Credit Where Credit Is Due: Rarer than You May Think

I find baseball to provide some of the strongest analogies to pastoral ministry. The same lessons often apply to our doctors, nurses, social workers, chaplains, aides and volunteers at Hospice. They are equally evident in the faculty, staff, and administration of both our local public school district and the two universities I am privileged to serve. And they even show up at times in the presumably solitary work of a landscape photographer. But being a pastor is what I do most often, and often what I do even when I’m doing just about anything else. So that’s where you’ll find my thoughts in this post and the next.

In planning memorial services, family members often imagine that they will be able to sing songs, read poetry, offer eulogies, etc. Often they’re quite right. But over the years, the less-than-infrequent breakdowns in these plans have led me to ask that when they become overwhelmed and leave the lectern in tears, that they mark where they left off, and I’ll be glad to finish for them. This kind of discussion led to my friend Richard approaching me before his father’s memorial service began. He asked which arm I threw with, so that when he signaled for “The Reliever,” it would be with the appropriate hand patting the correct elbow.

Jean Machi

As fans of the San Francisco Giants, the recent history of a couple of our relief pitchers seemed especially appropriate to the occasion. I didn’t share it then, but I’ve been mulling it over ever since. Here’s what came to mind.

May 5, 2014 – San Francisco relief pitcher, Jean Machi, is involved in three extraordinary defensive plays, and two even-more unusual offensive plays in the space of two innings (the 11^th and 12^th, after the Giants had rebounded from a six-run deficit, eventually winning 11-10; but we’ll get to that in a moment).

Twice, a batted ball tipped off the end of Machi’s glove. In one case it prevented second-baseman Brandon Hicks from beginning a double play. In the other, though, it prevented an extra-base hit instead of the single that resulted. But the strangest defensive “gem,” especially when viewed on slow-motion replay, resulted as second base umpire Gerry Davis appeared to lock his eyes on Machi to ensure that he aligned himself between the pitcher and second base—and was rewarded by being pegged with the throw that otherwise may have recorded yet another out or two.

Offensively, Machi fared better, but no less strangely. His attempt at a sacrifice bunt slowed to a halt along the third base line, perfectly perpendicular to the pitcher’s mound. Pittsburgh’s pitcher, Jared Hughes, reached for the ball, slipped slightly, and threw low to first base. In the replay, Machi clearly beats out the bunt for a single, whereas the low throw allows San Francisco’s Hunter Pence to score after rounding third. But not only was the bad throw considered an error in allowing Pence to score, Machi’s bunt single was ruled to have resulted from the same error. Base hits by pitchers are rare enough without losing any to the official scorer. Yet adding insult to injury moments later, when Machi (at a height of six feet even and weighing 255 pounds) stole second base, putting another runner in scoring position as the Giants attempted to stretch their lead in the top of the thirteenth inning, his efforts were again dismissed by the official scorer. Not a stolen base. Machi had advanced as a result of “defensive indifference.” Presumably because in Pittsburgh it doesn’t matter whether you’re trying to come back from one, two, or three runs down in the bottom of an extra inning.

Finally, and perhaps worst of all the inequities inflicted upon Machi, when the Pirates failed to score in the bottom of the thirteenth, giving Machi his league-leading record of five wins and no losses—tying him with four others, all starting pitchers—he earned the “good-natured” and “endearing” epithet as a “vulture.” He was collecting wins that, in the mind of other pitchers (and former-pitchers-turned-broadcasters—I’m looking at you, Mike Krukow), should rightly belong to starters; relievers, evidently, are only supposed to get “saves.”

So here are some of the parallels I found myself contemplating. Sometimes, as a pastor, your very best efforts fall fractions of an inch short, sometimes even keeping others from providing successful assistance. Sometimes, you have everything in place for success, and someone else aligns themselves to interfere. Even when you’re ready to sacrifice, your successes get labeled as resulting from others’ failures, or a lack of opposition, or even mere coincidence. And if your success is notable for any reason, you’re likely to be “good-naturedly” criticized for allowing it to appear as though you had anything to do with it.

