1 Corinthians 13:3
And though I bestow all my goods to feed [the poor], and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothingWhat money cannot buy
with thanks to Enid DawsonA beautiful, expensively dressed lady was sadly telling her psychiatrist in his office that she felt that her whole life was empty, it had no meaning.So the counsellor opened his door and asked the old lady who cleaned the office to come in, and then said to the rich lady, "I'm going to ask Mary here to tell you how she found happiness. All I want you to do is listen."
So the old lady put down her broom and sat on a chair and told her story: "Well, my husband died of malaria and three months later my only son was killed by a car. I had nobody... I had nothing left. I couldn't sleep; I couldn't eat; I never smiled at anyone, I even thought of taking my own life. Then one evening a little kitten followed me home from work. Somehow I felt sorry for that kitten. It was cold outside, so I decided to let the kitten in. I got it some milk, and it licked the plate clean. Then it purred and rubbed against my leg, and for the first time in months, I smiled. Then I stopped to think; if helping a little kitten could make me smile, maybe doing something for people could make me happy. So the next day I baked some biscuits and took them to a neighbour who was sick in bed. Every day I tried to do something nice for someone. It made me so happy to see them happy. Today, I don't know of anybody who sleeps and eats better than I do. I've found happiness, by giving it to others."
When she heard that, the rich lady cried. She had everything that money could buy, but she had lost the things which money cannot buy.
Everything's going to be all right.
with thanks to Don B GibsonHe almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His 20-year-old Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her. Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her?
He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. He said, "I'm here to help you ma'am. Why don't you wait in the car where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan." Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and he hurt his hands.
As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid. Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. She asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened, had he not stopped. Bryan never thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.
He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the assistance they needed, and Bryan added, "...and think of me". He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the light.
A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register was like the telephone of an out-of-work actor -it didn't ring much. Her waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed that the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan.
After the lady finished her meal, and the waitress went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be, then she noticed something written on the napkin, under which were four $100 bills.
There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady had written "You don't owe me anything, I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do : Do not let this chain of love end with you." Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress made it through another day.
That night when she arrived home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how much she and her husband needed that money? With the baby due next month, it was going to be hard on both of them. She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's going to be all right; I love you, Bryan."
The operation of a higher law
Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door. She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise.
Nothing.
She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster.
No good.
Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it! "And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting for a reply to his question. "Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick...and I want to buy a miracle."
"I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist.
"His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?"
"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little.
"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."
The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"
"I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money".
"How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.
"One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly. "And it's all the Money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.
"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents-the exact price of a miracle for little brothers."
He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the kind of miracle you need."
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. "That surgery," her Mom whispered. "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?"
Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar and eleven cents ...... plus the faith of a little child.
A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law......
A Lesson On Giving
Author UnknownI am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called "Smile." The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions. I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway, so, I thought, this would be a piece of cake, literally. Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald's one crisp March morning. It was just our way of sharing special playtime with our son. We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did. I did not move an inch...an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved. As I turned around I smelled a horrible "dirty body" smell, and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men. As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was "smiling". His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God's Light as he searched for acceptance. He said, "Good day" as he counted the few coins he had been clutching. The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally deficient and the blue eyed gentleman was his salvation. I held my tears as I stood there with them. The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted. He said, "Coffee is all Miss" because that was all they could afford. (If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm). Then I really felt it - the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me, judging my every action. I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray. I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue eyed gentleman's cold hand. He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Thank you." I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, "I did not do this for you. God is here working through me to give you hope." I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, "That is why God gave you to me, Honey. To give me hope." We held hands for a moment and at that time we knew that only because of the Grace that we had been given were we able to give. We are not churchgoers, but we are believers. That day showed me the pure Light of God's sweet love. I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in "my project" and the instructor read it. Then she looked up at me and said, "Can I share this?" I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read and that is when I knew that we, as human beings and being part of God, share this need to heal people and be healed. In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald's, my husband, son, instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student. I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn: UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE. Much love and compassion is sent to each and every person who may read this and learn how to LOVE PEOPLE AND USE THINGS - NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE.
The Secret Of Giving
Anon"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life"-(John 3:16).
