Eighth Sunday After The Epiphany / Eighth Sunday In Ordinary Time
Preaching
Lectionary Preaching Workbook
Series VIII, Cycle A
Object:
Theme For The Day
We must learn to overcome worry if we are ever to become good stewards.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 49:8-16a
God's Maternal Love
Coming at the conclusion of the second Servant Song (49:1-7), this passage is a dialogue between Isaiah and the Lord, about the prophet's mission. The Lord has given the prophet "as a covenant to the people" (v. 8). He is to say to the prisoners, "Come out" (v. 9). On their journey home, the Lord will lead them safely through desolate country, feeding them and showing them springs of water (verses 910). There are strong parallels, here, to the story of the Exodus. The rejoicing at Israel's return spreads far beyond the people themselves. All creation is exulting at this good news (v. 13). Recalling words of despair the people have spoken in the past ("The Lord has forsaken me"), God reassures them with an unusual metaphor: "Can a woman forget her nursing child or show no compassion for the child of her womb?" (verses 14-15). Most of us have been taught to think of God as father, but here we have God's self-introduction as mother. "I have inscribed you on the palm of my hands," God says (v. 16) -- almost like a tattoo. It is another image of the permanence of God's love, and the utter reliability of God's promise of salvation.
New Testament Lesson
1 Corinthians 4:1-5
Stewards Of God's Mysteries
This is one of the great New Testament texts on ministry. Paul describes himself and his associates as "servants of Christ and stewards of God's mysteries" (v. 1). That he uses the word "servants" (diakonia) is no great surprise; it is the New Testament word for ministry. Significantly, it is also the common word for servant. The word "steward" (oikonomos) refers to a person, often a servant, who managed the property of another. Stewards had a relatively high status in society, despite their indentured status. As long as they fulfilled their master's expectations, they enjoyed the master's protection, and were able to function fairly independently. To a church fractured into various factions, Paul identifies himself as a steward of another's property. Thus, he is not accountable to any faction, but only to God -- the master whom he serves (v. 3). And what does he oversee, as steward? "The mysteries (mysterion) of God." In Paul's day, Greek "mystery religions" were becoming increasingly prominent, especially in a cosmopolitan city like Corinth. At the heart of these religions were secrets, revealed to devotees only after a long and rigorous period of instruction and an arduous initiation. The priests who guarded these mysteries were autonomous and powerful. Paul's approach, as he has explained earlier, is different: "I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified" (1 Corinthians 2:1-2). Paul is laying it all out here for the Corinthians to see. He claims no power for himself, but is, rather, the steward of another. That which he exercises stewardship over -- God's mysteries -- is no secret: the truth is available to all.
The Gospel
Matthew 6:24-34
Do Not Worry
The life of a wandering disciple was not easy. The twelve were mendicants, living off the kindness of others. Surely there were many occasions when hunger gnawed at their insides, when they wondered how long it would be before the Lord would provide. In verse 24, Jesus teaches that, just as it is impossible for a slave to serve two masters, it is impossible to serve both God and wealth. As a wise person has said, "Money makes an excellent tool, but a poor master." The imagery, here, is of a slave whose master dies, who finds himself accountable to the master's two sons. It is in an untenable situation that cannot continue for long. The greater part of this lection is devoted to Jesus' encouragement not to worry over material things. He tells his followers they need not worry about such things, because God will provide for them. Does God not provide for the birds of the air and for every living creature? (verses 25-26). We typically use the phrase "hand-to-mouth existence" in a disparaging way, but for Jesus, this way of living is the norm. He and his people are subsistence peasants who have little in the way of material wealth, and who are dependent on weather and the cycles of the seasons for sustenance. We live, by contrast, in a culture where virtually everyone has a bank account, however modest. We do business with corporations -- legal entities designed to rise above the ebb and flow of business cycles and that have the legal equivalent of eternal life. So, do such advances, unknown to Jesus and his followers, prevent worry -- or do they create it? Put first things first, Jesus advises: "... Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (v. 33).
Preaching Possibilities
What is our greatest obstacle to giving? It is not lack of generosity: for most of us would like to do more for the church, the community, and the hungry and homeless of this world.
It's not hardhearted disregard for those in need, either. Most of us know, from firsthand experience, what it is to "weep with those who weep" -- even if our only acquaintance with the hard-core needy may be on a television screen.
Do you know what the greatest obstacle to giving is? Worry.
