a well placed below-the-belt retort that hit its mark. (I'm feeling better now.)
I made my casual "sorry." And I meant it. But it seems that more can be learned by this encounter.
I'm thinking about my words and Blessed James' admonition that with the tongue we both bless our God and curse our brother who is made in the image of God. Well, it's not just the tongue anymore, now it's also the fingertips and typing keys. But these have the same result, to tear down and hurt those who have hurt us.
Will we ever get it right? When God speaks a word, he creates, he loves, he comforts, he disciplines.
When man speaks, he can berate, tear down, and destroy the creatures of God.
My anthropology is not so low that I don't believe that by the grace of God we cannot find that divine image in each of us that might help us to share in creating, loving, and comforting one another.
The first step toward this is to look back at our sins, and ask, "What should I have done there," in place of what I did do? So, I think I'll go back and look at that post, and ask, What would Jesus say to this? When confronted with an antagonistic perspective how would he respond?
My final thought:
I'm glad we're not playing the longhorns (there I said it) for another 6 years. It will give me time to think about how to deal with trash talk.
Then maybe I could say, "I did something good."
In the last week, three teams that I give-a-care about all lost their big games. For each of them, I had high hopes and expectations that they should win. But alas, it was not to be. Two Sundays ago, the Houston Dynamo lost the MLS Cup (1-nil) to those left-coast Galaxies. (I even wore orange.) On Thanksgiving night, my Aggies did not prevail against you-know-who, and on Saturday, Klein Oak (my high school alma mater) lost to some school from Dallas (ugh).
Needless to say I'm a competitive guy. The first two losses were pretty tough. By Saturday, I was in a tryptophan stupor and the high school loss was like throwing salt on a dead horse (sic-mixed metaphors).
Well, to compound the angst, I got into it on Facebook after replying to a thread by someone that casts his lot with the burnt orange. His original post was hyperbolic rhetoric against the good Ags, and I innocently replied to his post about how his side obviously paid the zebras. I expected a reply, and I got one. At that point, it was time to stop. I was going to walk away having expressed an appropriate amount of displeasure toward the outcome of the match and his initial statement.
But he egged me on, and I bit down on the hook like a starving fish. That's when I opened up a can of rhetorical whup-ass that I wish I had kept in the pantry.
Amongst other things, he postulated that some traditions that I hold dear were "stupid" and that they should be changed. That made me hot. I retorted by casting aspersions on his knowledge of both school's traditions and made an accusation that he had no voice in the conversation since he attended neither school. Now I was feeling righteous! So I posted again attacking his original post.
Unfortunately when words are spoken (typed) under the influence of frustration or anger (or tryptophan) they often lead to misunderstanding. What I believe he took aversion to was the manner in which I approached my below-the-belt attacks. Rather than sticking to the issue at hand, I mentioned that he did not attend either school.
In war, there is collateral damage. And that's what happened in my righteous posting. By picking up on words he used about his own education, he took my attack (I think) as a personal affront to his intelligence and/or motivation at the collegial level. That was not my intention. But my rhetorical attack was pretty hard. For that misunderstanding, I am deeply grieved. And it is probably the reason I sense the need to write this article.
I'd like to defend what I wrote, but I won't because it wouldn't be right. And because I wish I hadn't written it.
He responded, rightly so, with a good old fashion guilt trip by projecting onto me the expectations of a religious leader, not that I've ever tried to preach to him or pretend I'm something other than what I am. But it was a well placed below-the-belt retort that hit its mark. (I'm feeling better now.)
I made my casual "sorry." And I meant it. But it seems that more can be learned by this encounter.
I'm thinking about my words and Blessed James' admonition that with the tongue we both bless our God and curse our brother who is made in the image of God. Well, it's not just the tongue anymore, now it's also the fingertips and typing keys. But these have the same result, to tear down and hurt those who have hurt us.
Will we ever get it right? When God speaks a word, he creates, he loves, he comforts, he disciplines.
When man speaks, he can berate, tear down, and destroy the creatures of God.
My anthropology is not so low that I don't believe that by the grace of God we cannot find that divine image in each of us that might help us to share in creating, loving, and comforting one another.
The first step toward this is to look back at our sins, and ask, "What should I have done there," in place of what I did do? So, I think I'll go back and look at that post, and ask, What would Jesus say to this? When confronted with an antagonistic perspective how would he respond?