At the Christmas Season, men, women and children all over the world celebrate the birth of the Master Jesus, by en-devouring to give (as God gave His Son on that first Christmas morn), something of themselves to their loved ones, their fellowman and to God Himself. The "spirit" which motivates any gift determines its pleasurable effect upon the receiver. All of us know of gifts given hurriedly, impatiently or grudgingly, which have brought no joy to the receiver, even though the gift itself might be of great material value. Conversely, we know of the happiness and blessing that radiates from a simple thing given from the heart. It is wise, therefore, particularly at the Christmas Season, to ask the Heavenly Father to saturate our gifts and giving with His Own feeling of happiness and love which prompted His gift of the Beloved Jesus to the world of men. Let those gifts be given with the same joy and desire to benefit the one to whom we proffer them, in Jesus' Name. Some time ago, a gentleman of our acquaintance became a member of a spiritual activity wherein he was told that the practice of "tithing" a portion of his income to assist in sustaining the activity, was a necessary part of his membership. He was also told that as a result of such "tithing" (placing a percentage of his weekly income aside as a gift to the organization) he would experience greater wealth and happiness for himself. He obediently observed the rules but his income, rather than increasing, grew less and less. He was unhappy and distressed in mind, body and affairs. A good friend, who knew the spiritual Law, asked this gentleman if he enjoyed his "tithing" giving a portion of his income to God, through the activity with which he had become affiliated. The tither seemed surprised at this idea and, upon self-examination, found that he resented the giving but complied with the law from a sense of "duty" and a hope of personal gain. The friend told him he would not reap the natural results of his generosity until he enjoyed giving to God that weekly stipend. Sincere and honest with himself, the student saw the logic in this statement. It took him some time to convince himself in his feelings that such giving was opening the door for him to thank His God and to receive greater abundance to be used again in ever-widening service. Then the "tithing" became a joy to him and his finances increased both steadily and rapidly. The law regarding the obtaining and sustenance of opulence requires a balance between giving and receiving. The new born infant must give his first outgoing breath in order to receive the life giving energies on the indrawn breath. If a man does not release the breath from his lungs, he soon dies. This is likewise true of wealth and material opulence. Stagnation, which comes from hoarding, allows no room for God to send new blessings and opulence into the world of the miser. Spiritually, the individual who gives of the knowledge and understanding which he already has, receives greater inspiration by reason of his giving.
Information Please
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighbourhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person--her name was "Information, Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information, Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbour. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlour and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlour and held it to my ear. "Information, Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear, "Information."
"I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked.
I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information, Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information, Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child, but I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information, Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information, Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.
As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information."
I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft-spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information."
I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she asked.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up.
I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Author Unknown
The Christmas Envelope
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas -- oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing that he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly. "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids -- all kids -- and he knew them, having coached youth league football, baseball, and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church.
On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year, and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, their toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown, and someday will expand even further, with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down the envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit, this year and always.
Author Unknown
“The Art of Giving.”
by Dr. George Cladis.
with thanks to Dave CruickshankTexts: Psalm 78:1-4; Matthew 13:31-35.
“Becoming a Kingdom Builder.”
Jesus had a problem.
He sought to show us heaven. How could he do that with words? He chose word pictures, or the art of language, or, as Amos Wilder termed it, Theopoetics, to communicate the things of God. I want to draw out this biblical theme of the poetics of Jesus and relate it to Christian financial stewardship. You might wonder if the two have anything in common! I think they do.
This morning, then, we will travel by three trail markers. The first is The Art. The second is The Giving. And the third is The Art of Giving.
I. The Art
First, The Art. The Britannica Concise Encyclopedia describes art as a combination of skill and imagination in the creation of objects, environments, or experiences.[1]
“The combination of skill and imagination.” Jesus used art to communicate because he was trying to describe something that has no earthly reality. He combined the skill of story telling with divine imagination to teach us the Beyond.
To over simplify things, we could say there are two ways to communicate using language. One way is to use prose and the other poetry.
For example, a person might have said:
“I had a difficult decision to make. I had two choices that would produce radically different results. One of those choices was one that many have made in similar circumstances. And the other was a choice that few have made. I chose the one few made and may regret this one day.”
Or, one could say:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth…I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.Robert Frost (1874-1963)
The first example is prose and the second is poetry. Frost used imagination to tap into our experience of being in a wood to describe a time of important decision-making.
Sometimes, art is simply for the sake of beauty. Sometimes it is for the sake of portraying what we see and experience. But art was also the vehicle of choice for many biblical writers:
In the Beginning was the Word…and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
I am the Light of the world.
The Kingdom of God is like a merchant in search of fine pearls…
Jesus knew that the best way to describe something no one has ever seen or experienced is to use words as portals: words that open the way to something more, something fuller, something substantial, that lies beyond and yet has tremendous contemporary meaning and application.
I am the Good Shepherd… My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.
Jesus used words artistically, that is, as a springboard to another reality. Was Jesus really a shepherd with sheep? No, he was a rabbi and the son of a carpenter. Was he lying then? Of course not; he was using theopoetics – words to describe his role as Son of God.