Jesus talks, in the chapter before this one (Matthew 5:40), about giving a coat away: "If anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well...."
Surely Jesus knows himself what it is to give, joyfully and sacrificially. And, to his anxious disciples -- who still don't get it -- he says, in today's reading: "If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, you of little faith?... But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Matthew 6:30-33).
Yet, how do those disciples overcome the worry that is at the root of so many problems with giving? Worry is insidious. Worry is powerful. Worry is addictive. Worry catches us up in its swift, black current -- and, before we know it, we're hurled forward on the crest of a wild river, dodging boulders, waterfalls, and all manner of deadly obstacles.
Worry inhibits our giving. Many of us work on building ourselves a little "nest egg" to obtain a measure of financial security in this world before we embark on this giving adventure. Yet, as the years of life roll by, the nest egg grows bigger and bigger -- and, very often, so do our expectations of what we ourselves need, minimally, to be happy.
Study after study has demonstrated how much the average wealth of Americans has increased in the years since World War II. Even when incomes are adjusted for inflation, we are far better off, on the average, than our grandparents were. Yet, parallel studies have also demonstrated that people in our country are no more happy than our ancestors. In fact, we tend to describe ourselves as less happy than they.
It would seem that the higher one climbs up the ladder of material wealth, the scarier the view becomes. Maybe that's why Jesus advises the rich young ruler, in that famous story, to sell all he possesses and give to the poor -- and why that wealthy young man goes away "grieving," as Matthew puts it (19:22). (For the word "grieving" we could very easily substitute "worried.") This young man is simply too heavy-laden with possessions -- and with all the worry that accompanies them -- to take on the demanding life of a disciple.
The climate Jesus describes, in Matthew 6, is so much more hospitable. There are the lilies of the field and the tall grass waving in the wind. There are the birds of the air, gleaning food from nearby farm-fields. Jesus' followers are scattered across a hillside, seated on the grass listening eagerly, in the bright sunshine, to their master's "Sermon on the Mount." Yet still they worry... and their Lord tells them not to.
How can he say that so blithely? These disciples have abandoned everything to follow him. Why, some of them even departed so quickly that they left their fishing nets stretched out along the beach! Jesus' disciples live a hand-to-mouth existence, depending on the hospitality of people they meet. Is it not reasonable for them to worry, even a little -- when so many days they don't know for certain whether they'll sleep under a roof, or under the stars?
Yet, "do not worry" is still Jesus' admonition. He's not saying they can't have feelings of anxiety -- for who can control the fleeting feelings, that race across the surface of our minds? What Jesus is telling them is not to give in to those feelings: not to cherish them or nurture them, not to cultivate them like a bed of prize roses. He's saying, in short, not to let feelings of worry master us.
One of the greatest spiritual disciplines we can acquire in life is that of acknowledging negative feelings -- giving them a wave and a tip of the hat, then letting them go on their way. Yet there's a part of each one of us that wants to lasso those feelings; to pen them up; to feed them from time to time, and generally to maintain them as a huge and troublesome herd.
It's senseless to say, "I'll become a disciple -- as soon as I've conquered worry!" (That sounds kind of like Augustine, praying to God as a young man, "Lord, please make me chaste -- but not yet!") If that's our attitude toward worry, we'll never conquer it. The only way to conquer worry is to live as though we've already conquered it.
Sometimes in life we think ourselves into acting; other times, we act ourselves into thinking. Confronting worry -- walking right up to it, with Jesus by our side, and charging on through it -- is one of those times when we have the opportunity to act ourselves into thinking. The worries that seemed from a distance, like a stony, impenetrable wall, will very often prove no more solid than a piece of theater scenery: paper stretched taut over a wood frame through which we can burst with ease.
Prayer For The Day
Jesus,
in our minds we can imagine
that scene upon the hillside, as you are teaching:
warm sun, soft breeze,
everything right with the world.
Then comes the chill of night,
and a rumbling in the belly.
Then, your words
about God clothing the lilies of the field
no longer inspire such easy confidence.
By the power of your Spirit,
may we so learn to manage our worry
about material things
that we can take up the tasks of discipleship
with courage, hope, and joy. Amen.
To Illustrate
(This story about sacrificial giving, and the power of friendship, is the childhood memory of a woman named Ruth Weems.)
I learned firsthand that it is more blessed to give than receive when I was seven, at the little Bryan School in the poor, depression-ravaged Appalachian area of North Carolina. Oddly enough it was a thin, half-starved little girl who taught me. Her name was Alma and she was nine.
