SPOKEN MEDITATION

In this season of anticipation
let us put aside our mental checklists and
worries about what needs to be accomplished
by the end of this week.
Have no fear about misplacing them.
They will return to you all too soon.
Let us enjoy a time of stillness in this sacred place.
The darkness of these December days draws us inward
as the cold, rain, sleet and ice
drive us into our caves seeking a place to hibernate.
May the gloom of this time of year
not depress our spirits
as we either dread or long for
the coming of the white stuff.
No matter what comes out of the sky,
the warmth of this community will be your shield.
No matter how low the sun sinks in the southern sky,
our collective confidence will ease your mind.
Even on the darkest night, faith, hope and love endure, undarkened.

CENTERING

In spite of the fun and laughter, 13-year old Frank Wilson was not happy. It was true he had received all the presents he wanted. And he enjoyed the traditional Christmas Eve reunions with relatives for the purpose of exchanging gifts and good wishes.

But, Frank was not happy because this was his first Christmas without his brother, Steve, who during the year, had been killed by a reckless driver. Frank missed his brother and the close companionship they had together.

Frank said good-bye to his relatives and explained to his parents that he was leaving a little early to see a friend; and from there he could walk home. Since it was cold outside, Frank put on his new plaid jacket. It was his FAVORITE gift. He placed the other presents on his new sled.

Then Frank headed out, hoping to find the patrol leader of his Boy Scout troop. Frank always felt understood by him. Though rich in wisdom, he lived in the Flats, the section of town where most of the poor lived, and his patrol leader did odd jobs to help support his family. To Frank's disappointment, his friend was not at home.

As Frank hiked down the street toward home, he caught glimpses of trees and decorations in many of the small houses. Then, through one front window, he glimpsed a shabby room with limp stockings hanging over an empty fireplace. A woman was seated nearby ... weeping.

The stockings reminded him of the way he and his brother had always hung theirs side by side. The next morning, they would be bursting with presents. A sudden thought struck Frank -- he had not done his "good deed" for the day. Before the impulse passed, he knocked on the door. "Yes?" the sad voice of the woman asked. "May I come in?" asked Frank.

"You are very welcome," she said, seeing his sled full of gifts, and assuming he was making a collection, "but I have no food or gifts for you. I have nothing for my own children."

"That's not why I am here," Frank replied. "Please choose whatever presents you would like for your children from the sled." "Why, God Bless You!" the amazed woman answered gratefully.

She selected some candies, a game, the toy airplane and a puzzle. When she took the Scout flashlight, Frank almost cried out. Finally, the stockings were full.

"Won't you tell me your name?" she asked, as Frank was leaving. "Just call me the Christmas Scout," he replied.

The visit left Frank touched, and with an unexpected flicker of joy in his heart. He understood that his sorrow was not the only sorrow in the world. Before he left the Flats, he had given away the remainder of his gifts. The plaid jacket had gone to a shivering boy.

Now Frank trudged homeward, cold and uneasy. How could he explain to his parents that he had given his presents away?

"Where are your presents, son?" asked his father as Frank entered the house. Frank answered, "I gave them away."

"The airplane from Aunt Susan? Your coat from Grandma? Your flashlight? We thought you were happy with your gifts." "I was--very happy," the boy answered quietly.

"But Frank, how could you be so impulsive?" his mother asked. "How will we explain to the relatives who spent so much time and gave so much love shopping for you?" His father was firm. "You made your choice, Frank. We cannot afford any more presents."

With his brother gone, and his family disappointed in him, Frank suddenly felt dreadfully alone. He had not expected a reward for his generosity, for he knew that a good deed always should be its own reward. It would be tarnished otherwise. So he did not want his gifts back; however he wondered if he would ever again truly recapture joy in his life. He thought he had this evening, but it had been fleeting. Frank thought of his brother, and sobbed himself to sleep.

The next morning, he came downstairs to find his parents listening to Christmas music on the radio. Then the announcer spoke:

"Merry Christmas, everybody! The nicest Christmas story we have this morning comes from the Flats. A crippled boy down there has a new sled this morning, another youngster has a fine plaid jacket, and several families report that their children were made happy last night by gifts from a teenage boy who simply called himself the Christmas Scout. No one could identify him, but the children of the Flats claim that the Christmas Scout was a personal representative of old Santa Claus himself."

