my banker hugged me

.
day before thanksgiving, bank was busy-busy-busy. stopped in to sign some papers for work. long lines. phones ringing. cranky customers. busy-busy-busy.

error on the paperwork… need to wait some more. long lines. phone ringing. busy-busy-busy.

bank manager turns to the loan rep: did you ever notice that mr. gillespie never seems frazzled, always calm, always smiling.

turning to me she asks, how do you manage that?

i looked up and told the truth: i just trust in the lord.

in an instant, the phones stopped. the lines melted away. the busy-busy simply vanished. and she threw her arms around me and whispered: me too.

and today i wonder… how many others are out there… busy-busy-busy… just waiting for someone to come in and mention his name… to say it is okay to express your faith… to declare your love… to live out the peace… even in the midst of the busy-busy-busy.

.

day gives way to night

Sunsets are calm. Relaxing. The sun slowly, slowly, slowly sets. Falling below the horizon. Surrendering peacefully. Without a struggle.

Daybreak, however, is a battle. The night clings on, struggling to remain relevant. The first battles take place long before the sun actually rises. Some stars fall early, others hold on. The night does not want to leave. It fights.

But light is inevitable. The sun always triumphs.

Luke 19 redux

Reading the same passage of scripture several times over the course of a few days or weeks is a new discipline for me, but one I recommend--for you never know how that second or third reading will differ from the first.

Take Luke 19: 11-26, the “Parable of the Ten Minas.” First time through, came away with the message that was taught to me when I was young: God has given you talents and if you use them for God’s purpose, you will receive even more gifts or abilities.

But is that what this parable is really about? Here are a few excerpts that stood out on a subsequent reading:

12 He said: “A man of noble birth went to a distant country to have himself appointed king and then to return.

14 “But his subjects hated him and sent a delegation after him to say, ‘We don’t want this man to be our king.’

And later on…

22 “His master replied, ‘I will judge you by your own words, you wicked servant! You knew, did you, that I am a hard man, taking out what I did not put in, and reaping what I did not sow?

26 “He replied, ‘I tell you that to everyone who has, more will be given, but as for the one who has nothing, even what they have will be taken away. 27 But those enemies of mine who did not want me to be king over them—bring them here and kill them in front of me.’”

Am I truly to believe that the Master in this parable is God the Father, or Jesus himself?

Reading through a third time, I am drawn to the first line of this parable:

11 While they were listening to this, he went on to tell them a parable...

And what were they listening to exactly? Jesus was explaining his mission on earth.

10 For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.

And who is lost in the parable of the ten minas? Perhaps the delegation that protests the appointment of a selfish, ruthless man as king—only to find themselves put to death. Perhaps the servant, who is so fearful of this powerful man, that he is afraid to act on the minas entrusted to him?

Perhaps I need to read this one again…

my two hands

A man invited me to stick my hands into the pile of ashes before me. Run my fingers through the dust and charred remnants. Rub my hands together, feeling the grit and grime.

And then I sat to ponder the connection between the ashes that covered my two hands and the sins that covered my life. This is what I looked like through the lens of holiness. Through the eyes of a perfect guide. Dirty. Discolored. Disfigured.

Here’s what came to mind as I contemplated the condition of my hands. One: this was not the way my hands were supposed to look. Underneath these ashes and burnt scraps was the real me. Hidden from the light, from the truth. Second: I did not want to come into contact with anything white or pure or clean, because any contact would instantly blemish its beauty. Third: wanting the ashes to go away—no matter how much effort or pressure I applied—was not enough. No matter how much I rubbed my hands and fingers together, I could not clean myself. Could not.

And then I confessed my sins. Sins of gluttony, pride and neglect.

And I was cleaned. Purified. Refreshed.

Just as I was in the beginning.

the town event

I was asked to cover a town event for the local paper last week.

The event was slated to begin at 6:30, so I got there around 6 to get the lay of the land. Some local politicos would be talking about the town—our history, where we’ve been, where we’re going.

