“. . . clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.”

• Colossians 3:12 

George Eliot, renowned English novelist and poet, once issued a great challenge.  “What do we live for,” she asked, “if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?”

A lovely couple, both in their nineties, lived down the street from us for the longest time, until they both passed away.  One morning the poor lady fell in her yard while getting the newspaper and was unable to get up.  Another neighbor happened to see the incident and rushed to her aid getting her back on her feet and safely into her house.  Fortunately, except for being a little traumatized, she was not injured.  Upon learning about this, my wife Tee, while on her early morning walks with our dog, began to pick up the couple’s paper and place it next to their front door.  This routine continued for several months until another caring neighbor picked up on the same idea, often beating her to it.  Now, I don’t know this for a fact, but I think it may well have been Tee’s kind act that had inspired the other neighbor to do likewise, creating sort of a ripple effect.

In this age of instantaneous social and mainstream media, we are bombarded by a barrage of news, most of it bad, impacting millions of people – most notably a world-wide pandemic, drugs, crime, threats of terrorist attacks, human injustice, racism, and dysfunctions within our political system.  I don’t know about you, but sometimes I become overwhelmed by this, paralyzed from doing anything because my meager actions don’t seem to matter anyway, at least not enough to make a difference.  Wrong!  I can make a difference.  I can do things like what my wife did for our sweet neighbors down the street.  And we never know what kind of ripple effect that might inspire; for as Margaret Mead famously said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world.  Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

“. . . clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience,” St. Paul reminds us.  Or as that lovely poem by Emily Dickinson says, “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or Cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin, Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.”  Indeed, “what do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?”

“Honor one another above yourselves.”  Romans 12:10 

When I was a young businessman, lunch with my business colleagues was inevitably focused on the subject of how to make more money.  Some years later, and I don’t recall exactly when, that began to change – I suppose after we had all attained a certain level of success – our lunch conversations shifted from how to make money to how to make a difference.  Fast forward to today, most of us have retired from that competitive business world and devote ourselves entirely to using our time and resources to make a difference, either by going into helping professions as I have done, or volunteering in our communities, churches, and service organizations.

What could have caused such a transformation in our priorities?  I can’t speak for my friends, but I know what happened with me.  One day it occurred to me that success, in and of itself, did not satisfy the yearning I had for my life to mean something.  Most likely they experienced a similar epiphany.  Yes, there is a certain satisfaction in accomplishment, but merely achieving a level of prosperity is not enough.  This is nothing new, of course.  As the writer of Ecclesiastes expressed thousands of years ago, “What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun? . . . Meaningless!  Meaningless!  Utterly meaningless! . . . a chasing after the wind.”

Our labors and our successes are not meaningless, of course, when we shift our priorities toward making a difference rather than simply making money (or other earthly pursuits such as personal recognition, awards, academic degrees, or political power).  As my friends and I began to realize, it is about turning our attention away from ourselves to helping others.

It has been said that Benjamin Franklin spent the first half of his life becoming successful and accumulating wealth.  The second half he spent investing his time and resources in making a difference.  Not that any of us can compare ourselves to the business successes or contributions to mankind of this great Father of our country, but he certainly set an example to follow.  For in the end the only thing that can truly satisfy the yearning for our lives to mean something is to follow the teachings of the Apostle Paul, that is to “Honor one another above yourselves.”

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded.”  – Luke 12:48 

They were huddled in the shade beside the ice cream store where we had stopped to refresh ourselves while traveling recently.  I had hardly noticed them until a woman appeared from the shadows of the building’s overhang and asked if I could help them out. It was a young couple with a baby, obviously homeless and desperate, to which I responded kindly by offering a blessing and a few bucks.  A short time later as we were leaving the store another couple was about to enter, except they had parked on the opposite side of the building, out of view from the needy family.  The man held the door for his wife to enter, then excused himself explaining he would join her in a moment.  I watched as he walked around the corner toward the homeless family, whom he had obviously spotted when he drove into the parking lot, then – totally unsolicited – handed them a fistful of cash along with a blessing and some encouraging words.

Watching that man’s kind gesture humbled me almost to tears.  But didn’t we both respond to the needy family in a similar way, you might ask?  Hardly, for unlike me that gentleman was paying attention to the world around him, alert to things that he could do to make it better, people in need like that desperate homeless family.  I, on the other hand, was oblivious to my surroundings, my mind instead on the many ice cream flavors awaiting me inside the store.

