...and then there comes Resurrection

Life is not O.K. right now; it’s just not.  All of us are frayed.  All of us are affected by the response to COVID-19 in different ways.  All of us are trying to manage everything that’s normally “not managed perfectly,” and now we’re doing it when we’re not normal and even little things can’t be managed.  

Outside our bedroom we’ve had this distraction.  Some weeks ago, before Easter, we noticed some cardinals had taken up residence right under the window.  Clearly a pair, the momma held down the nest, that this year, was higher in the branches than last year’s nest that had been more accessible from the ground.  And you have to know that last year, the babies occupied the nest, never got flight feathers, and just disappeared one day.   

So on Easter, our part of the world experienced some horrible spring storms, and sometime between Easter and last Sunday we noticed that the nest had become unoccupied.  In particular we noticed the large volume of rain that had overwhelmed our gutters maybe overwhelmed the nest and because we went directly from little babies in the nest to nothing in the nest, and the nest appearing washed out (we noticed because the level of poop in the nest got “flushed” which it normally doesn’t--and NOT washing your hands isn’t the only gross thing we’ve learned about in our house during COVID-19) that, well, you know, nature.  Nature can be less than gracious and generous.  

I took this picture this morning, but it’s what we’ve been staring at for days--the “clean” but empty nest!.  And all the while we had been hoping aginst hope that the little baby birds didn’t die some horrible death.  But it’s hard to hope when you know in the back of your mind what’s happened.  And on top of all this COVID-19 it’was a real kick in the gut.  

I mean, it’s bad enough having to deal daily with the COVID-count of cases and deaths and the lack of ventilators; that we all lost Easter at church, that spring is slipping away, that summer vacation’s in peril!  What’s up with God taking away our little distraction--sort of like the plant in the Jonah story that shades one day, but is withered the next!  Come on, Creator!  

I’m familiar with the idea that “in order for there to be a resurrection there has to be a death.”  This little theological gem has been feeding me for years.  But perhaps, not well enough, a follow-up question by Sarah Howell-Miller that asks, “What needs to die in order for love to rise?  Yes, “death” is necessary for “resurrection” to work; and “resurrection” is not “resuscitation”--so that “resurrection” doesn’t mean starting over at the point “resuscitation” became necessary.  Rather, resurrection requires living newly.   

This morning my wife, who’s been grieving the loss of the baby birds, discovered that what the bird-book describes is true, afterall--that cardinals fledge in 7-10 days.  So you go quickly from big mouths and no bodies in the nest to fly-able chicks.  

So here’s the most photogenic of the chicks, watching us warily through the window whilst awaiting momma and poppa taking turns bringing breakfast at a constant and frantic pace.   (Note to self: apparently, teenagers need to eat a lot.  Maybe that’s why kid #2 keeps saying, “I’m hungry,” after every meal.)   We saw at least two of the chicks with newly minted feathers, both serviceable for flying and looking like you’d expect a cardinal to look.  And, though THEIRS was no resurrection (I can’t speak to the need for “resuscitation” after the many rounds of storms they’ve had to endure), it was for us!  We who had believed them to be dead; were elated to find they are NOT!  And ...we suspect, now, the same thing happening last year!      

We wasted (err, expended) one of today’s hours watching; trying to vouch for the third chick, and collecting evidence of their daily lives post-nest--and they’re a lot harder to keep up with!  But this distraction--for today--means everything!  

I’m pretty sure cardinals don’t follow the weather on the internet; they don’t know 3 or 4 days in advance that bad storms are coming--they’ve simply been dealing with spring storms since--well, the beginning.   You build a nest.  You do your best to keep safe and keep others safe.  And sometimes, what happens, just happens.  

Resurrection is not resuscitation--we’re not going back to what was before COVID-19 when all this is over, to restart our lives.  We’re going to live in new ways because COVID-19 happened to us, like a storm flooding out a bird nest.  And sure, we need COVID-19 to die and all that; but there are still other things about us, in us, that need to die so that love can rise.   And in the midst of this storm around us--that’s a gift.  

