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+ Giving and Thanksgiving - Parishioners' Perspectives
+ The Thankful Leper
+ A-tithe, A-tithe, O!
Giving and Thanksgiving - Parishioners' Perspectives
Several parishioners have taken on the difficult task of sharing their thoughts about what their giving means to them.
Jim Crow
What does my giving mean to me? I have never really thought about the question until asked to write this letter.
Our clergy remind us often and in various forms that ALL good works come from God. I agree, and in trying to understand our part in that process, I conclude that each of us is but a gate through which God effects His good works in the world.
Our role, I think, is that of the gatekeeper, deciding freely whether to let God's works through to effect a better world - or not; He does not force the gate. Each of us is the same in that respect, but each of us is unique in what God chooses to do through us. I think we need to listen to God and then try to do what we believe He wants us to do.
Giving is what I believe God wants me to do. Giving is very simple; it is letting Him through my gate to effect His good works ... not my works.
I do not think that I receive very much from my giving. However, I do receive an enormous amount from God's good works given through others in our parish: the beautiful and inspiring music from our organist and choirs, the leadership and careful guidance from our vestry, the teachings of our priests in thoughtful homilies, the opportunities presented by the parish's social outreach programs such as Inter-Faith Council and the homeless shelter, People of Faith Against the Death Penalty, the Johnson Intern Program, etc. and, finally, the respect for the dignity of all individuals that is consistently and constantly shown by members of this parish.
Thank you,
Jim
Libby Buck
In the winter of 1977, I spent several hours a week at a small state-funded nursing home in Princeton, New Jersey. My Catholic school arranged for all high school students to serve the community with volunteer hours. I chose to visit a frail woman whose name I can no longer remember. She was confined to a wheelchair, and she never spoke of a family. She often sat curled upon herself, the effects of what I now recognize as osteoporosis restricting her movements. I cannot say that I enjoyed these visits; the interior of the home smelled unpleasantly, years of accumulated grime smeared the exterior windows, and I was never sure how to keep my glum companion happy. In retrospect, the home probably expected that the mere presence of youth could somehow alleviate the misery of those who lived there, but for me it often seemed they had neglected to give me a script. Instead, I spoke of my life, my home, my school, animals, activities, and friends, a run-on sentence to myself since she sat so quietly. I watched the clock from the corner of my eye.
One day in February, unexpectedly, she spoke. We sat in the 'common room,' at a table. It was sunny, and even the dust did not dim the quality of the light that beat into the room. Instead, the interior took on a quality of a painting, a soft wash of bright color swept over every surface. "I do not know why I linger," she said. "Everyone is gone. Why can't I die?" Her voice never broke. And I sat, mute to her despair, unable to move. I saw the sun, felt my heart beat, my eyelids flutter, and thought "but the sun is shining..." But I said nothing. The following week, they told me she had died in her sleep.
I live in gratitude for the words that my companion spoke. I could not respond then to her suffering, her misery, and I am not sure that I could really have said anything to change her life. But I can try to be a witness to the light that came through those windows. I can affirm in my heart and by whatever means available to me, financial and otherwise, that it exists and shines and transforms even the darkest places. I am grateful every day for God's many gifts, for my life, my family, and for the sun and the dust. And I hope, and fervently pray, that I no longer sit mute.
Henry T. Clark, Jr.
For most of us, giving, especially money, is a private matter and we are not disposed to discuss our own giving with others. Few of us have or take the time to engage in the self-examination and reflection to determine why and how much we should give.
For Christians the 'why' is simple: the Bible, as well as frequent messages from the pulpit, tell us that we should give in thanksgiving for God's great gifts to us. But how much and to whom should we give? Most of us base our giving on our perception of the needs of those less fortunate in our community and beyond. We tend to support organizations that describe these unmet needs, cite their own track records in community service, present their studied future objectives and ask for financial support.
