A Cheerful. . . Receiver?

Part of my job is working as a chaplain at a middle school. I love this work. I love those baby adults so very much. They crack me up every day and they laugh at me on a regular basis. Today at lunch I told one of them that I saw her pitch at her game yesterday and that I was proud of her. She rolled her eyes and groaned.

I said, "What? You don't think it was a good game?"
Her response: "I pitched a terrible game yesterday! The worst."

I said, "Well, you were out their pitching, though. I can’t pitch like that and I’m proud of you." She continued to rolled her eyes and say what a bad game at was. She could not bring herself to say, "thank you."

Compare this to my five-year-old. He had a T-ball game on Monday and after the game I said, "Good game! You played well and I’m proud of you!"

His response? "I know. Thanks." Friends, he is not a genius T-ball player. He spent most of the game making designs in the dirt between second and third base, knelt on the ground next to his father. His big accomplishment was swinging the bat and hitting the ball rather than the T or his coach.

That’s it then. Middle school is the age when we no longer except a compliment as it is and have to excuse it away. That is when we become uncomfortable when someone tells us we’ve done a good job or has told us we look nice or that they are proud of us. We shift from self-assuredness and a simple, "thanks," to self-doubt and arguing with the person offering their love.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul says that we are to be a cheerful giver. In church we use the saying on and off throughout the year as our offertory sentence, just before we pass the plate. I say the first part of the passage, "The point is this: the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves. . ." and the congregation replies within an enthusiastic, "a cheerful giver!" I can't claim this practice. Our bishop introduced it a few years ago and it's become a part of our regular worship.

Yesterday I had lunch with a church member and he started to argue when I reached and paid for the bill. He interrupted himself and said with a laugh, "I guess I need to learn to be a cheerful receiver."

He hit it right on it. That’s it. We talk about being a cheerful giver, which is very important, but the reality is most of us are much worse at receiving than we are at giving. We are particularly terrible when someone is giving us a compliment or a pat on the back or anything we think we might not deserve. (Which pretty much is everything).

A lot of us are happy to give you anything: a compliment, cash, a ride to the airport, to babysit your kids when you’re having a bad day, or give you a gift certificate for your next cup of coffee because you look like you need one. But you turn around and do the same thing for us and we are all excuses and pardoning and shame and guilt. In our embarrassment and excuses. We make you look like an idiot because you thought we might possibly be worth it.

Of course, we do this for number of reasons. We don’t believe in ourselves; we think we should be able to do it by ourselves; we are self-sufficient and independent and can do it all on our own. "I don’t need your help because I’m capable enough and good enough and strong enough and know if I’ve done a good job or not."

The side effects of this is worse than we intend. We mean to be self-deprecating and humble but the result is that we have said to the other person, "I don’t need you;" or "I don’t think you’re good enough to take care of me;" or "I don’t trust you;" or "You don’t know what you’re talking about." None of us means this of course. We just don’t know how to handle a gift when it’s given to us.

Here’s the thing, though. How do you feel when you offer a compliment? Or offer to help a friend? Don’t you do it because you want to help that person? Don’t you offer, not out of obligation, but because you genuinely like that person and you want to help her? You cook the casserole and take it to the parents of a newborn because you remember what those first weeks were like. You take your friend out for a cup of coffee because you realize he could use a break. Or maybe you just would like some of his company.

The people who offer to help you feel the same way. They are offering because they love you. They are offering not so that you will be indebted to them. Most people try to help because they are your friend they love you and they are trying to minister to you.

I am not overstating this when I say it is a sin not to receive, and receive graciously. You aren't proving how tough, independent, and awesome you are. The people around you already know that. Instead, you are blocking the other person's opportunity to do ministry. You’re keeping them from doing what God is asking of them. Are you going to get in God’s way? Let other people do onto you as you do onto them. Let them pay for the dinner. Let them take your kids one Saturday afternoon so you can take a break. Let them bring you chicken soup when you get a cold. It’s their way of saying, "thank you" for all the times you have done the same. It’s their way of saying, "Hey! I love you and I see you. I see you could you some help." And take that compliment! People are proud of you and like what you're doing, wearing, or saying! There’s no shame in that.

I don’t say this lightly, by the way. I’m a terrible receiver. I hate asking for help. It has taken me years to allow people to do for me. I still feel guilty and I still do it reluctantly because most days I want to pretend that I am 100% self-sufficient. But I am always glad for the renewed relationship, the increased intimacy, the spirit-filled time we have together. This is only possible when I acknowledge, "Yes I could use some help. Thank you for that compliment."