Freedom, it has been said, is a two-sided coin.  On one side is privilege; on the other, responsibility.  We who reside in the land of the free treasure the freedom our fore-fathers fought for and so many have died to protect.  Yet in our own day we are prone to scream like spoiled children whenever we fear any of those cherished freedoms are being threatened, forgetting too quickly that the coin has two sides, and that our freedom – and our democracy – require equal attention to both.

Jesus did not mince words about this, that “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded.”  I think my emotions were stirred when that gentleman at the ice cream store noticed someone in need and stepped up to offer help, and unlike me, did so without any solicitation whatsoever, demonstrating that in his own privileged life there is a responsibility attached.  Whoever you are sir, thank you for reminding me.

“The least of you will become a thousand, the smallest a mighty nation.” – Isaiah 60:22 

“Do big things.”  I once heard a man exclaim that his goal in life is just that, to “do big things”, and, I should add, to help and encourage other people to “do big things”.   I’m inspired by that idea, aren’t you?  Don’t you think he’s on to something?

What does it mean, though, to do big things?  To me it is understanding the connection between the menial and the meaningful.  We all need to clean our houses, for example, or do the laundry, mow the lawn, change the oil in our cars, and wash the dishes.  Performing such chores is essential for living an orderly and productive life.  What matters is the context in which we do such things.  Remember the story about the two brick layers?  When asked what they were doing, the first simply responded that he was laying bricks.  But the other had a different perspective.  “I’m building a cathedral,” he replied.  The first viewed his work as menial, but the other saw it as meaningful.

Sometimes I’m the first bricklayer, and other times I’m the second.  I’m the first bricklayer when I simply go through the motions, checking things off the to-do list, unconscious that such tasks might actually be meaningful.  Other times, though, I attack my work with the same conviction as the second bricklayer, in the belief that whatever I am doing is part of something much bigger.

Doing big things requires the best of our human abilities, our deepest intellect, being innovative and creative, willing to take risks, to experiment with things that sometimes fail causing us to start all over.  It also demands the menial, the small tasks, the grunt work, and the mundane.  There is no better example of this than an artist who, staring at a blank canvas, visualizes an image of what he or she plans to create.  But creation of that image requires careful attention to each shape, color, and the tiniest stoke of the brush.

Those who lead the charge in “doing big things” are like artists, giving careful attention to every detail, the tiniest stroke of the brush, especially in how they interact, relate, and communicate with others, for it is through the menial that one’s endeavors are transformed into the meaningful.  It is the formula whereby, “The least of you will become a thousand, the smallest a mighty nation.”

“The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.” Proverbs 12:15 

I have tried it both ways, and without question listening to advice always leads to better outcomes, even when I disagree or choose not to follow it.  As a young man starting out I once had two job offers, and being naïve as I was back then, chose the one I thought was most suitable for me.  A few days later I received a phone call from my dad, who rarely imposed his opinions on my decisions as an adult.  But on this particular occasion he insisted in no uncertain terms that I was making a huge mistake and should reconsider my decision.  Perhaps it was because I was caught off guard by my dad’s uncharacteristic intervention that I could hardly do anything except hear him out, after which I did reconsider.  That intervention was a beautiful gift from my dad.  And one of the greatest favors I ever did for myself was following his sage advice.

Fast forward several years when I was well established in that career, having achieved enough success where my ego had grown a bit too large, along came another job offer.  This was the career opportunity of a lifetime, so I thought.  But just before I accepted the offer an older and wiser friend took me to lunch one day to warn me that I might be making a mistake.  This time, though, convinced I knew better, I ignored his advice.  What a fool I was for not listening, a mistake that almost destroyed my career.

The story is told that during the American Civil War President Lincoln decided to make a certain strategic move with the Union Army.  But when secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, received the order from the President he refused to carry it out declaring that the President was a fool.  “If Stanton said I’m a fool,” Lincoln replied, “then it must be, for he is always right.”  After further discussion between the two Lincoln realized Stanton was indeed right, and that his decision would have been a colossal mistake.

All of us suffer blind spots in our thinking and perspective from time to time.  The best way to avoid them is by listening to the advice and counsel of others, whether we ultimately agree or disagree.  Either way, simply listening to other ideas and perspectives can help identify and avoid blind spots.  Yet, failure to do so can greatly increase the odds of making foolish choices and sometimes colossal mistakes.  As the old proverb says, “The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice.”