In my giving my main model, of course, is Jesus Christ, but I have had secondary models in the persons of my mother, father, and wife, and several missionary relatives and special friends. Most of my giving has been very private, largely in support of educational, health, and church related programs in both the USA and overseas. A few of my larger gifts have been publicized when I wanted to dramatize a worthy project and solicit other contributions to meet the total objective.
I was recently required to make the self -examination I cited earlier when the Department of Oral History at UNC asked me to tell my life story with emphasis on my 15 years spent in overseeing the activation of the UNC Medical Center. My concluding comments were as follows:
"I am mainly thankful for many things: First, for a wonderful mother and father, who created a loving, supportive home, provided in themselves models of good Christian servants, and sent me on my way;
Second, for the opportunity to obtain an excellent education at UNC (and beyond);
Third, for a lovely wife whose values in life are similar to mine, who has created a warm secure home in several settings, who has made my dreams her dreams;
Fourth, for several major job opportunities which gave me a base from which to pursue 'Impossible Dreams' (these positions became available in such a timely manner that I have to believe there has been a God at work looking after me and using me);
Fifth, for a corps of friends who have joined me in each setting to work for fulfillment of those dreams and for some degree of success in each venture, the intermediate goals reached were major achievements in themselves."
As I reflect on all this at age 83, I just hope that my lifetime attempts at giving justify, to some degree, God's major gifts to me.
Susan Swanson
Giving thanks is something I try doggedly to teach my two boys. I can verify from direct observation that we are born with no cognition of needing to be thankful. As far as babies know, everything is simply provided and isn't that how life should be? Young children don't understand the reason for thanking others at first, but over time they begin to observe the way other people respond to them when they are polite and to recognize how nice it feels when they themselves are thanked for thoughtful gestures. And so, as all parents fervently pray, the good habit is reinforced.
Most of us come to a deeper understanding of the need for expressing appreciation as we mature and assume responsibility for filling our own needs and desires. We are dependent on our fellow human creatures for so many things, and a well-ordered society must maintain the ritual courtesies that strengthen communal bonds and reassure us of our value within it.
I was extremely fortunate to have been taught as a child that God must be thanked as well. And as a parent, I have accepted the tremendous responsibility of helping nurture habits that will grow with my boys into a deepening understanding of their need to give God thanks. I have personally come to understand this lesson much more slowly than the simple rules of courtesy. It is definitely harder to get a reading on God's reactions than my neighbor's. A thorough intellectual understanding of the Christian faith doesn't guarantee an emotional apprehension of all God has given me and how to appropriately express my appreciation.
Yet there is so much for which to thank Him! With each year of my life and each new experience I realize this more fully. No one asks to be born, and yet what an incredible gift it is to be alive. The most difficult experiences in my life have taught me the most about my weaknesses and strengths, my need for others, and how God provides me with what I need even when I don't know that I need it. I can identify a bit with Saul in Acts 9:18. It feels as if I have been born with 'scales' on my eyes that are very, very slowly falling away so that I can see God more clearly. And what I see emerging is a figure of supreme love who will teach me to love in the way I should, with my total being. I sense a great calm and utter joy in that presence and I am compelled to praise and thank Him and to use the gifts he has given me to serve others.
Robert C. Johnson, Retired Bishop of the Diocese of North Carolina
A sermon preached by Bishop Johnson at the Chapel of the Cross on October 14, 2001.
(Luke 17:11-19)
St. Luke's Gospel tells us that Jesus did it one way one time and another way the next time. The first time was the normal way, the logical way. The second time was a surprise way, almost a backward way.
Both instances involved lepers. You know about lepers in biblical times: they were the outcasts, the lowest of the low, the untouchables.
In the fifth chapter of Luke, one leper comes to Jesus; "Lord, if you choose, you can heal me," he said. And Jesus said: "I do choose; be healed; be made clean." And he was! Then Jesus said: "Now, go to the priest, make your offering, and get your health card." That's the normal way.