I had received a new coat for Christmas, navy blue with red plaid lining. On daddy's fabulous salary of $300 a month (in 1928) Santa could afford such luxuries.
In January when we went back to school I was splendid in my new coat, red rubber boots, red wool gloves, and red toboggan with a navy pom-pom. Then I saw Alma get off the bus: shoulders shaking under a thin sweater, no cap, no coat, and black stockings on her stick legs.
She gave me a shaky smile. We were friends. At lunch Alma and I moved together so we could visit over our box lunches. Mine had biscuits, cake, an apple; Alma's always had the same a little bucket of hoe cake cornbread. Alma's hands were still bluish.
Whatever spirit moves one's heart I found myself saying (knowing mountain folk refused to take something unless they earned it), "Alma, Mama's a good cook but she can't make hoe cake. If you'll give me a big bucket of hoe cake tomorrow, I'll give you my new coat. Mama can find an older one for me."
I really didn't give her time to say no. I wrapped my coat around her thin little body. She was too stunned to speak.
I dreaded going home. As I walked in mama said, "You haven't lost that new coat!"
It took a while to get it out. Mama knew how to use a peach tree switch. In a whisper I said, "I gave it to Alma. She was shivering and blue."
Mama's voice changed. "We'll see what your father says when he gets home."
Daddy came in the back door and I heard them whispering. Then he came in where I was sitting with my baby brother before the fire. His eyes could have had both a tear and a twinkle. I looked up at him. He said huskily, "I'm proud of you."
I'm so thankful for a memory that reaches back 66 years. Thank you, sweet Alma, wherever you are!
***
The writer Annie Dillard, in Teaching a Stone to Talk (Harper, 1988), tells the story of the ill-fated Franklin Expedition, to the Canadian arctic. In 1845, Sir John Franklin, accompanied by 138 officers and men, set sail from England. They were determined to discover the fabled "Northwest Passage," across Canada to the Pacific:
"Each of Franklin's three sailing ships was equipped with a steam engine for emergencies and with all of a twelve-day supply of coal for a journey that was projected to take two to three years.
Instead of additional coal, each ship included a 1,200 volume library, a 'hand-organ, playing fifty tunes,' china place settings for officers and men, cut-glass wine goblets and sterling silver flatware.... Engraved on the handles [of the silverware] were the individual officers' initials and family crests. The expedition carried no special clothing for the arctic, only the uniforms of Her Majesty's Navy."
It was not for many years that England would discover the fate of the Franklin expedition. The Inuit hunters -- the Eskimos, who crisscrossed the frozen north, following their sled dogs -- they knew. They had stumbled across the frozen bodies of the expedition members, in small groups, all across northern Canada.
The ships had become frozen in pack ice. The crewmen decided, after many months of waiting, to walk for help. They took with them whatever items they considered most valuable.
Dillard continues:
"[One] search party found two skeletons in a boat on a sledge. They had hauled the boat 65 miles. With the two skeletons were some chocolate, some guns, some tea, and a great deal of table silver. Many miles south of these two was another skeleton, alone. This was a frozen officer.... The skeleton was in uniform: trousers and jacket of 'fine blue cloth... edged with silk braid'.... Over this uniform the dead man had worn 'a blue greatcoat, with a black silk neckerchief.'
"These foolhardy explorers were ill-prepared for the bitter climate of the arctic. Yet so worried were they about their sterling-silver flatware (engraved with family crests), and their silk-braided uniforms, that they took these trivial items with them on their last, desperate race across the ice."
-- Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk (Harper, 1988)
***
"Steward" appeared for the first time in English about a thousand years ago. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, in this early use a steward was "an official who controls the domestic affairs of a household, supervising the service of his master's table, directing the domestics, and regulating household expenditures…." The original written form of steward is stigweard. Stig meant a domestic building of some sort; weard meant guard -- the word from which "warden" has also come down to us. In these uses, it is clear that the property over which the steward has responsibility is not the steward's property, but the master's. In the medieval context in which the word originated, the steward's sole focus of loyalty was to his master. When that master was in fact the king of the realm, the king's steward became an important and powerful official.
-- from "Stewardship," by Robert L. Payton, Indiana University-Purdue University at Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Indiana and Michael Moody, Boston University,
Boston, Massachusetts. Found online at: http://www.learningtogive.org/religiousinstructors/phil_in_america/stewa...