Now, before I appear to be more cynical and bitter than I really am, I want to point out the experience of another Giants reliever, less than a week later.

Sergio Romo

May 11, 2014 – Leading by two runs in the bottom of the ninth, the Giants sent their Closer, Sergio Romo, to the mound. The two-run homer he gave up resulted in the starting pitcher being robbed of his win, and earned for Romo what would have been scored as a “blown save.” It would have been, of course, except that in the top of the tenth inning, the Giants scored three times to take, and then hold the lead. Among the results was this strange scoring anomaly: instead of a blown save, the statistic became “winning pitcher,” and it was conferred on, yes, Sergio Romo.

This is the lesson that best reminds me not to invest too much of my effort, or my self-image, in the statistics, results, reputation, and/or labels ascribed to me as a pastor. Sometimes you get credit for things you had nothing to do with. And sometimes you even get rewarded for circumstances in which your major contribution was failure. Further, like those ball players who, on any given day, find success or failure or anything in between—the most essential characteristic has to remain: a love of the game.

2011 Family Photo Session

As things turned out during the memorial service last Saturday, the starter got through all nine innings of his tribute to his father. Good thing, too. I’ve gotten to be friends with Richard, largely because of how much his father has meant to me and my family. He was a fellow-elder, board member, and worship team leader at the church I am privileged to serve. More than that, and before all that, he was a dear friend and brother in Christ. If I’d been called to pitch in relief of Richard, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t then have had to pass the responsibility on to someone else as Closer. But we both made it through.

Before the ceremony, some noted how glad they were to see that I was officiating. They recounted how they and others had spoken fondly of previous services they’d attended. My response was the same each time. When you are commemorating a life well lived, all you have to do is clearly and authentically express who the person was, and you end up getting credit for having led a great memorial service, funeral, graveside, or celebration of life.

2013 Glenburn Circle Bazaar

Granted, we did ascribe a great deal of credit to Richard’s father, my friend, Bill Hudson. It was, after all, a celebration of his life-well-lived. But two things were also very clear. First, that some of the credit he deserved never ended up in a box score. There were more blessings than we even knew to count. Second, though, was the reality that many of the things with which we credited Bill had little to do with anything he actually did. Most were the outgrowth and result of who he was. And that, Bill would have told you, was entirely a result of Whose he was. Bill believed, and I agree, that any blessings we received through him originated with Jesus Christ and His indwelling presence in Bill’s life.

If the most essential characteristic of a successful ball player is his love of the game, then the most essential characteristic of my dear friend’s life was the love of Christ through him toward others—whoever might have gotten the credit for it.

“Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold” – Part Three

On Sunday, March 11, 2014, at The Glenburn Community Church, due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control, the morning sermon was interrupted. For those who have been following along in the parallel series in Samuel-Kings (“The Kings of Israel”) and the gospel of Mark (“The Kingdom at Hand”), the two previous posts along with this post summarize the main points of that sermon from Mark 4:1-20 entitled “Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold.” To those who have expressed their concern for the parishioner experiencing a health crisis in the midst of the sermon, please know that they are doing well and are very thankful for the support and encouragement they have received.

In order to maintain and enhance your spiritual and mental health, it would be wise to Lower Your Expectations about the proportion of professing Christians who will actually engage in service to Christ and others. Rather than yield to the temptation to increase your workload by a factor of four in order to make up for the three-quarters whose labors are temporary, at best, you would also be wise to Limit Your Involvements. But these are only partial remedies at best, and they are unlikely to be effective unless your first, and foremost, Learn to Love Your Calling. It is your calling that helps you to focus your involvements into areas where your passions, gifts, and experiences converge into effective service. And it is your calling that allows you to lower your expectations of others to as nearly zero as possible, focusing on your own relationship as a servant of Christ and others, entrusting Him with the results and consequences that ensue because of your obedience to His leading.