My final thought:
I'm glad we're not playing the longhorns (there I said it) for another 6 years. It will give me time to think about how to deal with trash talk.
Then maybe I could say, "I did something good."
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
On Stewardship (Part deux)
I hadn't expected to write a second note on stewardship but when I finished my last article I had the strong sense that it wasn't quite "finished." And so I went back and read it again to ask, "What am I really trying to say here?" "What do I want you to consider about stewardship?"
Well since I wrote the article I have also prepared a sermon based on Matthew 25.14-30. The Parable of the Talents is a story Jesus tells about a "master" who goes on a journey and he leaves his "slaves" with large sums of money (talents) to manage. Upon the master's return each slave brings forth the fruit of his labor. The first two slaves went right to work and doubled the different amounts of money they had been charged with. The third slave quickly buried the lesser amount of money and upon the master's return gave the entire sum back. The master was joyful at the reception of the first two servant's effort, but was very displeased that the third man had done nothing.
I'm sure that much more can be taken from this passage, but the point that plucked my strings over and again was that each of the three servants are given a measure of money based on his "abilities." Even though the third servant was given a smaller portion he had the gifts to make the portion grow on behalf of his master.
Here's a distinction I want to clarify. The financial growth that the first two slaves worked for, was not for the lining of their own pocket. This story is not about what we call the "prosperity gospel." (The idea that if you follow God's rules, tithe, do good works, go to church, etc. that you will be rewarded with wealth. Often associated with televangelists.) Rather the increase that these two servants worked for was an increase of their master's household. And although the measure of growth is put in financial terms (talent=approx. 75lbs of gold or silver) I don't think that Jesus was as much concerned about the amount of money as he was concerned about what was done with what each person had been given according to his abilities.
In other words, as I said in my sermon, "What matters is what you do with what you have." Stewardship doesn't demand of you more than you are capable of doing. God does not demand more of you than you are capable of managing. And in terms of managing accounts for his Kingdom we have all been given some measure of financial gift that we can distribute faithfully.
If you bear the Name of Jesus on your forehead, from your lips and in your heart you are responsible for stewarding that portion of his bounty that he has entrusted to you. Each of you is responsible to look at what you take into your household, acknowledge that it is by God's grace that you have been given these things, and manage those resources faithfully.
It doesn't matter how much you take in. What matters is how you manage it. In my previous post on Stewardship one of the details I mentioned was counting thousands of tiny screws and shelf plugs. It seemed to me that detail was important; I think I know why. When you're sitting on a dirty wooden floor in an upstairs storage room and you have boxes and boxes of these pellet size plugs to run your fingers through, one plug or screw seems inconsequential.
However, it takes four of those plugs to hold up a shelf. When you're sitting on the living room floor putting the bookcase together and you've reached the last step. All you have to do is slide the shelves into the case. But you're missing just one of those plug do-dads. Well, that may seem to be the greatest injustice (for that moment) that you could experience. I've been there. I've ranted and cursed that person (whoever he was) who couldn't count just one more of those do-dads. The point is that no matter how small or large your resources are, they are important to you and to God.
When you're at the grocery store and the total comes in at $50, if you've only got $49 in your wallet, one dollar seems to matter. Do you buy the pack of gum, or put it back? Every little bit counts, even the little bits that you spend on coffee, pizza, a pack of gum.
Like the two faithful stewards who went out and doubled the resources we must take account of what we have and use it for the furtherance of the master's Kingdom. I don't mean simply the church. I mean the Kingdom. The Kingdom of Heaven that Jesus describes is a place that is here and is coming. As his disciples, we are people who live into that Kingdom. Some of the resources go to us. (In particular to our families) We need to eat, live under a roof, be educated. We need the basics. It's also okay to spend money on things that bring joy into our lives. I would make an argument that some indulgences encourage and sustain the sense of Joy of the Kingdom in our lives. But in conjunction we must respond faithfully to God's command to use resources for the building of the Kingdom in lives of others.
So, stewardship is not about the tithe (10% of our income). Stewardship is about all of it.
One final point. In my previous post I mentioned that the tithe I made to the church was around $45. That would have made my paycheck somewhere in the neighborhood of $450. It's been close to 20 years now since I laid that "tithe" envelope on the credenza and slipped out the door; I think it's interesting that I can tell you where that $45 went. It went to a church that might have spent it on the homeless families it housed or to make contributions to a local ministry that provided food and clothing to families in need. It may have gone to the church's electric bill, or the electric bill of someone who couldn't pay hers. It may have gone to support the priest and his family. (A fact not lost on me.)