Can we live through this?  How long will it last?  When will it be over?  How will we know?  

My grandfather always said, “life isn’t fair.”  If you’re looking for it to be, it isn’t ever going to be.  We’re not O.K.  We all need hugs and some empathy.  We all need LOVE to rise.  Somewhere in how we’re created, in our relationship with the triune God, we already know how to do that--I think.  If not, Jesus implores us to fiind that part of us and use it.  Find what needs to die, let love rise, share some kindness, watch out for stormy weather, don’t give up.  It’s not about doing it again and again and again (resuscitation).  It’s about fighting, scratching, clawing life out of the dust of the earth until it’s not the same (resurrection).  

Jesus never said life was easy.  He did say over and over he’d be with us, even if it wasn’t (easy or fair).  Oh, and for us not to be afraid.  Especially in storms.  

And for today--that’s everything!  

"Killing The Art of Compromise"

One of the things I thought was so great about Presbyterians was our ability to compromise. 

The Presbytery that helped form my faith and practice in ministry, had a special way of addressing difficult, divisive decisions.  An unofficial, unannounced, ad hoc “compromise committee” gathered ahead of when said divisive issue/concern/debate would come up in the docket, and a “miraculous compromise” got presented to the Presbytery before the anticipated haranguing could begin. 

I thought this was great.  It put conflict on the sidelines and it appeared, people walked away happy. 

It was the art of the smoke-filled backroom deal; it was probably, mostly/only “good ole’(white) boys”; only in my innocence and naiveite could they really have had good intentions, wanted to avoid conflict, and believed they had both Jesus and the best interests of everyone else in mind. 

These committees could boast an amazing “success” rate in appearances of discerning what was acceptable to the assembly—in fact, I witnessed more than one compromise so finely tuned that the sides itching for a fight voted favorably by acclimation! 

Today I can recognize the false reality this process offered.  Even more, that compromise is not working and the pursuit of compromise is killing us!  Working on acceptable outcomes has been replaced by side-taking, then entrenchment and holding out—sometimes just so the other side can’t win. 

Instead, what if everyone in the room could simply “name their need”? 

I just spent 24 hours with a group of church leaders who got to try this on.  I’m glad to admit, some of it pushed my buttons; my old soul likes some things “the way we’ve always done them,” and to think we weren’t so bad at them.  Instead, I got to say, “this is hard for me,” or “that pushes my buttons,” or even, for me to sit on the sidelines and not actively participate. 

The group worked hard to listen as everyone “named their need,” and also for each person to “name the gift(s) each saw available in the room.”  Only then, with an “inventory” to work from, could the group decide together how to meet needs with gifts present.  It wasn’t 100% successful—some needs went unmet.  But everyone got to acknowledge them.  Compromise was replaced by “taking stock/inventory.”

When I came to work this morning and read the front page of the local paper as I walked down the hallway to my office, the big story was another rally for yet another victim of what was described as “gun violence” (a week ago, a well-known high school senior in our community was shot and killed, the investigation is still ongoing). 

I feel acutely that in my community we do not all agree that this was “gun violence;” I noted that one of the city council members named in the article is a prominent African American councilmember who’s self-admittedly been working on a campaign to end gun violence and this kind of killing for at least a decade.  Our community’s already formed opinions about the people involved as well as our presumptions about the outcome being asked for stand in the way of compromise—we are just not going to agree and working for the necessary votes to get to the outcome for some will force the status quo for decades to come. 

But instead, what if we could all simply “name our need”?  Or name our hope, our desire, our dreamed-of outcome? 

I believe if we could all honestly name our need, chances are high that all of us harbor the need for a time to be when young people would not die as this one did; and, additionally even, where we would not see the violence of recent events in Houston, Philadelphia, Dayton, and El Paso—and all the others!  That those of us, who often stand on separate sides, would see we’re really standing together. 

In our small group of 50 church leaders, it made the process for something all of us were used to doing quickly and easily, far more difficult.  But dare I say it, we all felt heard in the process, and even when it didn’t go our way, we all felt affirmed.  And that meant we built strength and hope together at each step—and reduced resentment.  Work progressed and trust grew. 