I stopped to chat with the event organizer. About 100 people were expected in total. A pretty low-key affair. Given the state of the town’s budget, the menu was economical – hot dogs for everyone!

A woman stopped me before I could enter the hall. “Doors don’t open until 6:30,” she said without looking up.

“I’m with the press,” I replied, holding up my pass and camera. “Just wanted to get a few shots before the crowd arrived.”

It was your typical set up. Speaker’s podium up front, American flag in the corner. Folding tables with white paper tablecloths. Along the back of the room, the “banquet” was set up. A few coolers of lemonade, utensils and a spread of hot dogs and buns.

To my left, a side-door opened and a gentleman in a sports jacket ambled in, being careful to close the door behind him without making any noise. He looked at his watch, then across the hall towards me—before setting his eyes on the buffet table.

He glanced back over his shoulder as he stood in front of the hot dogs. He then opened up his back pack and began filling it with hot dogs. By my count, he must have stuffed 30 franks into his bag before turning and taking a seat. This seemed interesting. Odd, but interesting. So I walked over and sat next to him.

“Hi, my name’s Ed,” I remarked, introducing myself with an open hand. “I’m with the local paper.”

He shook my hand warmly and responded with a smile. “Roger. Nice to meet you.”

Now he knows I saw him stuff 30 or so hot dogs into the back pack that now sat between his legs, but he was cool as a cucumber. So, I had to ask. “Excuse me, but it seemed as if you took a lot of those hot dogs for yourself.”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “It pays to get to these events early. They probably won’t open the doors for another ten minutes or so… place will be crawling with people by then.”

Had to admire his ambition. Heh, I am a reporter, not a judge. But a curious reporter none-the-less. “Can I ask what you will do with all of those franks?”

“Eat ‘em, I guess,” he replied haphazardly. “Some today. Some tomorrow. To be honest, haven’t really thought about it much.”

Just then, our little one-one-one conversation was interrupted as a group of four people—two men and two women—entered through the main door. They looked familiar. The woman in red, she was the wife of the town’s finance chairman. The tall gentleman was a golf pro at the town’s municipal course—he was a good guy. The guy in jeans, he was a town legend—took the football team to the state championship ten years ago. I didn’t recognize the older woman (but later learned she was the mother of the town’s first selectman.)

They too made a bee-line to the buffet table—and seemed aghast when they saw that one whole tray had already been emptied.

The football star turned toward me, then trained his glare on Roger. “Excuse me,” he said with authority. “Did you see where this other tray of dogs went?”

Roger replied without remorse. “Sure, I have them. Guess you should have gotten here first if you were so hungry.”

From a distance, I could see granny mouth “what a p-i-g pig” before she and her three cohorts turned their attention to the remaining dogs. Now none of them had back backs, but they did pull out paper bags from their pockets (except granny – she used her pocketbook) and they proceeded to grab a handful of dogs – about 8 each.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” I said with respect, “but do plan on eating all of those hot dogs?”

“Heavens no,” replied the golf pro. “I’m just taking some home for my wife and kids—they couldn’t be here tonight.”

There was a loud commotion as the main door opened again. It was almost 6:30 and there was a line at the door, but only five people squeezed through before the entrance was closed again. I recognized the bank manager. And my doctor (I am so overdue for a physical.) The other three were strangers to me, but judging from their attire, I just assumed they too were local business people.

As they darted toward the hotdog tray, I guess I was just relieved that no one pulled out a bag, paper or otherwise. Instead, they reached for the paper plates… like civilized folk. And yet, as they loaded these plates with about four dogs each, I wondered whether I was the only one who could sense the commotion that was about to follow.

Sure enough, at 6:30 sharp the doors opened and the remaining 90 guests filed in—and they too made way for the hot dogs. Most of them just stared… because by this time there could not have been more than 30 dogs left in total. 30 dogs for 90 people.