As for the other $405 God only knows where it went.
Well since I wrote the article I have also prepared a sermon based on Matthew 25.14-30. The Parable of the Talents is a story Jesus tells about a "master" who goes on a journey and he leaves his "slaves" with large sums of money (talents) to manage. Upon the master's return each slave brings forth the fruit of his labor. The first two slaves went right to work and doubled the different amounts of money they had been charged with. The third slave quickly buried the lesser amount of money and upon the master's return gave the entire sum back. The master was joyful at the reception of the first two servant's effort, but was very displeased that the third man had done nothing.
I'm sure that much more can be taken from this passage, but the point that plucked my strings over and again was that each of the three servants are given a measure of money based on his "abilities." Even though the third servant was given a smaller portion he had the gifts to make the portion grow on behalf of his master.
Here's a distinction I want to clarify. The financial growth that the first two slaves worked for, was not for the lining of their own pocket. This story is not about what we call the "prosperity gospel." (The idea that if you follow God's rules, tithe, do good works, go to church, etc. that you will be rewarded with wealth. Often associated with televangelists.) Rather the increase that these two servants worked for was an increase of their master's household. And although the measure of growth is put in financial terms (talent=approx. 75lbs of gold or silver) I don't think that Jesus was as much concerned about the amount of money as he was concerned about what was done with what each person had been given according to his abilities.
In other words, as I said in my sermon, "What matters is what you do with what you have." Stewardship doesn't demand of you more than you are capable of doing. God does not demand more of you than you are capable of managing. And in terms of managing accounts for his Kingdom we have all been given some measure of financial gift that we can distribute faithfully.
If you bear the Name of Jesus on your forehead, from your lips and in your heart you are responsible for stewarding that portion of his bounty that he has entrusted to you. Each of you is responsible to look at what you take into your household, acknowledge that it is by God's grace that you have been given these things, and manage those resources faithfully.
It doesn't matter how much you take in. What matters is how you manage it. In my previous post on Stewardship one of the details I mentioned was counting thousands of tiny screws and shelf plugs. It seemed to me that detail was important; I think I know why. When you're sitting on a dirty wooden floor in an upstairs storage room and you have boxes and boxes of these pellet size plugs to run your fingers through, one plug or screw seems inconsequential.
However, it takes four of those plugs to hold up a shelf. When you're sitting on the living room floor putting the bookcase together and you've reached the last step. All you have to do is slide the shelves into the case. But you're missing just one of those plug do-dads. Well, that may seem to be the greatest injustice (for that moment) that you could experience. I've been there. I've ranted and cursed that person (whoever he was) who couldn't count just one more of those do-dads. The point is that no matter how small or large your resources are, they are important to you and to God.
When you're at the grocery store and the total comes in at $50, if you've only got $49 in your wallet, one dollar seems to matter. Do you buy the pack of gum, or put it back? Every little bit counts, even the little bits that you spend on coffee, pizza, a pack of gum.
Like the two faithful stewards who went out and doubled the resources we must take account of what we have and use it for the furtherance of the master's Kingdom. I don't mean simply the church. I mean the Kingdom. The Kingdom of Heaven that Jesus describes is a place that is here and is coming. As his disciples, we are people who live into that Kingdom. Some of the resources go to us. (In particular to our families) We need to eat, live under a roof, be educated. We need the basics. It's also okay to spend money on things that bring joy into our lives. I would make an argument that some indulgences encourage and sustain the sense of Joy of the Kingdom in our lives. But in conjunction we must respond faithfully to God's command to use resources for the building of the Kingdom in lives of others.
So, stewardship is not about the tithe (10% of our income). Stewardship is about all of it.
One final point. In my previous post I mentioned that the tithe I made to the church was around $45. That would have made my paycheck somewhere in the neighborhood of $450. It's been close to 20 years now since I laid that "tithe" envelope on the credenza and slipped out the door; I think it's interesting that I can tell you where that $45 went. It went to a church that might have spent it on the homeless families it housed or to make contributions to a local ministry that provided food and clothing to families in need. It may have gone to the church's electric bill, or the electric bill of someone who couldn't pay hers. It may have gone to support the priest and his family. (A fact not lost on me.)