***
I do not believe one can settle how much we are to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare.
-- C.S. Lewis
We must learn to overcome worry if we are ever to become good stewards.
Old Testament Lesson
Isaiah 49:8-16a
God's Maternal Love
Coming at the conclusion of the second Servant Song (49:1-7), this passage is a dialogue between Isaiah and the Lord, about the prophet's mission. The Lord has given the prophet "as a covenant to the people" (v. 8). He is to say to the prisoners, "Come out" (v. 9). On their journey home, the Lord will lead them safely through desolate country, feeding them and showing them springs of water (verses 910). There are strong parallels, here, to the story of the Exodus. The rejoicing at Israel's return spreads far beyond the people themselves. All creation is exulting at this good news (v. 13). Recalling words of despair the people have spoken in the past ("The Lord has forsaken me"), God reassures them with an unusual metaphor: "Can a woman forget her nursing child or show no compassion for the child of her womb?" (verses 14-15). Most of us have been taught to think of God as father, but here we have God's self-introduction as mother. "I have inscribed you on the palm of my hands," God says (v. 16) -- almost like a tattoo. It is another image of the permanence of God's love, and the utter reliability of God's promise of salvation.
New Testament Lesson
1 Corinthians 4:1-5
Stewards Of God's Mysteries
This is one of the great New Testament texts on ministry. Paul describes himself and his associates as "servants of Christ and stewards of God's mysteries" (v. 1). That he uses the word "servants" (diakonia) is no great surprise; it is the New Testament word for ministry. Significantly, it is also the common word for servant. The word "steward" (oikonomos) refers to a person, often a servant, who managed the property of another. Stewards had a relatively high status in society, despite their indentured status. As long as they fulfilled their master's expectations, they enjoyed the master's protection, and were able to function fairly independently. To a church fractured into various factions, Paul identifies himself as a steward of another's property. Thus, he is not accountable to any faction, but only to God -- the master whom he serves (v. 3). And what does he oversee, as steward? "The mysteries (mysterion) of God." In Paul's day, Greek "mystery religions" were becoming increasingly prominent, especially in a cosmopolitan city like Corinth. At the heart of these religions were secrets, revealed to devotees only after a long and rigorous period of instruction and an arduous initiation. The priests who guarded these mysteries were autonomous and powerful. Paul's approach, as he has explained earlier, is different: "I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified" (1 Corinthians 2:1-2). Paul is laying it all out here for the Corinthians to see. He claims no power for himself, but is, rather, the steward of another. That which he exercises stewardship over -- God's mysteries -- is no secret: the truth is available to all.
The Gospel
Matthew 6:24-34
Do Not Worry
The life of a wandering disciple was not easy. The twelve were mendicants, living off the kindness of others. Surely there were many occasions when hunger gnawed at their insides, when they wondered how long it would be before the Lord would provide. In verse 24, Jesus teaches that, just as it is impossible for a slave to serve two masters, it is impossible to serve both God and wealth. As a wise person has said, "Money makes an excellent tool, but a poor master." The imagery, here, is of a slave whose master dies, who finds himself accountable to the master's two sons. It is in an untenable situation that cannot continue for long. The greater part of this lection is devoted to Jesus' encouragement not to worry over material things. He tells his followers they need not worry about such things, because God will provide for them. Does God not provide for the birds of the air and for every living creature? (verses 25-26). We typically use the phrase "hand-to-mouth existence" in a disparaging way, but for Jesus, this way of living is the norm. He and his people are subsistence peasants who have little in the way of material wealth, and who are dependent on weather and the cycles of the seasons for sustenance. We live, by contrast, in a culture where virtually everyone has a bank account, however modest. We do business with corporations -- legal entities designed to rise above the ebb and flow of business cycles and that have the legal equivalent of eternal life. So, do such advances, unknown to Jesus and his followers, prevent worry -- or do they create it? Put first things first, Jesus advises: "... Strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (v. 33).
Preaching Possibilities
What is our greatest obstacle to giving? It is not lack of generosity: for most of us would like to do more for the church, the community, and the hungry and homeless of this world.
It's not hardhearted disregard for those in need, either. Most of us know, from firsthand experience, what it is to "weep with those who weep" -- even if our only acquaintance with the hard-core needy may be on a television screen.
Do you know what the greatest obstacle to giving is? Worry.
Jesus talks, in the chapter before this one (Matthew 5:40), about giving a coat away: "If anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well...."