Some pushed ahead to grab their wiener. Others, perhaps those good at math, took a knife to cut some dogs in half. A few stepped back, content to go hungry for at least one evening. But many. Most, perhaps. Just stood and looked at those empty platters. And wondered.

“Do we not all live in the same town?” one young lady would later ask me. “These people have kids who go to school with my kids. We live in the same neighborhood. We go to the same church.”

I looked up as the woman in red left her close-knit group of four and approached and elderly man who sat alone in front of an empty plate. She reached into her brown paper bag and pulled out a hot dog, placed it on his plate and left without even waiting for the “thank you” that surely followed.

Once back in her comfort zone, the golf pro patted her on the back, and the football star gave her a hug.

Around 7pm, right on schedule, the town’s First Selectman stepped up to the podium, thanked those in attendance, and talked about our town—our history, where we’ve been, where we’re going.

I wrote down every word and recounted it in an article I wrote. After all, I am not a judge. Just a reporter.

on fatherhood

i may be dense.

ok, i am dense.

but often i need to experience something before i can internalize, see and understand. here are two examples from my experience of being a father.

first... the limitless nature of love. you grow up learning to love one mother. one father. one spouse. but it was not until after the birth of my third that i understood that the addition of each new child only increased the love i had for the ones that came before. cool, huh?

second... when i was 17, god and i had a little falling out. because i believed that if i truly loved god with all my heart, soul, mind and strength i would drop everything and become a missionary or priest. because i wanted no part of that, i assumed it meant i simply did not love god.

as a father, however, i do not want my three children spending their lives attending to my needs. i do not want them to pursue careers that interest me. i do not want them spending every waking hour thinking about me. i want them to live, love, explore and find out who they are as individuals... and then to follow the path before them with passion and joy. you see, what delights me most is when brian, meaghan and erin are the best brian, meaghan and erin they can be.

yes, that is what delights me most.

so today... love the lord by being what delights him most... you.

lessons from the rail trail

Sometimes people are just thirsty

Sometimes being an evangelist means you need to shut up.

Sometimes leading a movement has nothing to do with organizing or programs.

Sometimes when the wind blows, the trees come together to create the most well-choreographed ballet.

Sometimes you need to go out of your normal way to meet someone at the exact place where they wanted to be at that moment in time.

Sometimes people are cynical. Most times they are not.

Sometimes you can hear the river flowing… even when it is well out of range.

Sometimes you can give someone the most amazing gift just by showing up.

Sometimes people will stop and talk, and share things about their life, and not be really sure why they feel so comfortable with a stranger.

Sometimes the moments in life where absolutely nothing is going on are the fullest.

Sometimes people will go out of their way to repay a simple act of kindness.

Sometimes a smile means more than words.

Sometimes… there are not enough sometimes.

The cold and rain have brought an end to rail trail Saturdays for now… spring will be here soon... but not soon enough.

5 days with james: tuesday

Picking up on this series from a few months ago, the question for today is: how can you tell if you are alive in Christ?

In the book of Romans, the apostle Paul writes:

If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.

I remember an afternoon in NYC about 30 years ago. A young man approached me on the street and asked “Do you want to be saved?”

So we talked. And I confessed with my mouth that Jesus was Lord. And believed that God raised him from the dead. And was told that I was saved.

But these were all things I had already known… things taught to me by the nuns who taught grammar school… by the Jesuits who reveled in deep theological conversations in high school. Truth is, that afternoon was just another afternoon… more about an interesting encounter with a fellow New Yorker than with the almighty creator of the universe. I confessed and believed… but saved? Hmmmm….

That encounter from years past came to mind as I meditated on what are perhaps the most discussed verses in the Book of James, 2:14-26, where James makes the case that faith—when not accompanied by action and good deeds—is dead.

If all it takes are your mouth and heart to be saved, why are works required to be alive in faith? How does the message from James relate to Romans TNT?

