“That the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn; that they in their turn might tell it to their children.”  – Psalm 78:6 

Everybody seems to claim being just a wee bit Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day.  Wonder why that is?  Maybe it has to do with the revelry that takes place, a tradition rooted in, of course, celebrating the patron saint who brought Christianity to Ireland, later carried on in America in the old neighborhoods and communities where Irish immigrants first settled generations ago.  When everyone saw how much fun the Irish were having they decided to crash the party, joining the parades, pub crawls, and wearing-of-the-green.

For me, the claim is true.  My paternal grandmother, who we called Munna, was born in Ireland on July 14, 1889, the second child of my great-grandparents Robert and Nancy Boyle, who migrated to America only a few months after her birth, where they had acquired some land in northern Texas and established a sheep ranch.  And it was in that North Texas community of Vernon, Texas where my grandmother married and lived out her long life.  So, yes, I am indeed a wee bit Irish myself.

I never knew my great-grandparents.  They had died long before my time.  But I do know enough about them to feel a connection to my roots.  For instance, I have pictures of them hanging in our home amongst a cluster of other family photos, and every morning I spend time sitting in an old rocking chair that belonged to my great-grandfather where I am told he sat and read his King James Bible, which I also inherited.  Though generations removed, his life has nonetheless influenced my own in some meaningful ways.

And perhaps that is the real, deeper reason everybody wants to claim being just a wee bit Irish each year, our human desire to have roots and feel connected to history in a way that guides our lives in meaningful ways and that will guide our children and our children’s children.  Or as the Psalmist says, “that the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn; that they in turn might tell it to their children.” 

I do not know what motivated my great-grandparents to relocate to America, except for a dream of better opportunities and a better life for themselves and their children.  It’s a dream we should all have, so our children too have roots that will guide their lives.

“For dust you are and to dust you shall return.”  – Genesis 3:19 

My dad’s business depended on a fleet of delivery trucks to distribute his products.  Because they were (and are) expensive my dad saw to it that his trucks were meticulously maintained.  On any Saturday, when the trucks were out of service, you could drive around our small town and spot one or more of his trucks in the service bay of a local service station getting washed, tires checked and rotated, oil changed, and so forth.  He needed to keep his trucks in tip-top shape for as many years as possible.  Even at that, eventually they would wear out and need to be replaced.

Only after I was grown and began to learn more about business, car and home-ownership, and life in general did I begin to appreciate my dad’s meticulous care of his trucks and other equipment.  It rubbed off I suppose because I’ve always been a bit obsessive about maintaining things, for example following the manufacturer’s guidelines in maintaining our cars, and having the HVAC systems in our home regularly cleaned and inspected.  Yet, things still breakdown, and eventually wear out and need to be replaced.

I try to be that way with my body too, exercising, eating right, and having regular health checkups with my physician.  I remember a few years ago when my doctor informed me that one of those “numbers” they look at – cholesterol, glucose, blood pressure, I don’t remember which – was elevated, and I objected.  “No way, I do all the right things that should prevent that from happening!”  “You’re looking at this all wrong,” my doctor replied.  “Just think how much worse it would be if you didn’t do all those ‘right’ things.”

One of the great traditions Christians have been observing over the centuries is the season of Lent, the forty days before Easter commemorating Jesus’ wandering in the desert being tempted by Satan.  Traditionally, Christians give up something, fast in some way – give up sweets, coffee, meat, or alcohol – or perhaps add something like daily reading of scripture or a devotional.  Lent, you might say, is a time of maintenance for us, like my dad’s trucks sitting in those service bays on Saturday afternoon.  Eventually we know we’re going to breakdown and wear out, scripture makes that clear – “For dust you are and to dust you shall return,” it says – but observing Lent is sort of a cleansing and oil change that helps keep us spiritually in tip-top shape, and drawing us closer to God.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.”  – Philippians 2:3 

The one thing I can count on every Wednesday morning when I report for duty at my volunteer job at Hugs Café, like clockwork Manny will be waiting for me when I walk through the door, broom in hand and a smile on his face.  After greeting each other with a handshake, fist-bump, or high-five – sometimes even a hug – Manny will raise his broomstick then ask, “Sweep?”  “Good idea Manny,” I will respond, “let’s sweep,” after which Manny sweeps while I hold the dustpan and cheer him on.

We have become a great team, Manny and me.  Not only do we keep the floors immaculately clean, we are also partners in doing other tasks and projects around the café, like labeling packages, rolling silverware, busing tables, and sometimes greeting customers when they come through the door.  And we learn from each other.  Sometimes Manny points out to me things that need to be done, and in turn I am able to teach him better ways of doing them.  Then, every time we complete a task or finish a project we fist-bump or high-five to congratulate our success.