What if we could slide compromise to the back burner for a while.  Instead of telling each other what we have to have in order to reach agreement; what if we got to listen as each of us named our need, and our individual and collective needs got heard and considered? 

So, we’d have to listen and consider other people’s truth as our own. 

That sounds hard, I know.  It might be hard to do, yes. 

But it’s also something that Jesus says is just real, neighborly. 

What if we could kill compromise and just be more neighborly? 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas

A Letter to the Editor I Might Write

Dear Editor,

In recent days we’ve all been forced to endure some of the terrible realities of human life.  We faced reports of violence in El Paso, Texas and Dayton, Ohio.  We endured threats and speculation about shopping at Wal-Mart in our own hometown.  We wring our hands over the safety of “church” on Sundays and if our kids are truly safe at school.  And now we’ve learned again in our town and especially in cities, violence isn’t just at school, it happens at home and in our neighborhoods for inexplicable reasons. 

The thing we’re tempted to believe is that while we hear the news about mass violence in other places, that at least, “it isn’t happening here.” 

But one life is too many.  It doesn’t take multiple lives; one life in our community is enough to diminish us. 

In this conversation, it’s usually presumed we must talk about repealing liberal gun laws if we want to make a dent in human safekeeping.  But what needs to be repealed, is the attitude I have for my neighbor. 

We don’t just disagree—we actually think the worst about other people before we ever talk.  Especially the people we’re taught not to like.  Even worse, we not only call other people names, we say ugly things about them having already believed in their ugliness without ever having spoken.  We trust these created lies as truth, we deceive ourselves pointing to people who will agree with us, and attempt to make the world again in our own image—we’re right and the others we choose to be wrong! 

What needs to be repealed is this attitude of our neighbor by which our innocence is stolen, and by which we participate in the diminishment of human life. 

Too many people simply cannot believe that all of this is supposed to be different.  That life is more than a mere handful of days.  That the Bible teaches that the one who lives to be a hundred will be considered a youth and that anyone who dies at less than a hundred will be considered accursed.  That our attitude toward one another ought to be helping each other live, not letting each other die. 

We must stop letting each other die; and it starts in how we perceive our neighbor.

For Christians, Jesus teaches us that loving our neighbors is on par with the greatest commandment—that we love God.  We cannot love God and not love our neighbor.  When our neighbors die this way, it is a failure of faith. 

So, what needs to be repealed, is this attitude where we think another’s life should be or is less valued than our own. 

"The Last Love and Testament"

I forgot today was September 11^th.  OK, so I knew it was the 11^th, I just forgot it was 9-11.  OK, I really forgot that we have to “remember 9-11.” 

The truth is, I know about 9-11; I remember what happened on 9-11, 2001.  But when we drove out of our driveway, and the temporary American Flag that the local cub scout den puts out on the important dates—it seemed out of place, since we just had Labor Day, and the flag had come for Labor Day but got taken down again—so when I asked my wife, she thought it was Patriot’s Day.  And then when I asked at staff meeting, we discovered “Patriot’s Day” was a movie but that today might be PATRIOT DAY in honor of the victims of 9-11. 

In the devotional we’ve been following for our staff meetings at Church, Walter Brueggemann, in referring to a passage from Job 29, invited us to consider that “9/11, date of a searing terrorist attack against the United States, signifies in our society the loss of a well-ordered would in which doing good leads to well-being.  The facts of 9/11 lead us to nostalgia for the good old days that are over and must be relinquished.” 

Brueggemann’s probably right; I’m just not sure I’m ready to believe and follow. 

I remember 9/11.  Seventeen years ago, I was just waking up to the news that “a small airplane” had collided with one of the twin towers—it sounded bizarre and looked even more bizarre-er with all the thick black smoke that wouldn’t have been the result of the impact of a small plane.  The NBC station on the cable system was a live feed of the NBX station in New York because the cable provider had not worked out an agreement to have what would have been a more local affiliate.  And I watched “live” as the second plane hit the second tower before the newsroom was fully aware of what had happened. 