Perhaps faith is not a transaction, it’s a movement. Heart-felt belief cannot be measured once at a point in time… it’s more like the intensity of a light at the end of a well-travelled road… one that gets brighter or dimmer or simply stagnates depending on which way we are walking (or not) at any moment.

On Monday morning, my mind and heart were on Christ as I drove to work. A car was pulled over with its hood raised, so I stopped my car and offered to help. It wasn’t something I thought about… my car just pulled over to the side of the road by itself. There was no way possible that I could pass this stranded driver by while I believed in my heart that God raised his only son from the dead in order to save me. No. way. possible.

But alas, there are many mornings when I simply drive by such people in need. On those days, while I still may confess that Jesus is Lord and believe God raised him from the day… those words don’t consume my heart. And that’s where the difference lies. In the condition of my heart.

Deeds are the measuring stick of the heart.

How frequently does my heart stop beating for Christ? Too often. For while you can have good works without Christ, you cannot have Christ without works. The heart will simply not allow it. And too often, I am simply driving by. Dead when I should be alive.

brother, where art thou?

History has no shortage of famous brothers.

Cain and Able. John, Bobby and Ted Kennedy. Jesse and Frank James. Joel and Ethan Coen. Orville and Wilbur Wright. The Marx Brothers. The Ringling Brothers. The list goes on and on.

Still, it only just occurred to me that the first disciples of Christ were brothers: Simon and Andrew.

Of course, Simon becomes Peter—the rock on which Jesus builds the church. So maybe Andrew just gets lost in the shuffle. Like Tommie Aaron, who shares in the major league record for most home runs ever hit by brothers (768).

But after Peter and Andrew… the next two called by Christ were also brothers: James and John.

And as you read through the Gospels, it becomes clear that Peter, Andrew, James and John were key guys – the inner ring of a small, select group of followers. These brothers climbed the mountain and witnessed the transfiguration, tussled for attention, prayed in Gethsemane and followed Christ through the trials all the way to his death on the cross… then ran to the tomb three days later.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that those called upon to follow Christ and spread the good news were brothers. We know for sure that there were times of doubt, fear and disbelief for these men. There were moments when they wanted to turn their back on God. When persecution and ridicule ran high. When it simply was too tough to believe. And even more difficult to walk in his footsteps.

And yet, they persevered.

Who else but a brother could convince you trust your heart?

Who else but a brother could reassure you in times of darkness?

Who else but a brother could kick you in the ass – and set you straight?

You see, Peter, Andrews, James and John shared a life before Christ. They shared experiences. Perspectives. Through their words, they could validate, strengthen and challenge each other like no other.

Some days I wonder, how much more could I do for Christ if my two brothers walked beside me. Could they reassure me, provide the strength and the nudges (and kicks) I so desperately need to be the man I know I could be? In my moments of doubt, fear and disbelief, could they grab me by the shoulder and whisper in my ear: Brother, we have grown up together... fruit of the same womb... be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be a man of courage; be strong. Do everything in love.

I don’t know.

For unlike Peter, Andrew, James and John… I walk without my brothers.

But I do not walk alone. There’s TK, Stephen, Francisco, Dave, Mike, Kris, Dan, Kevin, Bill, Scott, Norbert, Derek, Perry, Rich. Bob and Byron, to name a few. These are my brothers. We can be honest, and brutal, and forgiving, and a pain in the ass when necessary. We look out for one another. Brothers, for sure.

But… perhaps… not entirely the same.

5 days with james: thursday

Some of my friends are turned off from God because of what they see as a self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude among church goers.

The Book of James provides some words that make you think. One the one hand:

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

In simplest terms, James 1:27 tells us to love God and love your neighbor. Spiritually, you should focus on your own life, your own heart. And with your hands and feet, help those who need your assistance. There is no judgment, no condemnation, no preaching. Just love. Sounds simple.