Benjamin Disraeli and William Gladstone are widely believed to have been the two greatest British Prime Ministers of the nineteenth century, yet very different.  Someone said that if you walked out of Gladstone’s office after meeting with him you would think he was the smartest person in the world.  Disraeli, on the other hand, after meeting with him you would likely walk out feeling like YOU were the smartest person in the world.  My old coaching professor and friend Dr. Robert Hicks might describe the difference between the two as doing something to someone (like teaching or lecturing) versus doing something with someone (like two partners figuring it out together).

As with the other teammate-employees at Hugs, Manny has some intellectual and developmental disabilities.  So, it would be easy to be a Gladstone with him and simply tell him what to do, and perhaps I did treat him that way at first.  But it is much more effective – and fun – to work with him and be his partner, to fist-bump and high-five at end of the day, to go home fulfilled with a sense of accomplishment – both of us.  You’re awesome Manny!  Thank you for being my partner and my friend.

“A man reaps what he sows.”  – Galatians 6:7 

“Plant a radish / Get a radish / Never any doubt / That’s why I love vegetables / You know what you’re about.”  I can remember vividly our son Cecil performing that in a song-and-dance duet routine with one of his classmates in a high school production of the musical “The Fantasticks.”  That was many, many years ago, so I have long forgotten much of the play and his performance in it, except that song has stuck in my head ever since, not only because I thought our son did a “fantastic” job in performing the number, but also because the lyrics themselves offer such a great life lesson.

There is no magic when you sow a field with wheat seeds that you can be pretty darn sure that wheat is exactly what will sprout up, not barley, oats, or corn.  But, of course, it also holds true that if you sow a field in weeds, it is weeds that will surely sprout.  Who, though, in his right mind dares sow weeds instead something useful and productive like vegetables or pretty flowers?  Besides, weeds tend to grow up voluntarily around the vegetables anyway unless we are intentional about weeding them out.  Are our personal lives not just like that?

I’m reminded of Robert, a recovering drug addict I once knew, who used to say that “if you hang out with bad people, bad things are going to happen,” then quickly add, “but if you hang out with good people, good things are going to happen.”  He knew that from first-hand experience, having spent his early years hanging out with bad people who led him into the underground world of illicit drugs and the inevitable consequences of that lifestyle; that is, until he started hanging out with some good kinds of people who helped him through recovery to become useful and productive – from a weed to a flower.

A happy productive life is like gardening, being intentional about what we hope to produce, not only for ourselves but for those around us – our children, co-workers, neighbors, and fellow citizens.  Plant a carrot / Get at carrot / Not a Brussels sprout. / That’s why I like vegetables. / You know what you’re about.  And what we plant in our gardens says a lot about what we are about, does it not?  As the scriptures say, “A man reaps what he sows. . . [so] let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

“. . . a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”  – Luke 12:15 

All of us I suppose dream of one day attaining financial security, a time when not only are we worry-free about the necessities of life, but able to accumulate a few luxuries we’ve always longed for.  And our consumer-crazed society reinforces such thinking, convincing us that if we buy more, we will be happier, more fulfilled, and more comfortable.  Great, as long as it inspires us toward excellence in our chosen endeavors.  But we must beware of the hazards that can occur in becoming too cozy with success.

Jesus addressed this matter in his parable about a rich man who after producing a good crop decided to tear down his barns and build bigger ones to store his grain and goods, after which he could take life easy – eat, drink and be merry.  But Jesus warned the rich man, “You fool!  This very night your life will be demanded from you.”  (Luke 12:20)

As a young man the great American playwright Tennessee Williams struggled to make ends meet – as many of us have – taking on such menial jobs as a laborer in a shoe factory, and caretaker of a chicken ranch.  But being a man of great talent and ambition, he dreamed that his literary endeavors would one day bring about success.

So it was that in the winter of 1943-44 Tennessee Williams’ luck changed upon receiving rave reviews for his play “The Glass Menagerie” which premiered in Chicago and soon made its way to Broadway.  That’s when, in his words, “I was snatched out of virtual oblivion and thrust into sudden prominence, and from the precarious tenancy of furnished rooms about the country I was removed to a suite in a first-class Manhattan hotel,” as quoted from an essay written by Williams three years later and published in the New York Times.  The title of the essay?  “The Catastrophe of Success”, a tragic commentary about the potential hazards of fame and fortune, which he himself had encountered.  “Security is a kind of death . . .” Williams had come to realize.

Tennessee Williams’ essay and Jesus’ parable are not inconsistent in their message it seems, that is that the hazard of becoming too cozy with security is a kind of death.  The solution, though, according to Williams is that “purity of heart is the one success worth having.”  Otherwise, “. . . a man’s life does not consist in his abundance.”