Our story today is the second way, the surprise way. Ten lepers -- nine Jews and one Samaritan -- approached Jesus, but not too close. There were rules for lepers about how close they could come to healthy, acceptable, normal people. So, 'keeping their distance,' they shouted, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"
'Keeping their distance.' They were required to do that.
Think of some ways you are expected to 'keep your distance.' Sometimes other people expect you to keep your distance; sometimes the expectation is your own: "I must not offend; I must not presume; I must keep my distance." Think of the ways.
Have you ever wanted to join a club or an organization that was 'by invitation only?' So you walked that narrow line between being 'friendly' and appearing to be 'pushy.' Have you ever wished you were friends with a certain person or group of people, but you couldn't appear too eager?
Have you ever sensed that you need to keep your distance in a church?
Have you ever realized that for your survival you had to keep your distance from your own family?
What about keeping your distance from God? If so, is it something you have done that makes you keep your distance from God, or is it an impression you have about God that you are not welcome to come close?
It is not a pleasant way to live when you have to keep your distance.
'Keeping their distance,' the ten lepers shouted: "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!" And in a very surprising, illogical response, Jesus said: "Go show yourselves to the priests."
Remember, from early days in Jewish society lasting into New Testament times, priests were also the public health department. Before a diseased person -- especially a leper -- could be readmitted to the camp, to the community, to the family, the leper had to pass a health inspection by a priest and make a sacrificial offering and receive a certificate of health, a ticket back to life.
And Jesus said to the 10 lepers: "Go do that. Go now and get your health card from the priests." There was just one problem. The 10 lepers looked at themselves and at each other, and they were still lepers! But yet Jesus said: "Go. Go now. Show yourself to the priest. Go make your offering. Go get your health card now."
(This is the only recorded instance when Jesus asked the sick to behave as if they were cured before they were actually cured.)
Can you remember a time when you had to act on faith before you could see any proof of faith? That's what Jesus asked the lepers to do: to behave as if they were healed before they could see any evidence of their leprosy going away. But the lepers did what Jesus said. And they were healed in the process of obeying.
Can you remember some times like that in your life?
Did a doctor ever tell you to do anything that didn't make any sense?
If you are married, did you have proof of a good and faithful life together with your spouse, or did you just have to go ahead and make your commitment and wait for the proof to grow?
Think of the Civil Rights movement in this country. Remember when African-Americans were expected, even required, to 'keep their distance.' And then they decided not to any longer. They decided to do what Jesus said. Without any proof of results, they marched to show themselves to the priests and the politicians and the governors and the presidents. They had no guarantee or proof of freedom and liberation. But in the process of acting as if they were free, they became free.
And who was cured by their action? We white people were cured. True, some of us are not cured yet; but the leprosy of racism is now named and diagnosed and can no longer be ignored if we want to be healthy and whole and mostly because people began to act in faith before they could see the results or proof of faith.
Some of you young people may have dreams and ambitions that you think are out of reach. You can think of a long list of reasons why you are not worthy or able to qualify for your dreams. Remember Jesus' words to those 10 lepers: "Go. Act. Behave as if you are whole; and in the process of acting, your wholeness will happen."
You see, the truth is that those 10 lepers were already precious and valuable and whole in the eyes of God. It was other people who made the rules to label them dangerous, unworthy, untouchable.
Jesus set them free by challenging them to act on a truth they did not yet believe or have proof of. "Go. Go now. Go show yourself. Go claim your health card. Act like a child of God because that's who you are."
One of those 10 lepers realized what Jesus had done. He realized that Jesus had set him free by asking him to act free. And that one leper was smart enough to come back to give thanks -- thanks for being challenged to live like a child of God even before he knew for sure that he was.