But there is more. Jesus not only preferred the use of theopoetics to describe the Kingdom of God and the nature of God, but he himself was The Poem. Jesus was the living poem of God, wrapped in flesh and blood, whose very presence and activity was itself Picture of God! Jesus was the Art of God, the beauty of God, and in him we have beheld the glory of the Father.
The Pharisees of Jesus’ day were not very imaginative. They found Jesus’ teachings and his person to be too simplistic and earthy. They preferred prose: you can walk so many feet on the Sabbath and no more or else you are guilty of a sin. You must not go near an outcast lest you become defiled and in need of ritual cleansing. They were literalists and legalists who sought to find in rulebook and technical manuals the correct three-point formula to joy and life with God. Insisting on prose, they missed God’s Poem who was Jesus.
II. The Giving
This leads us by our second trail marker: The Giving. Christians use as a guide for their financial giving to the church the biblical tithe, or 10% of one’s income. The tithe feels quite prosaic, doesn’t it – like the Pharisaical rule. But one cannot live by art alone – ask any musician! Prose and poetry go together. For example, if you go and have someone work on your car, you want a prosaic mechanic who reads technical manuals and understands the difference between metric and English measurements. We need engineers and computer technicians who may be admirers of art and even artistic in their mathematical endeavours but who, nonetheless, show prosaic and linear skill in their technical fields. Notice, in fact, that the definition I read of art is the combination of skill and imagination: skill building is a prosaic exercise requiring the use of the other sphere of the brain!
Some of the finest organists I have known are also fine organ builders: one can often be a better artist if acquainted with the science of one’s art.
My father is a nuclear and space physicist who, along with other researchers, often viewed the mysteries of the universe as something beautiful and containing great art which they both appreciated with the eye of wonder and the tools of formulaic physics.
What does this have to do with giving? All of our married life, Martie and I have tithed, or given ten percent of our income to the Lord’s work. My first year out of seminary, I received a paycheck twice a month. The amount of the bi-monthly check was $750. The very first check we wrote after I received my paycheck was $75 to the church. Then, another check to the IRS – clergy pay quarterly taxes as if we were self-employed. Then came the mortgage payment and then bills. What was left was discretionary income, which, in those days, was hardly anything. Using the biblical formula of the tithe, 10%, doesn’t sound very poetic. But it has served as an important reflection of our values. I love that fact that 10% of our labour has been invested in something other than our comfort and ourselves. We teach our children to be givers, but do we model it? My parents’ modelled tithing and so Martie and I have as well. It seems to me the messages we send to our kids is be polite, do your homework, be successful, and be competitive: but do we teach them with the same zeal: be compassionate, give 10% of what you make away, show love and be a peacemaker whenever possible. If those values are not taught, they won’t be learned.
I am thankful to the musicians who create beauty from these Steinways, but I’m also thankful to the craftsmen who know how to build them with skill and expertise. I am thankful to the architects who design beautiful buildings and cathedrals, but I’m also thankful for the stonemasons who know how to lay one stone upon the other and build a strong wall.
Percentage giving is a discipline, it is a skill, a task – it is the medium -- that is then used to create beauty through the art of giving, which leads now to my final trail marker: The Art of Giving.
III. The Art of Giving
If the tithe is the skill and prose of giving, the relationships that benefit from the tithe are the context for the art of giving. Just as Jesus was Poem of God – Body of Christ – so also the Body of Christ: the Church becomes now, by the grace of God, the Poem of God.
Martie and I give out of our tithe to several charitable enterprises but about 90% of it has always gone to the church where we are active. The reason for that is because we are most familiar there with its artistic expression. When I wander down into the children’s ministry wings I see the recipients of our skill of giving. I see them learning their Bible verses, learning about Jesus and growing in their faith. When I see the hundreds of youth gathered around the SHAC [Senior High Activity Centre], I see the art of giving at work in their inquisitive minds and yearning spirits learning about God. When I look out Sunday after Sunday at the collection of the Body of Christ named Noroton Presbyterian Church and know something of their various trials and tribulations and God’s healing presence with them, I see the art of God at work. When I see firsthand the mission projects of the church both locally, regionally and internationally and the ways in which our mission giving is making a difference in other parts of the world, I see the art of God.
The art is in the relationships: those developed here and those engaged in around the world: dollars following relationships that seek to paint the beauty of God’s love all over this world. The Art of Giving is the beauty painted with the brush of the discipline of giving through the life of this congregation.
