Standing on the Side of Love with our Time, Talents, and Treasure

Originally shared at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Statesboro on September 14,2014 by Rev. Jane Page

Story for All Ages – Stone Soup

Reading – “On Giving” from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

Sermon
I invite you to think of the last time you gave a gift that was significant and meaningful both to you and to the folks or organizations receiving the gift. 

Some of you may have thought about something you did yesterday – and others may have had to stretch your memories a little. Because I’m a minister, I am BLESSED to see wonderful outcomes of the gifts that I share every day.  And I’m so appreciative of that opportunity.  But I also remember some very special times in my life history, and I’m going to share one of those stories with you today.

When I was a little girl, I could entertain myself for hours playing with my dolls.  Now this was the pre-Barbie doll era.  In fact, by the time Barbie made her entrance, I had moved on to skateboards.  But as a child, my dolls were magical to me.  They brought me great pleasure and I became emotionally attached them.  And because my family members knew how much I loved these little ones, they gave me dolls for my birthdays and Christmas.  My dolls were not the grown-up dress-up dolls.  They were baby dolls or little girl or boy dolls.  They were children – my fellow playmates.  And they were my students.  I’d line them up all around the room and teach them.  And of course, at night, they were my bed companions.  I named them all – my own names if I didn't think the ones from the factory fit them.  They were my babies. 

Now of course as I got older and became more involved in my school activities, I played with my dolls less, but I still had them all lined up in my room and would include them in special parties with the neighborhood girls.  We would sit at our table and our dolls would have their own little table.  I pulled this picture off the internet.  My doll’s table wasn’t that fancy.  I’m sharing all of this with you so that you will understand my gift to the Baptist Children’s Home and why it was special.

We received word at First Baptist that the children at the Georgia Baptist children’s home needed toys – and that volunteers would repair them and get them in good condition so that these children would have Christmas presents.  I must have been about 10 at the time.  I came home, made sure my dolls were clean and their hair was combed, got a big box, and carefully laid my babies in the box.  I saved out two special dolls that were in poor condition – Tiny Tears and Suzie with the broken leg.  (Tiny Tears now fills in for Jesus every year when we have our Christmas Pageant).  And then, after they were carefully laid in the box, I put that big box atop my red wagon and pulled it to the church.  This was not just a hand-me-down activity.  This was a gift of love from my heart.  A big gift.  A gift for the greater good that we Baptists were striving for at the Children’s home.   I did not cry or have sadness with my gift.  I was so happy to be able to give generously. 

Since that time, I try to recapture that same spirit in my giving of time, talents, and treasure to the greater good.  And although I give to other good causes, I find that my greatest blessings as a giver come when I give to that greater good that this congregation and Unitarian Universalism represents as we Stand on the Side of Love in this community and in the world.  This is the place where we receive spiritual sustenance and grow those values in ourselves and in our children that make us better givers with other causes.  This congregation should be where we give our greatest gifts.  

And most Unitarian Universalists have the resources to make meaningful gifts.  But unlike other faith communities, many Unitarian Universalists treat their congregations as just another charity – like NPR or something.   Although Unitarian Universalists are near the top in average income, we are dead last in our giving. 

Say what?  Yes!

Although Unitarian Universalists are near the top in average income, we are dead last in our giving among 23 major faith traditions in the United States. (From Spiritual Truths, General Assembly Providence, RI – Rev. Val Weller)

Statistics show that folks with lower incomes give a greater percentage to charity.  (See Bama Group Research) And while most faith traditions challenge folks to tithe, we have very low expectations. We tend to have a fatalistic view of what we can do.  But I’m an evangelist for the LOVE that we stand for! 

So like the prophet of old—I’m going to Stand on the Side of Love – and shout out that we can do better.  We can be a part of a congregation that truly can live our principles and values, but we can’t think of that congregation in the same way that we consider the neighborhood restaurant – where we go and pay a fee to be served.  As Rev. Eric Wickstron reminds us, we need to give up the consumer mind set and begin to think of ourselves instead as shareholders, investors, and co-owners in what happens in our congregation..

