generosity

Yesterday’s post about my visit from Joy was read by many, at least in terms of my stats. I appreciate the comments, likes, and shares. Today I received a message from a minister colleague in another part of the state a few hours away. Joy had visited her, too, a few weeks ago, and my friend had a similar experience of listening to her and helping her out. I am grateful she let me know.

And then I checked to see if I felt that thing I sometimes feel when I’ve helped a complete stranger: did I feel as though I had been duped, taken advantage of, conned?

In every church I have served, people come to church to ask for help, some in truly desperate situations and some looking for a handout. I believe in handouts, to a point; I think sometimes what a person most needs is $20 to buy what they want. But I also know that sometimes I have helped someone who then tells all his friends who also come seeking help. Or in one town where I worked, I listened to a guy poor out his soul about his family being innocent bystanders victimized by a crime, only to learn a a few weeks later that another pastor in town had heard the same story from the same guy the year before.

After twenty or so years of pastoring, I’ve decided I would rather err on the side of kindness, knowing that some of the people I help are really not all that desperate. So with regards to Joy, did I feel duped?

No.

Anytime I hear a stranger tell me his or her story and then ask me for help, I know that person might not be telling me the truth or even the whole truth. I know people take advantage of the kindness of churches and pastors and church secretaries. I also know that sometimes a church is one of the few places where someone will be treated with dignity and respect, regardless of their truthfulness.

My parents were both born in the 1930’s and their early childhoods were marked by the Great Depression. Neither grew up in families that were neither destitute nor wealthy; my grandfathers were both employed and my grandmothers ran their households with great efficiency. My dad was one of three children, my mom one of six. My mother remembers that whenever someone would come to the door looking for food, my grandmother would give that person something – a sandwich, an apple, toast with jelly. My grandfather worked in construction, and if a day laborer was needed, my grandmother would mention that to the person at the door.

To be kind is to risk being taken advantage of. To be generous is to choose to use resources for one thing and not for another. As a pastor, I have a sense that the time I have and the resources I offer are not solely mine; they are part of the congregation as well, and I want to be a good steward of their gifts. And sometimes I act on behalf of the congregation to live out the commands that Jesus gave.

So I don’t know if my Joy will come your way, or when another Joy will present herself to you. I don’t know what you will decide to do. I don’t know how you will make your decision. But maybe we all need a little Joy in our lives, for so many reasons.

The clown car is an object I often use as a metaphor. A few months ago, my child had a horrific cold. She blew her nose and blew her nose and blew her nose. Empty boxes lay strewn about the house, victims of stealth sinusitis. I said to my husband, “It’s like the clown car of mucus in there – how can so much snot lie beneath such a little face?”

Last Sunday, our choir processed up to the chancel during the opening hymn, as is their habit. They kept coming and coming – basses, tenors, altos, mezzos, sopranos. It’s very odd to hear a snippet of a part as each one would walk by – the bass line here, the descant there. Our choir director brought up the rear, and as she passed, I commented, “It’s like the clown car of singers.”

But the last clown car really is much more like a clown car. Some folks at church volunteer at a local warming center/shelter for families. The shelter was in need of pillows, and this couple made dozens of calls to hotels and motels to see if they had any to donate. No, no, no, no, no, till finally yes. Someone – I think it was a Hampton Inn (to give credit where credit is due) – said they had pillows for the taking. The couple drove their Prius over to get them. Indeed, the pillows were theirs for the taking – all one hundred of them.

I love the image. I love the image of this generous, kind couple shoving pillows into their Prius. I imagined pillows everywhere, sticking out of windows, under the spare tire, tied to the top. In reality, the couple made more than one trip to get all the pillows, but you get the idea.

As I think about it, maybe the clown car is not a bad metaphor for abundance. After all, walking around with a theology or philosophy of abundance is a bit comical, if not ridiculous. Just yesterday I had a coffee with a friend, and was reminded of things I really want to get done that aren’t done, and I heard my little inner Critic saying, “There’s not enough time. There’s not enough money. There’ s not enough sumatriptan for the headache all of this is bringing on.” Believing we live in an abundant world is a choice. Choosing to see clown cars everywhere is a choice. A ridiculous choice at that, but a choice nonetheless.

But I’m trying. It’s sort of like this blog’s title: Hold fast to what is good, because you never know what’s going to hit the fan. I strain my eyes to see every bit of hope and beauty and goodness and abundance in the world, because every single day there is some crap coming our way that wants to prove all the good stuff is a lie. But I don’t choose to fall for that. I think abundance is the norm, and supply-and-demand is the lie.

And I’ve run out of time at this point. I’m having lunch with my daughter today, to experience the abundant noise and hilarity of first graders in the school cafeteria. And look – there’s another clown car – all of them wanting to sit next to me! Tag, you’re it. I guess I’m the clown car today. I’ll hold fast to that.

Hold Fast to What Is Good

A blog and some art and some liturgy

“May I speak with you…”, part 2

100 Pillows and a Prius