Frank felt his father's arms go around his shoulders, and he saw his mother smiling through her tears. "Why didn't you tell us? We didn't understand. We are so proud of you, son." The carols came over the air again filling the room with music ---

"O...star of wonder, star of light,
star, with royal beauty bright,
westward leading, still proceeding,
guide us to guide us through this perfect night.

The Good Samaritan parable is told by Jesus to explain who is one's neighbor. It is also an enduring parable of kindness and generosity.

"A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, "Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend."

SERMON

Thanks for coming this morning. While I was very excited by title of this sermon about a month ago, I've had some second thoughts worrying I might be pushing some guilt buttons by talking about giving.

It reminds me of a story about a man named Joe who was a member of a country church. While having breakfast Sunday morning he read in the newsletter that the sermon title was "The Power of Giving" "Sounds like they will be dunning us for money this morning." thought Joe, "I think I'll just stay home."

The next day, Joe met his friend Jim at the market and he asked him what happened at church yesterday. "You missed a great service," said Jim. "I've never seen anything like it! The minister came down out of the pulpit and gave everyone a $20 bill!" Joe was miffed he hadn't go and collected his $20 bill. "Why that could have been dinner, a movie and even some popcorn!" he thought. "The sermon title for next week is `The Power of Giving...Even More'" said Jim. "I wouldn't miss it if I were you."

When Sunday came, Joe was one of the first to arrive but the sanctuary was locked until right before the service. Just as it was time for the service to begin, the minister opened the doors into the sanctuary and asked everyone to come in and remain standing.

When everyone was in the room, he asked the people who had spent the money and had nothing to show for it, to sit in the back rows. Well, very few were willing to confess they'd taken the gift and spent it so only two people sat in the back. The minister shook his head in disbelief that his gift was frittered away.

Next he asked everyone who hadn't done anything with the money to sit down in front of them. A several more were willing to sit and the minister sighed with disappointment.

"And now," he said expectantly, "Who has increased the value of my gift?" Well, everyone else, whether they had done so, or not, sat down in the front. Joe sat in the front row. The minister smiled from ear to ear and asked people to tell what God had done with the money. One fellow said he had put it in the bank and had earned a few pennies of interest. Another invested it in the stock market and doubled her money. Another used it to bet on the horses and had picked several winners. Well the stories began to grow with each speaker trying to top the last. Finally, the minister looked at Joe and asked him how he'd done. Joe lied, "Well, God must favor me. I did better than all of you. I bought a lottery ticket and won a 1000 dollars!" The minister whipped out the collection plates and said, "It's time to bring home the harvest!"

Well, we've already passed the collection plate so you're safe. And there is no part two to this sermon.

I thought the best way to talk about the kind of giving that creates a self-sustaining virtuous circle of giving would be to share some stories. I've been enjoying a new book titled, Stone Soup for the World: Life Changing Stories of Kindness & Courageous Acts of Service edited by Marianne Larned[1]. The stories are short in length but not in inspiration.

Dwight Eisenhower is reported to have said,

Fortunately for us and our world, youth is not easily discouraged. Youth with their clear vista and boundless faith and optimism are uninhibited by the thousands of considerations that always bedevil us in our progress. The hopes of the world rest on the flexibility, vigor, capacity for new thought and the fresh outlook of the young[2].

One Sunday morning in the spring of 1993, eleven-year-old David Levitt read "The Power of an Idea" in Parade magazine[3]. The story was about Stan Curtis, a Kentucky man who had founded a network of volunteers to transport donated food to hungry people. The program was called Harvest USA, with over eighty chapters across the nation. David was so intrigued, particularly by their motto "Feeding the hungry without money," that he paid a visit to another food organization, the local Tampa Bay Harvest.

The president gave him all kinds of information about Stan Curtis' food donor program called "Operation Food for Thought" in Louisville, where donated leftovers from school cafeterias go to the hungry. David thought, "Why couldn't he create a similar program in his school so that leftover food could feed the homeless in local soup kitchens?"

The sixth-grader first approached his school principal with his idea, but was told that there were probably government regulations that would prevent a program like this from getting off the ground. Even his new friends at Tampa Bay Harvest told him that several people had made similar proposals to the Pinellas County School Board only to be defeated. Nevertheless, David was not discouraged.

