Three boys were talking about their dads and what they did for a living. The first boy says, "My dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a poem and they give him 50 bucks."
The second boy says, "My Dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a song and they give him a 100 bucks."
The third boy says, "My Dad writes a few things on a piece of paper, calls it a sermon and it takes eight people to collect the money."
Showing posts with label stewardship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stewardship. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Myth of Scarcity - Illustrated by Jake the Dog
I have begun to suspect that the anxiety of our age may even extend to pets.
One night Jake had been impossible in his demands for attention. He must have been feeling insecure about all the other dogs parading by our house, because he would bark at them and then insist on having our undivided attention. He would put his forelegs on my lap and stare meaningfully into my eyes, so that I could see only Jake. His unique breath filled my nostrils so that I could only think of Jake.
Almost as a form of bribery we gave him a rawhide bone to chew on. Our hope was that his attention would be fixed on the bone and he would leave us alone. For a few minutes that was the case. But after awhile Jake pacing around the room. Debbie and I were fascinated. At one point he placed the bone behind a pillow on the love seat. Moments later he picked the bone up and continued wandering around the house.
Eventually we realized that Jake was trying to find a place to safely store the bone. And he was becoming more agitated as his search continued. Nowhere in the house was suitable. He began to whine as he carried the bone from room to room. And his pacing and whining were worse than his meaningful stares.
Finally Debbie took the bone away from him and stored it in the cupboard. And that seemed to satisfy Jake, who by now was exhausted.
Jake illustrates the power of the myth of scarcity by becoming more anxious when he is given a bone. Now he has to find a place to hide and protect that bone in case a marauding dog should enter our house and look behind the pillow on the love seat and take Jake's bone. Or the myth convinces Jake that he will never again receive a bone from us and therefore this one must be protected at all costs even to the point of giving up the joy of chewing the bone.
Scholar and theologian Walter Brueggemann in an essay entitled "The Truth of Abundance" argues that because the basis of the myth of scarcity is anxiety, not economic analysis, the best way to combat it is with a different view of reality: one he calls a lyric of abundance. The lyric of abundance begins with reflecting on the nature of the God we worship.
[from a sermon by Phil Peterson - Where Your Treasure Is (The Lyric of Abundance)]
One night Jake had been impossible in his demands for attention. He must have been feeling insecure about all the other dogs parading by our house, because he would bark at them and then insist on having our undivided attention. He would put his forelegs on my lap and stare meaningfully into my eyes, so that I could see only Jake. His unique breath filled my nostrils so that I could only think of Jake.
Almost as a form of bribery we gave him a rawhide bone to chew on. Our hope was that his attention would be fixed on the bone and he would leave us alone. For a few minutes that was the case. But after awhile Jake pacing around the room. Debbie and I were fascinated. At one point he placed the bone behind a pillow on the love seat. Moments later he picked the bone up and continued wandering around the house.
Eventually we realized that Jake was trying to find a place to safely store the bone. And he was becoming more agitated as his search continued. Nowhere in the house was suitable. He began to whine as he carried the bone from room to room. And his pacing and whining were worse than his meaningful stares.
Finally Debbie took the bone away from him and stored it in the cupboard. And that seemed to satisfy Jake, who by now was exhausted.
Jake illustrates the power of the myth of scarcity by becoming more anxious when he is given a bone. Now he has to find a place to hide and protect that bone in case a marauding dog should enter our house and look behind the pillow on the love seat and take Jake's bone. Or the myth convinces Jake that he will never again receive a bone from us and therefore this one must be protected at all costs even to the point of giving up the joy of chewing the bone.
Scholar and theologian Walter Brueggemann in an essay entitled "The Truth of Abundance" argues that because the basis of the myth of scarcity is anxiety, not economic analysis, the best way to combat it is with a different view of reality: one he calls a lyric of abundance. The lyric of abundance begins with reflecting on the nature of the God we worship.
[from a sermon by Phil Peterson - Where Your Treasure Is (The Lyric of Abundance)]
Saturday, March 21, 2009
A Good Gift
Bidding had been a bit disappointing at the Harvest Festival Live Auction the year after terrorists removed the World Trade Center from the New York City skyline forever. The economy was uncertain, unemployment was on the rise, and people were cautious with their spending, even if the money was going for missions. But the atmosphere in the church Fellowship Hall was lively and joyful, even though many “bargains” were handed over by the auctioneer.
But then two giggling teenagers paraded around the room with a beautiful hand-stitched wedding ring quilt. Pat Armstrong nudged her husband. “That’s the one,” she said. “Don’t you think it’ll look perfect in our guest room?” Bob, who had learned long ago that it was easier to agree with his wife’s decorating fancies than fight them, wisely nodded. “Get your number up!” Bob calmly obliged, and the bidding began. The numbers rose: $150...$250...$550...$750. A similar quilt had sold 15 minutes ago for $500. People began to pay attention. Nothing in the auction so far had created this much of a stir. “Keep going,” Pat said. “The church needs the money for missions and I need that quilt!” Bob nodded. $850.