May we strive to be a cheerful giver for it is, indeed, in giving that we receive. But may we also strive to be a cheerful receiver - stretching our arms out in love and humility to accept the gift someone is reaching out in love to give us.

Letting the Fruit Go

The mark of a successful and faithful disciple is that she will "bear good fruit." Paul, the evangelists, the psalmists, and even Jeremiah tell us over and over again that righteous people who have a healthy relationship with God will bear fruit. The fruit proves that we are living according to God's will and commandments.

Jesus compares himself to the vine and his followers to the branches in the Gospel of John in the fifteenth chapter. God the Father establishes and tends the "true vine" of Jesus Christ and Christ's faithful followers are the branches. We are inextricably connected to Jesus and the father by our dedication and belief. It's a very straightforward analogy: if we nurture and strengthen our relationship with Christ, we will bear fruit; if we turn away from that relationship, the branch cannot be nourished from the vine and we wither, fruitless. A solid and constant connection with Christ is productive and helps us build up the kingdom of heaven. A bad relationship is bad for the branch and renders it impotent. 

But here's what scripture doesn't tell us: It's damn difficult to let go of the fruit! The authors of the books of the Bible leave the story at the point where the branch or tree has born fruit, as if that's some sort of "happily ever after." 

Faith doesn't end once the fruit has formed and waits to fall from the branch. In many ways, the biggest leap of faith is yet to come, when we let the fruit go, allowing it to fall to the ground. What if the fruit doesn't fall on good soil? What if it's carried away by a bird? What if it falls among the weeds? Or what if it doesn't grow the way we think it should grow?

The "fruit of our loins" may be the easiest comparison. We bear children and try our best to shelter them, feed them, water them, nurture them until they are ripe and ready for the wider world. The fruit most often is more ready to let go than the branch is ready to release it. What if they get lost? What if they wander too far from the vine or even the whole vineyard? What if they forget to wear their jacket and catch cold? As long as the fruit hangs on the branch, the branch can make sure the fruit is safe and loved.

But a fruit that hangs to the branch past maturity will dry out and die, unable to unfold its own roots into the soil and reach its branches toward the heavens. The fruit has a purpose that it cannot pursue as long as it remains on the branch.

Ministry is no different. We listen to God's call to start or join a ministry and we put our everything into that work, that purpose. We invest, nurture, love, attend committee meetings, stay up late stuffing envelopes, open up and close down the church, and set tables and cook for hundreds. Under our care the ministry grows and flourishes. Other people see the fruit of our efforts and are energized. They join in the work and share how God is calling them to contribute and shape it. Soon, something causes us to step back and realize that it's no longer "our" ministry but that of the community. Later, we feel God calling us elsewhere and we have to allow others to pick up the fruit we worked so hard to cultivate and nourish.

Starting a new ministry isn't easy, same as starting a new family. Let's face it: we have no idea what we're doing. We're not fully equipped for the demands of the job.  That new baby arrives and we stare at the first full diaper and wonder what we were thinking. Similarly, we volunteer to start a new ministry to reach out to battered women then realize we've never once had a conversation with a victim of abuse. Through the gifts of the spirit, trust in God, perseverance, forgiveness, and a lot of gumption, we make it work. We figure it out.

And then it's time to let go. Just when we thought we knew how to trust in God, we turn in time to see the fruit falling from the branch. Holy crap. This whole time we've been swimming in five foot water, deep enough for us to trust in God to buoy us but shallow enough we can reach our big toe to bounce on solid ground. Letting the fruit go feels like being shoved over to tread above an abyss and forced to watch our most precious treasure sink beyond our site. 

God says to us, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Now it's time to let go, little one. I've got it from here." With a mixture of heartbreak, pride, insecurity, helplessness, and a compulsive urge to grab to regain control, we look back at God and decide. Will we close our fists tightly around the fruit? Will we shout, "No! Not yet! I'm not ready?" Or will we muster a depth of faith that has never been demanded of us before? Will we be able to loosen our grasp and, with love, release the thing we've given all of our love and attention, all the while knowing it was never ours to begin with?

We read and hear, "Don't hold on too tightly." This saying is popularly plastered on Pinterest, placards, t-shirts, and signs and are good words. The fruit can't mature if it's too sheltered from the sun, water, and wind. We must give it room to breathe. 

The other side should read, "Now let the fruit go!" Trust God. The fruit is ready because of your hard work and love. You did as God asked of you and now this part of your work is done. It's time to relinquish your sense of control. You've been responsible and have done well. It's time for the fruit to fall and pursue it's own purpose, even if it doesn't take the perfectly planned path you made for it.