Surely Jesus knows himself what it is to give, joyfully and sacrificially. And, to his anxious disciples -- who still don't get it -- he says, in today's reading: "If God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, you of little faith?... But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Matthew 6:30-33).
Yet, how do those disciples overcome the worry that is at the root of so many problems with giving? Worry is insidious. Worry is powerful. Worry is addictive. Worry catches us up in its swift, black current -- and, before we know it, we're hurled forward on the crest of a wild river, dodging boulders, waterfalls, and all manner of deadly obstacles.
Worry inhibits our giving. Many of us work on building ourselves a little "nest egg" to obtain a measure of financial security in this world before we embark on this giving adventure. Yet, as the years of life roll by, the nest egg grows bigger and bigger -- and, very often, so do our expectations of what we ourselves need, minimally, to be happy.
Study after study has demonstrated how much the average wealth of Americans has increased in the years since World War II. Even when incomes are adjusted for inflation, we are far better off, on the average, than our grandparents were. Yet, parallel studies have also demonstrated that people in our country are no more happy than our ancestors. In fact, we tend to describe ourselves as less happy than they.
It would seem that the higher one climbs up the ladder of material wealth, the scarier the view becomes. Maybe that's why Jesus advises the rich young ruler, in that famous story, to sell all he possesses and give to the poor -- and why that wealthy young man goes away "grieving," as Matthew puts it (19:22). (For the word "grieving" we could very easily substitute "worried.") This young man is simply too heavy-laden with possessions -- and with all the worry that accompanies them -- to take on the demanding life of a disciple.
The climate Jesus describes, in Matthew 6, is so much more hospitable. There are the lilies of the field and the tall grass waving in the wind. There are the birds of the air, gleaning food from nearby farm-fields. Jesus' followers are scattered across a hillside, seated on the grass listening eagerly, in the bright sunshine, to their master's "Sermon on the Mount." Yet still they worry... and their Lord tells them not to.
How can he say that so blithely? These disciples have abandoned everything to follow him. Why, some of them even departed so quickly that they left their fishing nets stretched out along the beach! Jesus' disciples live a hand-to-mouth existence, depending on the hospitality of people they meet. Is it not reasonable for them to worry, even a little -- when so many days they don't know for certain whether they'll sleep under a roof, or under the stars?
Yet, "do not worry" is still Jesus' admonition. He's not saying they can't have feelings of anxiety -- for who can control the fleeting feelings, that race across the surface of our minds? What Jesus is telling them is not to give in to those feelings: not to cherish them or nurture them, not to cultivate them like a bed of prize roses. He's saying, in short, not to let feelings of worry master us.
One of the greatest spiritual disciplines we can acquire in life is that of acknowledging negative feelings -- giving them a wave and a tip of the hat, then letting them go on their way. Yet there's a part of each one of us that wants to lasso those feelings; to pen them up; to feed them from time to time, and generally to maintain them as a huge and troublesome herd.
It's senseless to say, "I'll become a disciple -- as soon as I've conquered worry!" (That sounds kind of like Augustine, praying to God as a young man, "Lord, please make me chaste -- but not yet!") If that's our attitude toward worry, we'll never conquer it. The only way to conquer worry is to live as though we've already conquered it.
Sometimes in life we think ourselves into acting; other times, we act ourselves into thinking. Confronting worry -- walking right up to it, with Jesus by our side, and charging on through it -- is one of those times when we have the opportunity to act ourselves into thinking. The worries that seemed from a distance, like a stony, impenetrable wall, will very often prove no more solid than a piece of theater scenery: paper stretched taut over a wood frame through which we can burst with ease.
Prayer For The Day
Jesus,
in our minds we can imagine
that scene upon the hillside, as you are teaching:
warm sun, soft breeze,
everything right with the world.
Then comes the chill of night,
and a rumbling in the belly.
Then, your words
about God clothing the lilies of the field
no longer inspire such easy confidence.
By the power of your Spirit,
may we so learn to manage our worry
about material things
that we can take up the tasks of discipleship
with courage, hope, and joy. Amen.
To Illustrate
(This story about sacrificial giving, and the power of friendship, is the childhood memory of a woman named Ruth Weems.)
I learned firsthand that it is more blessed to give than receive when I was seven, at the little Bryan School in the poor, depression-ravaged Appalachian area of North Carolina. Oddly enough it was a thin, half-starved little girl who taught me. Her name was Alma and she was nine.