Yes, the congregation is YOURS, a fellowship to nurture your own spiritual growth and that of others –including our wonderful children -- both internally and beyond.  And to do that we all need to share our time, talents, - and yes – our treasure. 

I truly believe that with our new home and increased visibility and space for increased activities, we truly are standing on the edge of something great.  We can be more than a little light in a tiny chalice.  We can be a lighthouse – a beacon of Love shining out in this community.  But for the light to shine, we need your gifts. 

I’m not going to suggest that you give a Tithe, though some do strive to do that as a spiritual practice.  But I do think that most of us can begin moving – if we haven’t already – to that 5% level of giving.  My dad used to say that we shouldn’t do anything (excuse the expression) half-assed.  And some would consider asking for 5% to be just that.  But I know that since folks do give to other good charitable organizations – 5% may be a more appropriate goal for you to strive for.  Some of you can’t do that all at once – but perhaps you could begin with giving 3%.  Whatever you give will be honored and appreciated.  And if you have no money to give – that’s okay too!  Because we also need for everyone to give of their time and talents as they are able to do so. 

Now we have to be careful when we ask folks to give of their time and talent.  Because some folks readily give and give and then get burned out and leave us.  And we don’t want folks to leave! 

We want them to stay with us and be renewed by others.  You know – some folks say that leading Unitarian Universalists is like herding cats.  But I don’t like that analogy.  I prefer referencing a flock of geese as a metaphor for a UU congregation, because there are lots of lessons we can learn from geese.  I’ve shared this before – but it’s worth repeating these lessons (originally shared by Milton Olson. (http://www.uww-adr.com/blog/lessons-from-geese-by-milton-olson#.VBc7thawVZw)

FACT 1

As each goose flaps its wings it creates an "uplift" for the birds that follow. By flying in a "V" formation, the whole flock adds 71% greater flying range than if each bird flew alone.

LESSON

People who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going quicker and easier because they are traveling on the thrust of one another

FACT 2

When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of flying alone. It quickly moves back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird immediately in front of it.

LESSON
If we have as much sense as a goose we stay in formation with those headed where we want to go. We are willing to accept their help and give our help to others.

FACT 3
When the lead goose tires, it rotates back into the formation and another goose flies to the point position.

LESSON
It pays to take turns doing the hard tasks and sharing leadership. As with geese, people are interdependent on each other's skills, capabilities and unique arrangements of gifts, talents or resources.

FACT 4
The geese flying in formation honk to encourage those up front to keep up their speed.

LESSON
We need to make sure our honking is encouraging. In groups where there is encouragement, the production is much greater. The power of encouragement (to stand by one's heart or core values and encourage the heart and core of others) is the quality of honking we seek.

FACT 5
When a goose gets sick, wounded or shot down, two geese drop out of formation and follow it down to help and protect it. They stay with it until it dies or is able to fly again. Then, they launch out with another formation or catch up with the flock.

LESSON
If we have as much sense as geese, we will stand by each other in difficult times as well as when we are strong.

That’s the congregation we need to be and that we CAN be. But we need us some good soup to nourish us.  And I have a STONE for the soup.  This STONE is magical because this represents our vision of what we can be.  We can BE that liberal beacon shining in southeast Georgia.  We can BE a congregation that folks KNOW exists because of our visibility – both in terms of our meeting place and in terms of our good works and advocacy for justice and peace.  We can BE a people that teaches our strong values to our children and reinforces them in us as well.  We can BE a community of faith where we can nurture and heal ourselves and receive the nourishment to nurture and heal the world.  But this vision –this stone, by itself, will not make the soup.  We need for each of us to go back and look into our cupboards --- and perhaps see what we are hoarding there in terms of our time, talents, and treasure, and bring them to share in the soup pot for the greater good.  And when we do, we will know – just as I did when I gave away my dolls, that it is a good and joyful gift. I can just smell that wonderful soup now.  Mmmm mmm good!