It was like I was standing on the street below looking up at impact. 

The small congregation I served, wasn’t near any population center.  We had a session meeting and other activities that proceeded as planned that day.  We didn’t know what else to do.  By evening, all the gasoline supply in our area had been exhausted, caused by hysteria and people “wanting to get theirs” before it ran out.  The state’s attorney general’s office would later file charges against many of the local dealers for price gouging which reached nearly $20/gallon—a local shortage caused by greed.  And rather than “sharing” and leaning on each other, I’m sure most people were locked and barricaded behind their doors waiting for the worst of things to happen. 

By Saturday, one of my colleagues in a larger city, was offended that everyone blithely agreed to call the firefighters “heroes”—for his city, involved in a bitter debate about benefits that should be paid to firefighters and police officers, he thought it was immoral to reduce benefits, but then insist they be called “heroes.”  It was unjust, he claimed, to expect poorly paid laborers to protect life and property of others at the expense of their own health and well-being, not to mention their family’s. 

I learned a lot on 9-11 that I haven’t forgotten and don’t think I ever will. 

I also learned, that like most of these kinds of the things, it becomes about retributive justice.  A torrent of violence was unleashed against Americans that day, and we’d be sure to return the favor.  We’ve fought at least two wars since then, further adding to the body count many times over. 

We’ve spent billions of dollars on security and safety, designed to keep Americans safe.  We continue to watch people in other places suffer, because the human rules of retributive justice and revenge are indiscriminate—like sin.  Our insatiable desire to be avenged always leads, rather, to death and destruction though—unlike Jesus, whose suffering and death changes the trajectory of the living. 

So often, when we talk about what happened, and who did it, and how many died, we are awash in the emotions of grief, anguish, loss, and suffering.  It’s easy for anger to be our response; for us to justify horrific acts on our own in attempt to recover “justice” or the moral high ground. 

“You flew planes into our skyscrapers, but we can bomb you back to the Stone Age.” 

“You hurt us, but we can obliterate you.” 

It’s not long before we can justify the very worst. 

But someone reminded me THIS September 11^th, such justification, violence, and vengefulness dishonors the victims and the sacrifices of those who laid down their lives in service to others. 

If you’ve heard or read much about the victims in New York and Washington, DC, and in Pennsylvania that day, you undoubtedly have read or heard that the last words from people in the towers and on the planes that day, over and over again, were the same: "I love you." "I love you."  

Novelist Ian McEwan wrote in The Guardian, September 15, 2001, "Love was all they had to set against the hatred of their murderers."  

Rather than asking ourselves what we remember of our loss, perhaps we should ask what we remember about their love? 

The last words, in response to horror and undoing, in facing death, were love. 

Love. 

That more rightfully can affect our world in far more profound ways. 

When we seek to love those who serve us.  When we seek to love those who disagree with us.  When we seek to love those who make mistakes.  When we seek to love ourselves when we need our own second chances.  When we seek to love—rather than to win at any cost.  When we love, rather than destroy.  When we love because that’s what God does.  Particularly, what God does in Jesus whose life is not answered by death, but by life! 

Love.  You see, this started with that cub scout den who puts flags on people’s lawns.  It’s a service project and fund-raiser all in one.  They ask for permission and a donation and then they bring the flags on the right days.  When they talked to my wife, the first year, she didn’t have any money to offer and they did it anyway.  For free.  Because they knew what it was to love us anyway. 

How do we learn more love?  I think that’s why God sent us Jesus. 

It might be 9-11.  But I’m trying to remember how I can make my last word be love. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas

Advent Re-Lit

Wednesday for me is the longest day, and Thursday starts with a Bible Study group at 7am.  This means I leave the house in darkness this time of year, before my kids leave for the bus stop, all of us before 7am. 

This time of year, it seems like a long of long nights and dark days—literally. 

This week of Advent, the first week, is always the one that seems most poignant.  One flickering candle shining against all the darkness.  One candle.  That’s all. 