As for the other $405 God only knows where it went.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
On Stewardship
Over the last month it has been refreshing for me to hear the various testimonies that were given in faith regarding Stewardship. I take this moment to thank publicly our testimony givers, and to offer a portion of my stewardship walk.
Stewardship for me started with reading the bible as a young teenager. Many times in junior high and high school I would sit down and try to read the bible from cover to cover. Each time I'd get bogged down in the dense reading of Numbers, Leviticus or Deuteronomy. And as I bogged down some "convenient" distraction would cause me to put the good book down.
Almost any distraction seemed easier to me than reading through Numbers. While I really enjoyed reading the stories of the patriarchs in Genesis and of God's delivering hand out of Exodus, the former three books (at the time) seemed to have little for me to learn. But I do recall reading about the tithe, that 10% of my produce was to go to God.
Almost any distraction seemed easier to me than reading through Numbers. While I really enjoyed reading the stories of the patriarchs in Genesis and of God's delivering hand out of Exodus, the former three books (at the time) seemed to have little for me to learn. But I do recall reading about the tithe, that 10% of my produce was to go to God.
Well, when you're in school and you don't make any money 10% of zero is pretty easy. Coupled with the fact that we weren't strong church goers we certainly hadn't reached that level of faithful stewardship. But I do remember the first time I tithed.
One Christmas break (my freshman year in college) I came home and worked at the plumbing and showroom company my mother worked for. I was hired as Christmas help to close out the year-end inventory. I think I was paid minimum wage (about 4 and-a-quarter in 1991) and I worked 12-13 hour days.
Each day I drove myself to work went out to the warehouse and started counting things. At first the work was simple. Toilets and bathtubs are big and easy to count. I could just look at a shower stall and mark it down on my clip board. But as the items got smaller and smaller, sink fixtures of different styles and materials became tedious to count. Each had their own identification numbers which had to be recorded. It was somewhat mindless work but still stressful.
The worst items to count were screws and shelving ledges. These were tiny little plastic plugs that you place in the side of bookshelves to support the shelves. There were open boxes and boxes of these do-dads that went on forever. They had never been counted or sorted by color (brown, blond, and clear). After counting a thousand of these I finally wised up and counted a cup's worth. I'd fill up my cup and then just count cups. That seemed to be a more efficient use of my time.
A few weeks before I had started the job I had been reading my bible again. And once again I read in the Old Testament about the tithe. Since my job was a Christmas job, I only saw one pay check. I may have made just over $400 for all those hours. After I had received my pay check I went to the bank to cash it. The teller separated $45 and some change for me. (10% of what I made). I went home; I sat at my desk, and from the drawer I pulled out an old white business envelope, the privacy kind. And I wrote the word "Tithe" on the outside. I stuffed the money in, licked the peppermint flavored adhesive, and sealed the envelope. And then a funny thing happened.
I didn't know what to do with the money. (Who to give it to?) We hadn't really attended church in a long time. I didn't have pledge cards or giving envelopes. I didn't really even feel comfortable calling the church to say, "I've got this measly $45 for you." And I would never give my money to a televangelist.
So, one afternoon, New Years Day, the sky was as clear blue as I had ever seen. And the air was cool and a pleasure to breath, I drove by the church. "Holy Comforter" was the church I occasionally attended while in high school. I parked as close to the entrance as I could and with tithe-in-hand I climbed out of the car.
I had hoped to simply drop the letter through the mail slot. But as I approached the door, muscle memory caused me to reach for the handle and pull. It was open. So I went in hoping that I could just anonymously hand it to an anonymous church secretary. But the office was devoid of any people. I placed the envelope on a credenza with the word "Tithe" facing down. I was in and out of the building in less than 60 seconds.
I haven't shared this story before with anyone. I think it's about something to do with showing God our devotion, maybe obedience, maybe faithfulness...
Friday, November 4, 2011
In the Shower
One week-day morning last spring I was wakened by the soft chimes of my iPhone carillon. Having hit the snooze three times I finally slid out of the covers on to my foot and into my leg. In a sleepy haze I staggered to the chest-of-drawers to gather socks, a T, and under armor. Kate was on her way out the door with a goodbye kiss (our morning tradition) and I had the shower all to myself. I let the water run (as is my custom) to clear out the chilly water from the pipes. With the onset of higher temperatures I hopped in.