Over the next few weeks, David collected facts, figures, and success stories from Tampa Bay Harvest and Operation Food for Thought. He researched Florida's laws regarding food donations. He wrote a proposal, made eight copies of it, and personally delivered it to the superintendent and all seven members of the Pinellas County School Board. He got the phone numbers of each of the board members, personally called each one, and asked their response to his idea. No one had ever taken the time to do this before and the school board members were really impressed with David's determination.

David's twelfth birthday was a big one. He found himself standing before the Pinellas County School Board in the very room he had been awed by only weeks before. His persistence and hard work had paid off. The school board unanimously approved his plan! David smiled in victory. "It just took a kid to help them see that this matters," he said.

Five months went by, however, and the program had still not been implemented. David was getting impatient. Food was being wasted and people were going hungry. David called the president of Tampa Bay Harvest to see what needed to be done. It turned out that they needed airtight containers to ship the food, and since the school system's budget had no money to purchase them, Tampa Bay Harvest was responsible for buying the containers. But they didn't even have a bank account, let alone the money.

David set out on a quest for containers. A visit to his local supermarket got him the addresses of companies that made containers. He then sent letters to every company he could find. Publix Super Market, Inc. was the first to help. They sent him a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate to buy containers. He was making progress, but it wasn't nearly enough. Next, David received a letter from an executive at First Brands Company, maker of Glad Lock bags. They were so impressed with David's project that they sent him eight cases of storage bags and later committed to providing an ongoing supply. David was delighted.

Now the program was finally ready to begin. It had taken just about a year from the time David had gotten approval from the school board for the first school lunch food to find its way to the hungry. At first, ten schools donated their leftover lunches to soup kitchens and local shelters. Today one hundred and five schools in Pinellas County send their leftover lunches to the volunteer transportation network-over 234,000 pounds of food in two years!

At, fifteen-years-old David wondered, "Can you imagine how much food there would be for the homeless if every food server throughout the U.S. participated in food donation programs?" Now he's lobbying the Florida legislature to get his program to go statewide. When David tells others about his experience, he says,

"Kids can make a difference, and adults will take the time to listen to kids...The most important thing I've learned is how good it makes you feel when you do something to help others. Working with the Harvest program has made me a better person. I want to champion causes like these as long as I live."

David isn't the only persistent kid out there trying to make a difference. Let me tell you about Ashley.

Seven-year-old Ashley looked out from her bedroom window[4]. A tall white man, wearing a baseball cap, was measuring the vacant lot in front of her apartment, and she thought she'd better have a talk with him. He probably didn't know it, but she had big plans for this space. She darted past her mother and little brother, and ran outside.

People in the neighborhood had been watching Darell Hammond all morning but Ashley was the first to speak to him. "Have you come to build the playground?" she asked. "A playground, what a great idea!" said Darell, with a smile. How could she know that? he thought to himself.

"I'm Ashley," she said. "I've been praying for a playground and I have big plans for it!" "What exactly are your plans?" Darell asked. Ashley dashed back into her apartment, returning with a handful of drawings. By then, other kids had started to gather. Darell looked at Ashley's drawings and listened to the neighborhood kids. It seemed they all had big plans. "A dinosaur you can climb on," said one. "A big ship," said another.

Darell looked around at the dry, dusty, grassless area. The Southeast Washington D.C. housing complex was poorly maintained. The neighborhood was known mostly for its poverty and crime. The lot had become a breeding ground after dark for illegal activity: drugs, gangs, and violence.

Darell immediately liked Ashley. She reminded him of himself, when he was her age. He had lived in a children's home with his eight brothers and sisters. He was a dreamer too, always coming up with ways to build a better world for children like him. Now 24-year-old Darell had an idea to turn this place around.

A week later, he returned. This time Ashley's mother and neighbors, Ms. Marshal and Ms. Law, came out to talk with him. He told the women about Ashley's dream and how he wanted to help make it come true. "But it's going to take a lot more than imagination," he told them. That was an understatement. What it would take was one hundred volunteers and about $40,000, Darell added, as Ashley's mother stared in disbelief.

There weren't many more than one hundred adults living in the entire complex, and many of them were single mothers who had little spare time. As for the $40,000, well, that was simply going to take a miracle. The mothers weren't sure how they were going to make it happen, but for the children, they wanted to try. "I'll help out, Darell!" Ashley yelled, as she disappeared down the sidewalk with a trail of children following her, in search of one hundred adults.