The Episcopal Church did that for me when I was 25 years old; and ever since then, week after week, like the grateful Samaritan leper, I have returned to give thanks to God for this Church. Having been reared in another church where I learned to keep my distance from God, I fell in love with the Episcopal Church where I learned that to God and to Jesus Christ nobody must keep his or her distance, nobody is an outcast, nobody is untouchable.
And ever since, I have given thanks to God because the Episcopal Church is one community that invites all people of all ages together to search for meaning and value in life. I have learned not to expect the Church to give me all the answers in a neat little package; and I wouldn't be happy with it if it did. I have learned to be satisfied just to experience the Church as a community that acknowledges that there is more to human life than feeding my body and paying my bills. I need to be reminded that I am not just a physical being, I am also a spiritual being and that I need to nourish the spiritual as much as the physical.
I am grateful to God for the Episcopal Church because it uses a tradition of poetry, of music and song, of worship and theology that has a dignity and breadth, a height and depth, that gives meaning to my life and helps me interpret the events which happen to me, in me, and around me.
The Episcopal Church is a place where my children and grandchildren are declared to be God's children and are welcomed into a family that stretches across the centuries.
The Episcopal Church is a place where I experience bread and wine as sacred bearers of divine life and strength. The Episcopal Church is a place where two people can promise to love, comfort, honor, and keep each other in sickness and in health, and where they can confess their failure to do what they promise.
The Episcopal Church is a place where the death of people I love, and eventually my own death, will be felt and noticed and set within the context of God's eternity.
The Episcopal Church is a place where the Christian story is told and retold the amazingly simple story about how the creator of the world did something unique in and with a Galilean carpenter, who said so loud and clear, "You are loved and forgiven," that we can still hear it and believe it. If the retelling of that story ever ceases, the earth will be a crueler place and a place with less hope; and the fundamentalists and extremists will win.
I give thanks to God for the Episcopal Church because it often disturbs me and judges me and tries to wake me out of indifference and selfishness. A church that only condemns me or only comforts me and never challenges me is not a Christ-like church. And even when I argue with this Church and disagree with some of its actions and decisions, I don't really believe I would prefer a church that always says what I already think.
The Episcopal Church (like my former church and like all churches) has its weaknesses and its faults. But I do believe that my life and your life would be severely impoverished if the Episcopal Church should ever disappear.
Finally I give thanks to God for the Episcopal Church because it welcomes me and all other former lepers and distance-keepers and eats with us at the Lord's table every Sunday, after Sunday, after Sunday.
For the last 38 years, for my money and for my life, the Episcopal Church has been the most healthy spiritual pathway I have found. If it is the same for you, please do whatever you have to and give whatever you need to keep this Church strong.
The Rev. Stephen Elkins-Williams
Sung to the tune "Cockles and Mussels, Alive, Alive-O" at the Sept. 23 parish meeting.
As Christian believers we know we're receivers
Of all that we are and of all we "possess."
God's generous giving calls forth our own living
In joyful thanksgiving for such lavishness!
A tithe, a tithe-o, a tithe, a tithe-o,
Of thine own do we give thee, a tithe, a tithe-o.
In church on a Sunday, I found out that Monday
And all of the other weekdays are God's too.
By giving God one day, we consecrate Monday
And Wednesday and Friday: they all are God's due.
A tithe, a tithe-o, a tithe, a tithe-o,
Of thine own do we give thee, a tithe, a tithe-o.
In terms of our treasure, the same is the measure:
We hallow the whole by the part set aside.
To give a proportion prevents the distortion
Of seeing our wealth as the source of our pride.
A tithe, a tithe-o, a tithe, a tithe-o,
Of thine own do we give thee, a tithe, a tithe-o.
As Christian believers we know we're receivers
Of all that we are and of all we "possess."
God's generous giving calls forth our own living
In joyful thanksgiving for such lavishness!
A tithe, a tithe-o, a tithe, a tithe-o,
Of thine own do we give thee, a tithe, a tithe-o.
© 2001: Chapel of the Cross
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