I grabbed the soap (which wasn't Irish Spring) and began to lather up enjoying the warmth of the constant flow of water rushing over my head, shoulders, and body. I reached for the shampoo and with eyes closed I began the daily ritual of wash, rinse, but no repeat. (Does anyone ever really repeat?) I again placed my full body under the spray and gently massaged the last of the soap from my hair. With my head face-down and the soap dissipating, I opened my eyes and saw there, standing all alone, one foot.
I guess I had never noticed before that the right foot seems so lonely without its mate. With no big toe, pinky toe, or the piggies on the left, my bodily symmetry was so obviously out of whack; I was struck by the idea that in thirty-something years of life I had never looked down at the floor in the shower.
So I observed as if from an out of body experience how the water and soap flowed down the one leg onto the floor and into the drain. And I wondered, "What would it be like to have 'two feet on the floor?'" What's it like to look down and to see the symmetry of two big toes, of legs and knees? What is it to feel the weight of your body evenly distributed on two feet? What is it like to know that when you take a step and then a second that your other foot will be right there to transfer the weight and propel you forward? What would it be like to really run?
Growing up with a birth defect I adapted to life obstacles. Some obstacles are there naturally, some are placed there by others, still some I put in place myself because of laziness, doubt, or lack of vision. (I learned to ride a bicycle at the age of nine, after my godmother asked, "Well why cain't you?"; I had told myself that it was an impossibility.) But what if I had two feet on the floor? With two feet all the physical barriers would be stripped away. Only the sky is the limit, right?
Well the sky didn't stop the Wright brothers or Neil Armstrong, et al. from moving upward. What is left, I think, are the mental barriers, the impossibilities we create in our minds.
Very rarely I have dreams that I'm running, and I'm sure they are gifts and glimpses of what the fullness of heaven is like. So in my dreams when I'm running, I'm not thinking about what I can or cannot do. I'm just running. I'm feeling the elation of one foot after another hitting the ground and the weight transferring forward. I'm intuitively trusting that the next foot will fall into place and that this experience can go on and on, until I stop it. Everything is just the way it is supposed to be.
This leads me to the idea that the only real barriers are the ones that we tell ourselves we cannot overcome. Hop in the shower (on one foot) and think about that for a while.
I grabbed the soap (which wasn't Irish Spring) and began to lather up enjoying the warmth of the constant flow of water rushing over my head, shoulders, and body. I reached for the shampoo and with eyes closed I began the daily ritual of wash, rinse, but no repeat. (Does anyone ever really repeat?) I again placed my full body under the spray and gently massaged the last of the soap from my hair. With my head face-down and the soap dissipating, I opened my eyes and saw there, standing all alone, one foot.
I guess I had never noticed before that the right foot seems so lonely without its mate. With no big toe, pinky toe, or the piggies on the left, my bodily symmetry was so obviously out of whack; I was struck by the idea that in thirty-something years of life I had never looked down at the floor in the shower.
So I observed as if from an out of body experience how the water and soap flowed down the one leg onto the floor and into the drain. And I wondered, "What would it be like to have 'two feet on the floor?'" What's it like to look down and to see the symmetry of two big toes, of legs and knees? What is it to feel the weight of your body evenly distributed on two feet? What is it like to know that when you take a step and then a second that your other foot will be right there to transfer the weight and propel you forward? What would it be like to really run?
Growing up with a birth defect I adapted to life obstacles. Some obstacles are there naturally, some are placed there by others, still some I put in place myself because of laziness, doubt, or lack of vision. (I learned to ride a bicycle at the age of nine, after my godmother asked, "Well why cain't you?"; I had told myself that it was an impossibility.) But what if I had two feet on the floor? With two feet all the physical barriers would be stripped away. Only the sky is the limit, right?
Well the sky didn't stop the Wright brothers or Neil Armstrong, et al. from moving upward. What is left, I think, are the mental barriers, the impossibilities we create in our minds.
Very rarely I have dreams that I'm running, and I'm sure they are gifts and glimpses of what the fullness of heaven is like. So in my dreams when I'm running, I'm not thinking about what I can or cannot do. I'm just running. I'm feeling the elation of one foot after another hitting the ground and the weight transferring forward. I'm intuitively trusting that the next foot will fall into place and that this experience can go on and on, until I stop it. Everything is just the way it is supposed to be.
This leads me to the idea that the only real barriers are the ones that we tell ourselves we cannot overcome. Hop in the shower (on one foot) and think about that for a while.
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