13 months ago, as my family and I were relocating to South Arkansas we received the gift of “extra time” when our movers were delayed past our original delivery date.  We spent some of that time in some caverns in western Virginia.  Underground, we were again reminded of the power of one-match-power in an otherwise entirely dark cavern.  In a large underground room, one match lit up everyone’s faces, even in some cases, as much as 30 or 50 feet away from the matchlight! 

I imagine each of us with at least as much power, as we individually seek to follow Jesus.  And as all of us set forth to travel to Bethlehem, to proverbially worship the newborn King, our lights coalesce into one large mass of pilgrimage. 

Advent, re-lit. 

On these dark mornings, I think of that kind of following coming together to change the world. 

What images and ideas are helping you to change the world, these dark days? 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas

A New Snack and a Slow Turn

Christmas crunch. 

It could be any manner of Christmas snack treat—in my opinion.  But my wife was talking.  And not about snacking. 

“I hate the Christmas crunch—and I can’t even believe those words are coming out of my mouth!” she said in the car as we were driving to my office. 

It might be because this year, Advent is cut to its cheapest number of days.  4 weeks of promised hope smashed down into a few hours more than three.  The “pressure” of the season was getting to her. 

Christmas cards. 

Present wrapping. 

House decorations. 

Scheduling the last of the family activities that “we do every year.” 

She was up against figuring out “how are we going to do all this with one less weekend,” though she didn’t really want to admit it. 

Today, in my advent devotional, Christmas crunch was also redefined. 

“[Christmas] is about change of heart and change of life that are rooted in trust in the promises of God that are as sure as they are slow.” 

And while usually in Advent Christmas’s arrival does seem slow… apparently this year, it’s been sped up. 

Christmas will be here before we know it! 

And oddly, though time is short, I’ve already made plans for services and sermons for the last two weeks of Advent and Christmas Eve.  Plans are coming together.  Items are falling into place.  It feels right, and nice and I’m anxious for the celebrations. 

And though these days seem filled with terrors and perils and bad news cycles; more stories of sexual assaults, or presidential lies and threats, and the promise of finally-passed legislation that holds bad news for the poor and gifts for the rich—there is also this sense that the promised world of Jesus will yet come to be. 

Or as one of my new favorite Advent hymns proclaims:

“My soul cries out with a joyful shout that the God of my heart is great, and my spirit sings of the wondrous thing that you bring to the ones who wait.  You fixed your sight on your servant’s plight, and my weakness you did not spurn, so from east to west shall my name be blest.  Could the world be about to turn?  My heart shall sing of the day you bring.  Let the fires of your justice burn.  Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near, and the world is about to turn.” 

Come quickly, Jesus—we are busy! 

So, come quickly, Jesus—lest you run out of time! 

Come quickly, Jesus—because the world is changing! 

 © Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas

Our World the Dark Place

“Choose for this day to be precious—for there aren’t many of them”—is where I left it yesterday. 

And this morning, news came that someone close to our congregation had attempted suicide.  Again.  Someone who had battled this demon before and seemingly won, even. 

I’m reading a new resource by Walter Brueggemann for Advent.  In fact, I had just been reading this passage when word came: 

“Our world is ‘a dark place’ of fear, anxiety, greed, and violence.  The prophetic light exposes such destructive practices and requires us to consider both the ideological rootage of our practices and their concrete outcomes from which we often benefit.  Advent is a time for being addressed from ‘elsewhere’ and being unsettled.  It is time to ponder exposés that we do not welcome.” 

This week, only one lone candle lights the wreath, and beats back the darkness.  In a world that seems to grow ever-more-dark by the hour, or the minute—one candle hardly seems to hold promise or sway. 

Which may be why Brueggemann’s observations and comments begin with addressing prophetic speech.  Today’s daily lectionary has Jesus in the temple, running out the money-changers. 

I have a few illnesses I’d like to run out today in likewise manner! 

In his prayer, Brueggemann offers, “God of the prophets, who interrupts and makes new beginnings….” 