I had received a new coat for Christmas, navy blue with red plaid lining. On daddy's fabulous salary of $300 a month (in 1928) Santa could afford such luxuries.
In January when we went back to school I was splendid in my new coat, red rubber boots, red wool gloves, and red toboggan with a navy pom-pom. Then I saw Alma get off the bus: shoulders shaking under a thin sweater, no cap, no coat, and black stockings on her stick legs.
She gave me a shaky smile. We were friends. At lunch Alma and I moved together so we could visit over our box lunches. Mine had biscuits, cake, an apple; Alma's always had the same a little bucket of hoe cake cornbread. Alma's hands were still bluish.
Whatever spirit moves one's heart I found myself saying (knowing mountain folk refused to take something unless they earned it), "Alma, Mama's a good cook but she can't make hoe cake. If you'll give me a big bucket of hoe cake tomorrow, I'll give you my new coat. Mama can find an older one for me."
I really didn't give her time to say no. I wrapped my coat around her thin little body. She was too stunned to speak.
I dreaded going home. As I walked in mama said, "You haven't lost that new coat!"
It took a while to get it out. Mama knew how to use a peach tree switch. In a whisper I said, "I gave it to Alma. She was shivering and blue."
Mama's voice changed. "We'll see what your father says when he gets home."
Daddy came in the back door and I heard them whispering. Then he came in where I was sitting with my baby brother before the fire. His eyes could have had both a tear and a twinkle. I looked up at him. He said huskily, "I'm proud of you."
I'm so thankful for a memory that reaches back 66 years. Thank you, sweet Alma, wherever you are!
***
The writer Annie Dillard, in Teaching a Stone to Talk (Harper, 1988), tells the story of the ill-fated Franklin Expedition, to the Canadian arctic. In 1845, Sir John Franklin, accompanied by 138 officers and men, set sail from England. They were determined to discover the fabled "Northwest Passage," across Canada to the Pacific:
"Each of Franklin's three sailing ships was equipped with a steam engine for emergencies and with all of a twelve-day supply of coal for a journey that was projected to take two to three years.
Instead of additional coal, each ship included a 1,200 volume library, a 'hand-organ, playing fifty tunes,' china place settings for officers and men, cut-glass wine goblets and sterling silver flatware.... Engraved on the handles [of the silverware] were the individual officers' initials and family crests. The expedition carried no special clothing for the arctic, only the uniforms of Her Majesty's Navy."
It was not for many years that England would discover the fate of the Franklin expedition. The Inuit hunters -- the Eskimos, who crisscrossed the frozen north, following their sled dogs -- they knew. They had stumbled across the frozen bodies of the expedition members, in small groups, all across northern Canada.
The ships had become frozen in pack ice. The crewmen decided, after many months of waiting, to walk for help. They took with them whatever items they considered most valuable.
Dillard continues:
"[One] search party found two skeletons in a boat on a sledge. They had hauled the boat 65 miles. With the two skeletons were some chocolate, some guns, some tea, and a great deal of table silver. Many miles south of these two was another skeleton, alone. This was a frozen officer.... The skeleton was in uniform: trousers and jacket of 'fine blue cloth... edged with silk braid'.... Over this uniform the dead man had worn 'a blue greatcoat, with a black silk neckerchief.'
"These foolhardy explorers were ill-prepared for the bitter climate of the arctic. Yet so worried were they about their sterling-silver flatware (engraved with family crests), and their silk-braided uniforms, that they took these trivial items with them on their last, desperate race across the ice."
-- Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk (Harper, 1988)
***
"Steward" appeared for the first time in English about a thousand years ago. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, in this early use a steward was "an official who controls the domestic affairs of a household, supervising the service of his master's table, directing the domestics, and regulating household expenditures…." The original written form of steward is stigweard. Stig meant a domestic building of some sort; weard meant guard -- the word from which "warden" has also come down to us. In these uses, it is clear that the property over which the steward has responsibility is not the steward's property, but the master's. In the medieval context in which the word originated, the steward's sole focus of loyalty was to his master. When that master was in fact the king of the realm, the king's steward became an important and powerful official.
-- from "Stewardship," by Robert L. Payton, Indiana University-Purdue University at Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Indiana and Michael Moody, Boston University,
Boston, Massachusetts. Found online at: http://www.learningtogive.org/religiousinstructors/phil_in_america/stewa...
***
I do not believe one can settle how much we are to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare.
-- C.S. Lewis