May it be so!  Honk Honk

Open Letter to Classmates

This letter was written in March of 2008 and sent to African American classmates and published as an "Open Letter" in the Statesboro Herald. 

March 10, 2008

An Open Letter to Erma, Mattie, Homer, Alvin, Elaine, Charlene, Jeanette, Runell, Mary Linda, Johnny Sue, Billy, and Catherine.

Dear Classmates,

In the fall of 1965, I entered Statesboro High School as a sophomore.  This was only the second year in the existence of this new school building on Lester Road.  But more was new than the lockers and desks awaiting me that fall. There were also new faces – darker faces than those I had been accustomed to in my Statesboro schools.  Some of you were students who began Statesboro High School that year, the first year that the high school was integrated.  And some of you remained and graduated with my class in 1968.  Others decided to leave and return to William James.  And others of you joined the class our junior or senior years.  But all of you were my classmates.  And one of you is no longer with us.  This letter comes too late for Homer. 

Like many of you, I was born here in Statesboro in 1950.  And like you, I grew up in the days of Jim Crow laws.  But unlike you, these laws did not affect me in obvious ways.  My white privilege allowed me access to every store, restaurant, and entertainment spot in town.  And for the most part, I was pretty naïve about the evils of racism.  Oh, I did notice things – as all children do.  I remember when I was 5 or 6, standing in the “Whites Only” line at the Dairy Queen with my dad, waiting to get a cone.  It was a hot day and there were lines at both the “white” and “colored” windows.  Perhaps that’s why I noticed the differences.  So I asked my dad why all of the white people were in our line and all of the colored people were in the other line.  My father shared this unique explanation with me.  He told me that we were white – and that we stood in our line to get vanilla ice cream, while the colored people stood in the other line to get chocolate ice cream.  Of course, I immediately told him that I wanted chocolate!  And he said, “No, you are white, so you get vanilla.  That’s just the way it is and you have to accept it.”  Well, I didn’t realize that vanilla was the only flavor served at Dairy Queen.  (That was even in the days before dipped cones.)  But his answer stuck with me.  And it has served as a metaphor for what happened in my life.  Indeed, I just accepted the differences and did not question them further.  Yet, I still took notice – like when boxes were being filled at my elementary school (Mattie Lively) with our old worn-out textbooks.  I asked what was going to happen to them and was told that they were being taken to the “colored school” for the children to use there.  “Separate but equal” was never the case in Bulloch County.     

To be fair to my parents, they never overtly taught me to be a racist.  They didn’t have to.  Everything in my society, from the Dairy Queen windows on, taught me that white folks and black folks should function in separate social environments.  And my society not only taught me that “separate” was right, it also taught me that I was in the superior group.  All I had to do was look at the water fountains.  The “whites only” fountains were clean with cool, refrigerated water.  Not so for the “colored” fountains.   And of course, my church reinforced these standards.  In the 60’s we also were witnesses to television news programs showing activities of the Civil Rights movement.  But these were presented in ways that made me fearful.  I’m sure it must have been covered, but I don’t remember seeing much of the peaceful demonstrations that I can now view in documentaries of that time.  The emphasis on our news seemed to be on riots and angry black people wanting to “destroy our way of life.”  The propaganda worked.  I was afraid and fearful of the possibilities of integration.  And I did not understand why in the world you would want to leave “your” school and come to “our” school.    

The Brown Decision, virtually outlawing segregated schools, was handed down by the courts in 1954.  Yet the schools in Statesboro had managed to remain completely separate for the next 10 years.  The latest effort to satisfy the courts had been the school system’s “Freedom of Choice” plan.  This plan was one in which parents could “choose” their children’s schools.  Everyone knew what choice was supposed to be made, though, and the schools remained separate till you and others made the bold decision to be pioneers in the effort to integrate our schools.  So there you were, walking through our halls with your heads held high and a determined look in your eyes.  And there I was, afraid of you, mad with you, but curious – oh so curious about folks like you.