But James ends on a slightly different tone:

My brothers, if one of you should wander from the truth and someone should bring him back, remember this: Whoever turns a sinner from the error of his way will save him from death and cover over a multitude of sins.

Here in 5:19-20, the Word seems to be promoting the idea of direct intervention—confrontation when one strays from the path, if you will. Here, victory comes when we turn someone around and steer them toward repentance.

If nothing else, the Book of James reminds me that building an argument for anything around one-off Bible verses is probably note ideal – we need to look at the broader context of the gospels and epistles. Good thing I committed to writing five posts on James… will give me something to think about for the next two.

5 days with james: monday

You’ve heard the phrase ‘practice what you preach’. In the Book of James, it reads as such:

Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.

When a preacher or pastor does something wrong, it makes for headlines. While we are all just as weak or fallible, some can fail in silence while others must succumb to the cry “you hypocrite!”

I wonder, however, whether this affects what topics pastors and preachers choose for their Sunday sermons. I wonder whether this need to ‘practice what you preach’ leads some to simply “preach what they already practice”. After all, do you find it surprising that the most popular sermons among married men involve homosexuality and abortions? Those are pretty safe bets.

Of course, these fears probably extend beyond the pulpit. I am sure that I am more likely to harp on my spouse, my kids, my co-workers in areas that are my strengths – and ignore their lapses in areas where I, let's say, need some more practice.

so, why don't you give more?

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on."

An article in the NY Times Magazine caught my eye last month.

For decades, surveys have shown that upper-income Americans don’t give away as much of their money as they might and are particularly undistinguished as givers when compared with the poor, who are strikingly generous.

Americans as a whole tend to be far more generous than other nations – giving more than $300 billion a year. But when you peel back the numbers, you find that low-income working families are the most generous group, giving away about 4.5 percent of their income on average. This compares to about 2.5 percent among the middle class, and 3 percent among high-income families.

So why is it that those with the most disposable income are less inclined to part with their wealth?

Low income people may just know more people who are in need. Poverty, homelessness and hunger are not statistics or movies of the week – they are family members, neighbors, co-workers. There are faces and stories that bring these issues to life on a daily basis. Need is real.

There’s also the ‘there but for the grace of God’ phenomenon. When you’re living paycheck to paycheck, there is always a chance that you may one day move from donor to donee – a likelihood that becomes less likely when you have a six-figure IRA.

Perhaps, too, we have a much easier time grasping dollars than percentages. While $2,000 for the deli worker may represent more than $20,000 from a bank VP – the $20,000 just sounds like a lot more.

Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.

Why are those who have the most to give the least likely to share in their abundance?We fall in love. We fall in love with money. With the pleasure, power and security it provides. We love money more than we love people.

And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we seek out things to covet? We begin by coveting what we see every day.

What’s worse, the NY Times article adds, only a small percentage of charitable giving by the wealthy was actually going to the needs of the poor; instead it was mostly directed to other causes — cultural institutions, alma maters — which often came with the not-inconsequential payoff of enhancing the donor’s status among his or her peers.

So... I’m not looking for an answer to this next question, but hope you will take a moment to reflect in your own way: What is stopping you from give 5%, 10%, 15% or more to those in need?

is there no going back?

People will come Ray. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack.

There has been a lot of chatter recently regarding the need to “restore America”. So it got me thinking… is there a particular date in time we want to restore?

I walked down my street the other day and thought about the people who live on my block. These are good people, neighbors who are willing to lend a hand, watch out for each others’ kids. They get involved in the community, many go to church or synagogue, they keep their homes neat.

My neighbors are OK, so I guess it’s you and your friends that are causing all the problems.

Over the past two scores and seven years, I have lived in poor, congested city blocks and upper middle-class suburbs. And when I think about the moral character of my neighbors, their honor, their values… the only conclusion that makes any sense is that people are people… much like they have always been. The kids my children hang out with look, sound and act a lot like the kids I want to school with some thirty-off years ago. So what exactly are we trying to restore?