And her work paid off. A week later, the community meeting was so packed, the kids had to gather outside. With paper and crayons the youngsters drew more of their playground ideas. Inside, the adults talked excitedly. Before long, churches, grocery stores, and even the local gas stations had posters advertising the community playground project. Ashley and the other kids led a penny drive to raise money.

But as the time to build the playground neared, they were desperately short of the funds. Many people were convinced the project would never happen. "Not in that neighborhood," they said. "You'll never raise that kind of money or get enough volunteers." After a while, even Darell became disheartened.

Let me pause in telling this story to reflect on Darell's discouragement. Darell is like so many of us who start out with good intentions trying to make a difference and encounter disappointment and unrealized expectations. Our lives aren't on the line so we can retreat to the comfort of our homes and quietly give up. What rescues us in our flagging, discouraging moments is our connections, the web of relationships we build as we strive to make a difference. The story continues:

One day when Darell was almost ready to give up, Ashley ran up to him, out of breath. "Darell, we raised $9.97 in pennies this week! Isn't that great?" she asked. "That can buy something, right? A sliding board maybe?" In that moment, Darell knew Ashley would never give up. "Yes, Ashley," he said, "that will buy something wonderful," as he put his baseball cap onto her little head. If this little dreamer wouldn't quit, neither would he.

That's when fate stepped in to lend a hand. Later that day, Darell got a call from the local lumberyard. They wanted to donate a semi-trailer full of wood and five truckloads of wood mulch to spread around the playground! The next day, someone else called, donating some old tires. A woman from the paint store contributed paint and brushes. The church offered to make breakfast for volunteers and send their youth group to help. The miracle Ashley's mother had asked for began to materialize.

Before long, the empty lot was filled with piles of donated supplies and swarms of people! These volunteers worked tirelessly for four straight days. On the second day it rained, but they just kept building.

The whole apartment complex was filled with the echoes of hammers and saws, and clouds of sawdust. It was a beautiful sight to see. On the last day of construction, there were nearly five hundred volunteers! Even the children helped. They filled wheelbarrows and buckets with mulch, spreading it across the enormous playground. They screwed the last bolts into the dinosaur made of tires and hung the tire swings.

When the work was done, Ashley's mom and the other neighbors stood back, amazed. Their community playground was finally finished. And they did it for the children. Ms. Marshall just shook her head, saying softly, "I never would have imagined..." But Ashley wasn't surprised. "Darell and I...we always knew," she said with confidence, as she stared at the 24 foot sliding board. "We had big plans."

Call it fate or call it God's hand, or call it the power of the interdependent web, there are forces in our world, potentialities if you will, that are ready to be tapped for the right cause, and with the right approach. Those who are benefiting from our economic boom and public servants in government do want to help make this a better world. I believe most people want to give and become involved in projects that make a difference. The outpouring of support for our Bosnian family, the Mamootavich's, has been inspirational for those involved. Our Habitat for Humanity house gave us a taste of what we can do together. Kids like David and Ashley and adults like Darell discover they are not depleted by their giving but energized as are those around them. Each success creates a stepping stone for the next success.

The vibrancy of this congregation is built on giving too. I remember this on a daily basis as I give thanks for the privilege of being your minister. I can think of few better places to discover the gift that keeps on giving than participation in an altruistic religious community like ours.

So this holiday season, however you choose to do it, give until it feels ... good!

Benediction

"Tell me the weight of a snowflake," a coal mouse asked a wild dove. "Nothing more than nothing," was the answer.

"In that case I must tell you a marvelous story," the coal mouse said. "I sat on the branch of a fir, close to its trunk, when it began to snow. Since I didn't have anything better to do, I counted the snowflakes settling on the twigs and needles of my branch. Their number was exactly 3,741,952.

"When the next snowflake dropped onto the branch --nothing more than nothing, as you say--the branch broke off."

The dove, since Noah's time an authority on the matter, thought about the story for a while and finally said to herself:

"Perhaps there is only one person's voice lacking for peace to come about in the world."

May we be such a voice each day of our lives.

Go in peace. Make peace. Be at peace.

[1] Larned, Marianne ed., Stone Soup for the world: life-changing stories of kindness and courageous acts of service, Conari Press, Berkeley, California, ISBN 1-57324-1118-0 (pbk.) http://www.soup4world.com/ reprinted with permission
[2] Larned, p. 37
[3] Larned, p. 35
[4] Larned, p. 139