For the next three years, we did our high school activities and really had very little interaction with each other.   I found out later that there were lots of folks who were interacting, though very negatively with you – trying to run you down with their cars and hurling insults and rocks.   I didn’t know about these occurrences because I never attempted to really get to know you.   I did make a connection with one girl that was life changing.  I used to be one of the folks at school that was a “cut-up” and class clown – someone who would make jokes about things and try to lighten up everyone’s attitudes.  When we were in the hallways, one of you would “cut up” with me in similar ways.  And we became friendly with each other.  I would like to say we were friends.  But I never invited you to my house and you never invited me to yours.  We were about as friendly as a white girl and black girl could be in those days I suppose.  And I remember thinking that I was more LIKE you than I was my white friends.  We were both from middle class families with parents that emphasized a strong work ethic, and we were both so fun-loving.  We were “kin” in many ways.  But I kept that thought to myself – not daring say it aloud.  That thought of our kinship, however, cracked through the armor of racism that I had built around me.  And I began to open my mind to the possibilities of a wider world of humanity.  I never thanked you for that. 

This year I have been involved with others in planning the 40^th class reunion for the Class of 1968.  We haven’t had one in 30 years and I’m very excited about seeing folks again.  Focusing on my high school classmates and high school years has been a time of joy and sorrow for me.  One of the sorrows that I have is that I missed out on a real opportunity to get to know some fantastic people.  And I missed out on an opportunity to provide a welcoming hand of fellowship.  This was my loss and I can’t retrieve it.  But I can apologize.

• I’m sorry that I did not make an effort to understand why you were coming to SHS.
• I’m sorry that I did not meet you in front of the school and say hello.
• I’m sorry that I was afraid of you and avoided being in places where several of you were together.
• I’m sorry that I avoided sitting by you in class.
• I’m sorry that I was involved with negative conversations about you and did not speak up when you were put down.
• I’m sorry that I didn’t encourage you to join the clubs that I was in or join the flaggette team.
• I’m sorry that I didn’t invite you to my 16^th birthday party.  It would have been a lot more fun with you there.
• I’m sorry that I didn’t find ways to get to know you – really know you and understand you individually, rather than seeing you as “one of those black students.” 
• I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize the remarkable opportunity that I had in that place and time in history to be a part of something special with you.
• And I’m sorry – oh SO sorry, that it’s taken me 40 years to say, “I’m sorry.”

I hope you can forgive me.  Who knows?  Maybe it’s not too late for some of us.

Three classmates together in 2014

Sincerely,

Jane Altman Page 

My Belated Eulogy for My Dad

Fathers Day, June 15, 2014

Rev. Jane Page

Preface:  As I was studying to be a minister, I'd tease my dad and ask him if I could do his eulogy when he died.  He would smile and tell me that the Primitive Baptists would not like that.  And indeed, I did not share anything at his Memorial Service.  If I could have shared, what would I have said?  Its eight years late, but I'll make that attempt on Father's Day today.