In one blog discussion, a man wrote about how this nation was going downhill, and he talked about rising crime, more abortions, an increase in divorce and a host of other metrics that reflect on our country’s values. The problem, however, is that facts show otherwise.

• Violent crime is at its lowest point in 35 years
• The homicide rate is at its lowest point in 45 years
• The abortion rate has steadily declined since 1984
• The divorce rate hasn’t been as low since 1970
• Heck, even the flow of illegal immigrants from Mexico is down

The charitable spirit of America remains high – including a record $300 billion in donations and hundreds upon hundreds of millions of hours volunteered in areas in need, such as New Orleans.

So I wonder, what exactly are we looking to restore?

Look up any point in time in America’s history and you can cite instances of corruption, hate and selfishness… as well as beauty, caring, respect and love.

When you think about what has changed in America in recent years—there are probably three factors that have contributed most to the current “restoration” meme.

1. 24/7 Information Access
We’ve gone from a half-hour of Walter Cronkite to a non-stop barrage of cable news, Internet stories and email chains. As bad news, tragedy and evil provide for good ratings, we are inundated in negative news.

2. The Global Economy
We import more than we export, and for the past ten years about 5% of the US GDP has been transferred to other countries—in essence redistributing wealth around the world.

3. Income Distribution
We have increasingly become a nation of haves and have nots. When I was younger, there was a sense that everyone in the “middle class” was in it together. Today, the upper middle class has broken away from the pack. In the past 40 years, the income of the lower middle class and middle class has risen less than 30%, while the upper middle class (57%) and upper class (74%) have experienced significantly higher gains. (And let's not even discuss the rich.)

In simplest terms we know more, other countries are improving and we no longer share a common lifestyle. But as far as I know, no one wants to give up their Internet, low-cost products or paychecks.

So I pose the question to you… has America changed? Should we go back—or move forward? Are people different today? Or do we simply romanticize about the past, just as our forefathers remembered the good old days?

People will come Ray. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.

what a great idea!

As someone who spends half of my day writing, it should come as no surprise that many of the remaining hours are dedicated to research… so I spend a lot of time on the Google machine.

When citing market trends or supporting facts, I always make it a point to find multiple sources. In many cases, however, one could read dozens of articles that make a similar claim – only to find out that everyone has based their story on the same 2003 study out of an Indiana junior college. And when you go download the original 67-page study, you see that its authors included dozens of caveats that never made it into the news.

Apparently, as journalism has migrated from a once-a-day print edition to an endless stream of digital posts, there is no time, budget or desire for fact-checking.

Perhaps I am guilty as well. Often I am telling a story to drive interest in a specific technology or raise awareness about a specific business problem – and when I go online looking for source material, I am usually looking for a fact or tidbit that supports a pre-conceived notion. Given the vastness of the Internet – 230 million Website, another 100 million+ blogs and trillions of pages – you can ALWAYS find someone who can support ANY point of view.

And when you read that opinion that matches your preconceived notion, a light bulb goes off. What a great idea! This guy is a genius! I need to share this article with everyone! Quick, post this link on Facebook!

It’s so easy to find someone who agrees with you—no matter how crazy you are—that there is really no reason to investigate the facts anymore. Or consider an opposing viewpoint. Or question our pre-conieved notions.

After all, if so-and-so writes X and he’s a genius – that makes me pretty smart for agreeing with him. Instant validation!

So here’s my promise for today. Before posting any links to my blog or Facebook page, I will take a moment to consider what Rotary calls the four-way test. Of the things we thing, say or so:

1. Is it the TRUTH?
2. Is it FAIR to all concerned?
3. Will it build GOODWILL and BETTER FRIENDSHIPS?
4. Will it be BENEFICIAL to all concerned?

Given the standards of most Internet stories, doesn’t sound like I will be posting many links anymore..