Maybe, in addition to lighting one lonely candle, we must also offer a word—a prophetic, interruptive word.  A persistent word. 

Come. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas

Advent Monday Birthday

It’s the shortest ADVENT we’ll ever have.  Three weeks and a few hours (if you believe that bit my pastor-father always cited on Christmas Eve that “Christmas” begins at 4pm on Christmas Eve because 4pm was the rule by which the vigil could be observed and “count” if you were Catholic).  And by that count, with this year’s Advent starting so late, its almost already been crushed by the world around us whose Christmas-intensity has already burned bright and hot.  Christmas was already 50% off before Thanksgiving!  Black Friday has come and gone and—have you noticed!—even the sales got better post-Black-Friday.  They’re making shelf-space for Valentines Candy.  It’s almost like Christmas is being skipped! 

So, more than usual, I think, every single one of these Advent days this year will be precious! 

Still, I keep reading my newsfeed. 

2 apocalyptic moments: The University of Arkansas is hiring a new football coach (those in power are disappointed when we fail to win the most games; apparently a solid academic program for athletes, a record of good behavior, and being untarnished of NCAA violations is worthless in the face of not having won enough games.  Thus clamors the worldly wisdom that winning at life is not enough winning.)  And of course, we’re finally waiting to hear if the slow legislative season in Washington can be bested by charges of presidential impeachment, for something, sometime, somewhere, somehow—that will quickly spin the world into chaos and turn the 24-hour news cycle into a “breaking news story” that can interrupt network television programming reruns (Hint, there are so many Advent holiday parties that no one is watching anyway!). 

In fact, we all have better things to do. 

Fears about what the new, recently-passed tax proposals might do to some of the poorest people in our nation should not subdue or subvert the reality that RIGHT NOW, so many people are suffering. 

That the football coach is often the highest-paid state employee cannot be allowed to alter our focus from the ministry of the one who comes to challenge lifestyle choices with Kingdom promises (The ones with the most toys do not win!). 

And whatever happens in Washington, D.C. today won’t diminish the news that in our community, a nice, older couple’s home, neighbors to our building superintendent at FPC El Dorado, burned to the ground in the early morning hours this morning. 

THIS Advent Day is also my birthday. 

A gift of a little more transformation, please! 

Let the light and love of Jesus shine on you, in you, through you. 

Light YOUR candle of light and hope (there will be more than enough already on my birthday cake). 

Choose for this day to be precious—for there aren’t many of them. 

3-2-1 Advent

Quiet. 

Silence. 

Waiting. 

Soon there will be bustle and hustle—children arriving, parts-in-hand—for the first worship service of the new season that they are leading. 

Sunshine in my window.  No stirring in the building.  Everything set and ready. 

All those early-Sunday-tasks I thought I would get accomplished with extra time not needed to prepare for today’s service. 

Watching out the window. 

Quietly reading my newsfeed. 

Wondering not “if” I will see Jesus, but “where?” 

The hour will soon arrive. 

The chimes will be struck. 

The Chrismon tree will be lighted. 

The Advent wreath will put forth it’s first candle-glow of the season.  And we will be off. 

A new season. 

A new Sunday. 

A new—“just what is THIS advent bringing?” 

Oh, here they come! 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas

“Generosity Is Something We Want For You”

This summer our congregation has been slogging through the semi-continuous Old Testament stories in the lectionary each Sunday.  We’ve been reminded frequently and often by the Genesis narratives that God’s promises promise that the story’s characters—and by extension, we believers—are “blessed to be a blessing” for the whole world. 

Therefore, I shouldn’t be surprised that when I returned last week from a nearly three-week vacation, there was a letter waiting for me in my inbox:

“[Dear] Church.” 

Not Dear Pastor, Dear Reverend, Dear David. But: Church, Dear CHURCH.  I know why it landed in MY mailbox (I’m the pastor, all that kind of mail comes to me), but it could have at least acknowledged First Presbyterian or El Dorado or something more identifiable in its greeting. 