My dad was John Gideon Altman – always called by his initials J.G.  Daddy was the second son of John Buren and Ethel Johnson Altman.  He was born on December 16, 1925 at home down in Broxton, GA.  But his family moved here when he was only two, so Statesboro was the only home he knew.  His dad was hired to oversee the closing of a furniture store here in town.  There was a lot of that kind of thing going on when my dad was growing up.  After that store closed - rather than move on to another town and another furniture store closing, granddaddy decided to stay here and make a home for his family in Statesboro.  I’m so glad he did.  He rented space across from the courthouse and opened up a little grocery store, thus providing a good work place for his sons.  But J.G. was not paid much, if any, by his dad, so found other work to put some money in his pockets.  He had a variety of jobs as he was growing up and he enjoyed sharing stories about them.  One of his jobs was as a Western Union telegram delivery boy.  So he had to know where everyone in town lived.  And in later years, he would recite these to us.   He would say, right on that corner was where Old man “So and So” had a feed store, then next to that was the little card shop operated by Mrs. “So and So”…. And on down the street he was go, reciting names of businesses and houses.  He also knew the history of particular places.  Well, before that was the Brown’s house, it belonged to Old Man Brannon, and he bought it from Mr. Zetterower who bought that property when it was nothing but a sand lot.  Now I’m making up all these names and places because – sadly I never recorded this anthology of property.  By the time my dad graduated from Statesboro High School, everyone was going off to war.  He was turned down twice because of his high blood pressure.  I think he suffered some shame for that – because it was a popular war, a righteous war, one that young men were supposed to go fight.  But I’m glad he was turned down.  He may not have made it back, then where would I be!  Plus he never had to deal with the first hand atrocities of war.  SO, instead he stayed here and married his high school sweetheart, Christine Rogers on November 11, 1944.  Their marriage date is easy to remember if you can double numbers:  11-22-44.  He and his brother Buren began a used car business – and worked hard to furnish folks with cars during the war, when they were hard to get because the manufacturers were making vehicles for the war instead. Daddy would travel all over the place to buy cars taking carloads of drivers with him – then having each of them drive one car and pull another back to Statesboro.  Later they obtained dealerships for different models – the main one being Pontiacs.  I never thought I’d ever drive anything but a Pontiac.  Alas, nothing lasts.  There are no more Pontiacs and my dad is gone too. 

Daddy died September 25, 2006, the morning after I was ordained here as your minister.  Here is how his Obituary read:
Mr. John Gideon Altman, age 80, died peacefully Monday at the Ogeechee Area Hospice Inpatient Facility. He was the co-owner and vice-president of Altman Pontiac-Buick-GMC until he retired in 1997. Mr. Altman was a member of the Statesboro Primitive Baptist Church, where he was in the Frank Williams Sunday School Class and Men's Brotherhood. He was a charter member of the Statesboro Kiwanis Club, former chairman of Bulloch County Tax Assessors Board, a member of the Alee Temple, former president of the Statesboro Shrine Club and was a Mason. Mr. Altman was a former director and assistant treasurer of Peach State Life Insurance Company.

Then it listed his surviving family members.

I don’t especially like that obituary.  But daddy would have been pleased because it’s a very traditional one, basically sharing how he made a living.  And, indeed, that was of ultimate importance to my daddy.  So be it.  But it leaves out the most important parts of J.G. Altman, his personality, and his life.  And since I didn’t get a chance to eulogize him when he died, I’ll take this opportunity to tell you a little more about my dad – at least my perceptions of him.

1st – My daddy was a very smart and capable man.  I used to think he could build or repair almost anything.  Seriously, if he had seen someone do it before, he could do it.  He used to brag on how he learned how to do many tasks that others have to pay to have done.  He would find some excuse to go to the place of business where folks work and repair – maybe have a small job for them; and then he would hang out and just have conversation – telling them stories, and entertaining them while they worked.  They wouldn’t realize that he was also watching just what they were doing.  Then he knew how to do it.  He never learned much from books – but he could sure learn from watching.  He would have loved youtube with all of its “how to” videos I think.  But since he didn’t have that – he would go find the real thing.  He used to tell the story of how Old Dr. Floyd called him out one night to fix something at his house – and whatever this was that needed repairing – it wasn’t that difficult.  And he said to Dr. Floyd – “This is not that hard to do.”  And Dr. Floyd said, well I may not be able to fix that – but you couldn’t take an appendix out.  And my daddy said, “If I watched you do it one time I could.”  And indeed, he never operated on us, but he would sometimes operate on the farm animals.  Fix them and stitch them – and set their bones, whatever they needed.  Daddy not only learned from observing, he had an engineering, mathematical mind.  I still marvel at how he designed that reinforced concrete dock at our pond so perfectly – and how he fixed the overspill on the other side of the pond just precisely so that the water would start to spill over before coming over the top of that dock.    He also built that beautiful little cabin that reminded him of the house where he was born.  You go look at the workmanship in that cabin – and the little winding stairs that took him forever to figure out – but he did.  Daddy was smart!