Soon, there was only one other bidder, a small man seated quietly in the back corner of the room. Pat couldn’t see who it was. But it didn’t matter. She wanted that quilt! $1150...$1350...$1500 going once...going twice...SOLD! The crowd cheered, the auctioneer wiped his brow, Pat bounced in her seat. And if Bob was slightly startled by the amount of money he had just agreed to pay, his emotions were confined to one, long sigh.
The auction continued. A week-long catamaran voyage in the Caribbean drew $3,000. But nothing seemed as exciting as the duel for this wedding ring quilt.
After the auction, Sunday school class members congratulated Bob and Pat on their win. Pat asked, “Who was it we were bidding against? I couldn’t see them?” “It was Don Frogge,” someone said. Bob and Pat looked at each other. “Don Frogge?” Pat said. “Didn’t his wife stitch this quilt?” “She did. It was the last one she made before she died. She intended it for the Harvest Festival auction, and Don thought it was right to donate it. But it was her last quilt. He realized he wanted to buy it back and keep it.”
Don and Amy had been married for 52 years. Bob and Pat didn’t even have to discuss their intentions as they grabbed the quilt and headed out to the parking lot to catch Don. “Don!” Bob called. “Wait up!” They reached Don at his car and handed him the quilt. “We bought this for you,” Pat said. “We want you to have it.” Don was speechless, and full of emotion. “I intended to buy this quilt back. I know Amy wanted the church to have the money. But I wanted to have her quilt. I could tell you meant to have it, too, Pat. So I let it go. I tried to tell myself that she would have wanted me to do that, but...” He looked up. “Thank you.”
“We’ll see you Sunday,” said Bob and Pat. And they walked off to their car, very satisfied with their $1500 purchase. Bob put the quilt lovingly on the seat of his car, closed the door, and walked back into the church. At the Auction Check-Out table, Bob pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check for $1500. He knew he was blessed to have received the quilt from his friends. And he thought it only fitting that the church's missions budget should be twice blessed by this gift.
But then two giggling teenagers paraded around the room with a beautiful hand-stitched wedding ring quilt. Pat Armstrong nudged her husband. “That’s the one,” she said. “Don’t you think it’ll look perfect in our guest room?” Bob, who had learned long ago that it was easier to agree with his wife’s decorating fancies than fight them, wisely nodded. “Get your number up!” Bob calmly obliged, and the bidding began. The numbers rose: $150...$250...$550...$750. A similar quilt had sold 15 minutes ago for $500. People began to pay attention. Nothing in the auction so far had created this much of a stir. “Keep going,” Pat said. “The church needs the money for missions and I need that quilt!” Bob nodded. $850.
Soon, there was only one other bidder, a small man seated quietly in the back corner of the room. Pat couldn’t see who it was. But it didn’t matter. She wanted that quilt! $1150...$1350...$1500 going once...going twice...SOLD! The crowd cheered, the auctioneer wiped his brow, Pat bounced in her seat. And if Bob was slightly startled by the amount of money he had just agreed to pay, his emotions were confined to one, long sigh.
The auction continued. A week-long catamaran voyage in the Caribbean drew $3,000. But nothing seemed as exciting as the duel for this wedding ring quilt.
After the auction, Sunday school class members congratulated Bob and Pat on their win. Pat asked, “Who was it we were bidding against? I couldn’t see them?” “It was Don Frogge,” someone said. Bob and Pat looked at each other. “Don Frogge?” Pat said. “Didn’t his wife stitch this quilt?” “She did. It was the last one she made before she died. She intended it for the Harvest Festival auction, and Don thought it was right to donate it. But it was her last quilt. He realized he wanted to buy it back and keep it.”
Don and Amy had been married for 52 years. Bob and Pat didn’t even have to discuss their intentions as they grabbed the quilt and headed out to the parking lot to catch Don. “Don!” Bob called. “Wait up!” They reached Don at his car and handed him the quilt. “We bought this for you,” Pat said. “We want you to have it.” Don was speechless, and full of emotion. “I intended to buy this quilt back. I know Amy wanted the church to have the money. But I wanted to have her quilt. I could tell you meant to have it, too, Pat. So I let it go. I tried to tell myself that she would have wanted me to do that, but...” He looked up. “Thank you.”
“We’ll see you Sunday,” said Bob and Pat. And they walked off to their car, very satisfied with their $1500 purchase. Bob put the quilt lovingly on the seat of his car, closed the door, and walked back into the church. At the Auction Check-Out table, Bob pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check for $1500. He knew he was blessed to have received the quilt from his friends. And he thought it only fitting that the church's missions budget should be twice blessed by this gift.
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