“Dear Church, in 2013 you blessed me with a pair of tennis shoes.  …I’m still wearing the shoes you purchased me, the soles are peeling off, I’m asking you, the church, if you’ll bless

me again with a new pair?  They are the same price, $39.87 that’s with taxes.  I’m sorry to ask you for help again, but I’ve no family out there to help me, my mother has passed in 2002, she was divorced she was a Christian as I am.” 

I don’t know why I was hung up on “Dear Church.”

It was a request from the Cummins Unit of the Arkansas Department of Corrections—the same place where a couple of months ago death row inmates were being hurriedly executed.  But this wasn’t from a death row inmate, and I immediately wanted our church to be found holding out the light and life of God in a world of brokenness, shrouded by death.  I believe desperately in a gospel of new life, changed lives, forgiveness, and hope. 

I asked around, but no one around our church remembered the previous “blessing” we supposedly offered this man.  And, “…dear Church,” as I shared this with other staff members and others about the request, I got quizzical, puzzled looks, and a lot of doubts.  Frankly, I know well the request could be dubious—there are a bunch of ways such a gift could be used for no good, or nefarious things. 

It was only $39.87—with taxes.  He had guts enough to ask.  And my first response was that I could answer for the Church of Jesus Christ, First Presbyterian, and myself as a Christian.  The traditional knock on helping people in need is that they take your money and use it to buy booze.  I’m pretty sure the ADC doesn’t let inmates buy alcohol.  I thought; here’s a chance to “be a blessing!  Again!” 

David Loeling, who’s heading up a new initiative for the Presbyterian Foundation for effective financial church leadership for local congregations, began a recent blogpost by noting, “Generosity is something we want for you, not from you.”  He then goes on to ask how our churches can form generous disciples in an age when we prefer technical fixes and best practices—where we grasp after new programs to produce results counted in participants and budget figures. 

What’s going to grow our capacity for “blessing others,” isn’t some program by which we can count how much we give and feel good about our pre-determined choices; but rather, the risks and chances we’re willing to take with the love of Jesus.  Like Jesus, our heart is what tells us the right things to do.  Not the program.  Not the conventional wisdom.  Not the carefully crafted ways of giving that seek to protect us from misuse or abuse.  Just the giving. 

A few years ago I was standing in line at the grocery store—my cart full.  There was an elderly lady being checked out, and ahead of me was a middle-aged man, with a quarter-filled cart, obviously pained by having to wait.  The woman came to the point of paying, tried a gift card, but then had to get out cash.  She first waded through her purse, going through several pockets and envelopes and finally, as if in slow-motion, picked the one with her cash in it.  She had to take out several bills, laboring over each and every one, individually, as if saying goodbye to old friends, until she had done enough to cover the tab.  All of this seemed to highly irritate this man who just wanted to be on his way.  I suddenly had this burning desire to pay this man’s grocery bill, just so he could walk away with a blessing rather than his irritation—albeit a spiteful blessing on my part.  And were it not for the fact that I couldn’t figure out how to explain to my wife how I’d just given away a quarter of our grocery budget to a man who didn’t “deserve it” for financial reasons—I might have been bold enough to have done it. 

It’s the same sort of way I felt last week on vacation, waiting with an empty grocery cart to buy some ice for my vacation cooler, waiting behind the young couple buying everything in their cart “on the cheap.”  I’ve learned how to spot the “hard times” stash of frozen pizzas, along with every item in the cart coming from the most generic of generic brands on store shelves.  If you look, you can see the poverty and hunger around us!  The couple had carefully “guessed” the bill, and had just enough cash, emptying their wallets—the last of the money. 

There were a host of reasons not to slide my credit card through the machine before they could exchange the bills with the cashier.  They were kind, polite, good-hearted with each other and with me, while I tried not to pay so close attention to their plight. 

We become generous people when we say “yes” to being a blessing.  Sometimes when we’re asked—but often, especially when we aren’t. 

For me, it’s a work in progress.  And I’m determined to get there. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Minister of Word and Sacrament,  Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas