Generosity

In these days of widespread, rampant narcissism, generosity is a virtue that just shines. Generosity is a form of love. Though it can be faked, in its pure form it is guileless. To receive it is to feel blessed and loved. The proper response is gratitude. It is rare because it can only come from a generous heart. In some sense it is true altruism. Generosity expresses, without expectation of gain, love and joy at just sharing.

Here is an example. I visited my brother recently in Louisville, Kentucky. His life is busy. He is a retired university professor with an entrepreneurial business of great import and creativity which demands every ounce of attention that he can muster for it. His partners, all internet linked, correspond and meet with him constantly through instant message and phone conference. His spouse, also a university prof, is frantically busy and engaged in a heavy teaching schedule and publication deadlines.

In the middle of this busy life, my brother finds the time to tend, long distance, to the needs of three children in their early twenties who are trying to find their careers and their future. He takes care of our mother, now 87 and just arrived at the time for assisted living in a "memory wing" at the local Episcopal Home. She has been suffering from Alzheimer symptoms for years, of course, and Mark has been by her side, doing her laundry, attending to her errand needs, picking her up and patching her up after many, many falls.

So here I am, in one of my occasional visits to this beloved man to see my mother's new digs, on the last night of a short visit. His wife and I and their two cats and a dog are enjoying our last hours together and Mark turns on his everpresent laptop and begins to share his favorite sixties and seventies songs with me through a headset. Since we can't both use it, he starts tune after tune, and puts the headset on me so I can enjoy the song. Then he and his lovely wife dance to the severely muted bits of music that leak out around the headset I'm wearing into the room. I hear the music and see the dance. They enjoy my joy in the experience, but can't hear the music well. I was deeply touched by this act of love expressed in their generosity. It is apparent that my brother is about generosity in so many, many ways. He inspired me, again. His wife took photos which I look forward to seeing later. I love him, I love them all, so.

Stopping for Worship on a Cold Morning

On a recent wintry trip to Louisville to visit my mother and brother Mark, I went to church at an inner-city Presbyterian church (James Lees Memorial Presbyterian) , liberal and alive. The worship was sincere, if tentative in contrast to my home church. Not all who attend here are yet believers. The pastor limits jargon and preaches a gentle gospel that lifts high our Christ.

The service began with announcements, then a gentle, sweet Taize hymn during which all came to the front to light a candle, an offering of their presence establishing reverence and invoking the Holy Spirit. An original poem was read by one of the assembled friends, a man in his fifties with the look of solidity. The poem was thoughtful, sentimental, quiet, bringing images of an elderly aunt's love from the senility of a visit made to her assisted living memory unit. Since I was visiting my mother in just such a setting, I was deeply touched. A generous dose of silence was used to digest the poem. Then a hymn. Then today's message from the casually-sweatered and colorfully-stoled pastor, based on the healing of a leper. He focused on the societal healing needed then and now. The service was gentle. I think we occasionally sighed together in the peace of it. We were quiet and pleased to be there together. Prayers were given and received. We sang "There is a balm in Gilead" in soft voices. The service lasted two hours. No hurry. Joy.

I think the most dominant aspect of the service was a huge flannel felt board that had been stretched on the dais. It rose behind an Indian cross, a large bowl for baptism, a table for monthly communion, two short scaffolding-like candle holders for the people's candles, large, quality speakers and a piano. But the navy blue felt board backdrop was central. On it had been placed colorful felt scale renditions of the intersection, church and neighborhood where we sat. The represented intersection's cross was turned to the diagonal, which put the cross of the people's interaction in the center of our gaze. Each house and building and car and passerby was ornamented by a star, indicating the presence of the Spirit of Christ, referred to in the pastor's message as Christ consciousness in all. In the dark winter sky was the large ascended star of Bethlehem, which had been introduced to the tableau during Advent/Christmastide/Epiphany. The scene is a changing one. Every week's scripture/message/hymn brings detailed change to the composition. I imagine that the shepherd of this flock spends long days during the week in contemplation and rich interaction with the elements displayed here. Scissors and flannel pieces are constructed and placed just so. It all seemed on this day so tucked in and densely conceived.

The "priest"Jim, for that is how he interacts and teaches, is all about accessibility. To what end? He has drawn my brother from a lifetime of agnosticism punctuated by ongoing tolerant interactions with me on the teachings of Jesus, to a seat in the community of God. It is a miracle. I praise God for it. The church is alive, and liberal?, in Louisville.

Kill your Television

A friend of mine has a bumper sticker that says this. I have begun to entertain the sentiment. With recent serious surgery and slow recovery, I've submerged myself in low energy activities, one of which is TV. At the same time, we switched from Comcast to DirectTV to save the $20 per month. So, there I was. Stuck on the tube. It is dawning on me that the time of my video fascination is over. I once ate so much peanut butter one summer that I could no longer stomach the stuff. I'm dangerously close to the same tipping point on TV.

As an unwanted side effect of watching TV, I have blotted out my quiet life and my prayer. Even while I watched G. K. Chesterton or a mass from the Holy Land, my awareness was lost in the experience. There was no reaching out to God, no searching for connection. I just drooled my way from one day to the next.

I'm swearing off, with the exception of one hour Monday night to watch 24. Support me in my fast, please.