2nd – Family was important to my daddy.  He was a wonderful son, brother, husband, father, and grandfather.  He loved us.  But like many men of his generation, he didn’t verbally express that love.  Instead, he showed us his love by providing for us and doing things with us.  He bought a lot out on Cypress Lake and built a little cabin.  We’d go out there every weekend and boat and waterski.  What fun we had doing that!  He sold the cabin after his dad died so he could have more money to purchase my granddad’s farmland. Granddaddy didn’t have a will so his farm was left in equal portions to my dad, his three siblings, and his mom.  My uncle Buren wanted the farm in Clito, but the other family members wanted to sell their shares of the farm where I now live.  So daddy bought their shares.  He connected that farm to his dad – and that was his way of holding on to a piece of him.  My dad had an awkward relationship with his dad, but boy he sure showed his loved to his Mama.  He’d go see her every day and was there when she died.  Of course she kept him happy with her good cooking – and he DID enjoy that good southern cooking.  And he loved my mama, my brother and me – and the grandchildren and great grandchildren.  They would go over and pounce on him while he sat in his recliner and he would fly them up in the air – for as long as he could.  He also showed his love by trying to teach us things.  But most of us could just never learn to do it right.  And certainly none of the family members could do it “JG perfect.”  So be it. 

The 3rd thing that was important to my daddy was WORK.  He worked hard ALL his life.  That’s how he saw value in life, in how hard and well someone worked.  My dad had no patience with shiftlessness – and he let us know that.  Because my mom also had this strong work ethic – I got it from both sides.  My dad used to claim he was working hard so that one day he could take it easy and fish.  He built the cabin and that nice dock I told you about so that he could “one day” fish off of it.  But that day never came because he would have another project, and another – to get ready for that day.  I used to worry that my dad would never have the joy of taking it easy and fishing.  Now I understand that his JOY came in the work.  And I’m so glad to have inherited that Joy of work! 

The 4th thing that was especially interesting about my Daddy was his strong faith. He sincerely believed that he was going to go to heaven and get his REward one day.  (That’s how he pronounced it – his REward).  He was not really that much of a religious man—that I could see.  He didn’t read his Bible much or pray.  But he would share about going to get his REward.  I don’t know what he thought he was especially going to be rewarded for.  But he did – because he thought he did everything right.  If something went wrong with something he did – then it must be someone else’s fault.  This was especially true if he lost something.  Mama must have misplaced it – or perhaps one of us took it and didn’t return it.  Because he knew right where he left it --- in some pile of something you could find anything in, but that didn’t matter.  Because – according to my daddy, he just didn’t make mistakes. So, he saw himself as a really good man.  Now – folks he wasn’t that good.  In fact, he was kind of hard to live with.  Although my mama managed to do just that for almost 62 years.  Bless her heart – for real!  You know, some of the things he did and some of the ideas he had– in my mind – were just wrong.  But he looked at himself through some kind of lens that I didn’t see.  We just got where we laughed about it – what else can you do?

As my dad aged his memory started going.  And he changed.  He forgot a whole lot of stuff – including who we were.  But something else happened to him.  He became a really sweet and caring man, telling us (and anyone else around) how much he loved and appreciated us.  Now most folks who have Alzheimer’s get kind of mean as time goes by – but not my daddy.  He got sweet.  And I’d like to think that perhaps this sweet, loving man was what was at his very CORE – and through the years he LEARNED to be that hard person that men were supposed to be.  When all that was forgotten, the sweet J.G. remained.  Something else that remained with him was his memory of the old songs he learned long ago.  And I would go to his house and sing them with them. Shortly before he died right over there at Ogeechee hospice, Johnny said – “Jane come over here and sing again to daddy.”   I sang one his favorites.  “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.  I once was lost, but now am found.  Was blind, but now I see.”  And as I sang, my daddy looked right into my eyes and he moved his mouth to the song.  And that was indeed, Amazing Grace – for him and for me.  And it was My RE-ward – for sure.   Thank-you Daddy.