Several years ago, in Austin, Texas, I received a phone call from Robert. I did the pre-marital counselling and wedding for him and his wife Michele, several years before. They joined the church and a few years after that had their first child whom we baptized at church. Rob’s call came from the hospital; something had gone wrong in the delivery of their second child. When I arrived minutes later, I found Rob comforting Michele who was holding their daughter, Madelyn, who had died during the birthing process. Her death, however, was inevitable because it was later found she had several birth defects including a malformed heart that could not stand the stress of delivery. Poor Madelyn never had a chance.
Michele sobbed in a chair while Rob held her. Seeing me, Michele held up her lifeless child to me and said, “This is our baby, Madelyn.” I reached out and took the baby as tears rolled down my cheek. Michele looked up at Rob and said, “are you going to ask him?”
“Pastor,” he said, “Michele and I would like you to baptize Madelyn.”
I looked down at the cold, dark baby. Our Presbyterian theology and polity generally discourages both private baptisms and the baptism of the deceased. I looked at them and saw their broken hearts.
I asked the nurse for a clean basin that she brought filled with water. Gathering around me Rob, Michele and this nurse who wore around her neck a star of David and whose last name was Schwartz, we prayed and I went through the baptismal rite and baptized Madelyn in the name of the Father, Son and Spirit.
There was in that hospital room the Art of God, but it was only one brush stroke. Let me tell you the rest of the story: when they went home, they found notes and cards, flowers and food. For weeks they were surrounded by the love and care of the deacons and other members of the church that wrapped them up in love and care. The real art was in the ongoing nurture and care that for years would follow not so much from my occasional contacts, but the ongoing sustenance and love of God’s people.
I am a very lucky guy because I have had the opportunity to pastor both that congregation filled with the art of giving and this congregation that also reaches out to those broken with the artful love of God. The story I told is only one of hundreds and one I can tell because I experienced it. There are thousands more that you know because you live them.
Conclusion
In the language of our Stewardship series, to move from being a consumer Christian to being a committed Christian means learning the discipline of giving and moving toward a tithe. But don’t stop there. That is only the making of the violin.
Learn then to play it!
Amen.
1 Corinthians 13:3
And though I bestow all my goods to feed [the poor], and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing2 Corinthians 9: 7
Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, [so let him give]; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giverLeviticus 25:23
“The land is mine and you are but aliens and my tenants.”Psalm 90:10
“The length of our days is seventy years—or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”Ecclesiastes 5:10, 13-14
“Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless … I have seen a grievous evil under the sun: wealth hoarded to the harm of its owner, or wealth lost through some misfortune, so that when he has a son there is nothing left for him.”1 Corinthians 6:19-20
“You are not your own; you were bought at a price.”John 3:16
For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.Deuteronomy 8:18
“Remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth.”1 Corinthians 4:2
“Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.”Romans 14:10-12
“For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat … each of us will give an account of himself to God.”My Heart Always Goes Where I Put God’s Money
Ecclesiastes 5:12
“The sleep of a labourer is sweet, whether he eats little or much, but the abundance of a rich man permits him no sleep.”Haggai 2:8
“ ‘The silver is mine and the gold is mine,’ declares the Lord Almighty.”Matthew 6:19-21
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”Heaven, Not Earth, Is My Home
Philippians 3:20
“Our citizenship is in heaven.”Psalm 39:5
“Each man’s life is but a breath.” I Should Not Live Merely for the Moment but for EternityHebrews 11:25-26
“[Moses] chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a short time. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward.”Matthew 25:21
“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’ ”Ecclesiastes 5:10, 13-14
“Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless … I have seen a grievous evil under the sun: wealth hoarded to the harm of its owner, or wealth lost through some misfortune, so that when he has a son there is nothing left for him.”1 Timothy 6:9-10
“People who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.”1 Timothy 6:17-18
“Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life.”God Prospers Me to Raise Not My Standard of Living, but My Standard of Giving
Malachi 3:10b
“ ‘Test me in this,’ says the Lord Almighty, ‘and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room enough for it.’ ”Luke 6:38
“Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”Luke 12:33
“Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.”Acts 20:35
“It is more blessed to give than to receive.”2 Corinthians 8:7
“But just as you excel in everything—in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in complete earnestness and in your love for us—see that you also excel in this grace of giving.”2 Corinthians 9:7
“God loves a cheerful giver.”2 Corinthians 9:10-13
“Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. You will be made rich in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God. This service that you perform is not only supplying the needs of God’s people but is also overflowing in many expressions of thanks to God. Because of the service by which you have proved yourselves, men will praise God for the obedience that accompanies your confession of the gospel of Christ, and for your generosity in sharing with them and with everyone else.”Psalm 24:1
“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.”
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