How do we get this so terribly wrong so often? It is because we are led by pastors who are trained, just as I was trained and sought to train others, to measure their success, and thus their value, by the statistics on their monthly, quarterly, and annual denominational reports. Further warping our self-esteem, pastors also face those for whom statistics are irrelevant, so long as there is a good story of great victory in some work of evangelism, discipleship, or spiritual warfare.

If I am being unclear, then let me try being brutally frank. Many churches cannot love their calling, because they are constantly instructed, persuaded, motivated, and “inspired” to love their reputation, image, and popularity, just as their pastors do. Do we pastors yield to that temptation without exception? No. In fact, even the most self-aggrandizing pastors I know have shown moments of great clarity and integrity in their service of Christ and others. But even the most humble servants of my acquaintance have equally amazed me with their enhanced and self-congratulatory remembrances of particular anecdotes, or even simple attendance counts.

What does it mean to love your calling? It means to willingly choose not to love your reputation, your promotability, the popularity of the church you attend, or even the “legitimate” measures of ministry success: conversions, baptisms, new members, and developing disciples. If we are to understand our calling, then we should listen to Jesus when He says, “Listen! Behold, the sower went out to sow.” (Mark 4:3) Why is this emphasized so passionately? Because the story has always been about The Seed.

We are blessed with the seed of the woman (Genesis 3:14-15), the seed of Abraham (Genesis 17:1-8 and Galatians 3:16), the seed of David (Jeremiah 33:19-26 and Romans 1:1-6), the seed of the gospel in Christ (II Timothy 2:8-10), and the seed of Christ in and through believers (Revelation 12:17). We are branches of the vine, bearing fruit, and we cannot help but scatter seed wherever we go (Matthew 28:18-20).

To love our calling is to love who we have been made to be, first in being created to bear the image and likeness of God, and then in the process of being restored, redeemed, and renewed, having been regenerated/reborn from the damage and degradation of sin. More than what we are called to do, we bear fruit and scatter seed as a result of simply being who we are in Christ. When a sower goes out, he sows…simply because he is a sower.

One caution, though, to those who would imagine that this allows silence, or avoidance of sacrificial service. “Actions speak louder with words,” and “I don’t care what you know until I know that you care.” Be sure to scatter words and deeds together (Romans 10:8-10).

Some will note that this message was intended for Mother’s Day, and ask “What does all this have to do with that?” I wish I could say that there are no Dilettantes when it comes to mothering children. But some dabble at it, admire other moms, but never really embrace it as a career. Some start out great, of course, but other matters intervene and they become Backsliders. And I have known some, too, who are actually Pretenders. They did not go through the labor; they do not choose to make the sacrifices; they just enjoy having the title, and fully expect to get the cards and flowers from those they have not bothered to raise.

But then, there are the mothers who inspire us to be devoted disciples of Jesus Christ. If you’re one of those, you know that you’ve had to Lower Your Expectations – because not everything is going to go exactly as you have planned and hoped. You’ve had to Limit Your Involvements – because you can’t be everything, everywhere, all the time. And even if you could, your children have to be who they are, too. Finally, despite the difficulties, the challenges, the boundaries, and the pain, if you’re one of those mothers, you’ve had to Learn to Love Your Calling, and leave the results and consequences to God.

So, my prayer for Mother’s Day was to have been: May God help us to emulate the best of what it means to be Mothers, in leading us to raise up Devoted Disciples, fellow-heirs in the family, ever –blessed children of God through Christ.

“Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold” – Part Two

On Sunday, March 11, 2014, at The Glenburn Community Church, due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control, the morning sermon was interrupted. For those who have been following along in the parallel series in Samuel-Kings (“The Kings of Israel”) and the gospel of Mark (“The Kingdom at Hand”), the previous post, this post, and one more post to come summarize the main points of that sermon from Mark 4:1-20 entitled “Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold.” To those who have expressed their concern for the parishioner experiencing a health crisis in the midst of the sermon, please know that they are doing well and are very thankful for the support and encouragement they have received.

One way to maintain and enhance your spiritual and mental health is to Lower Your Expectations. We tend to believe that somehow everyone who attends a local congregation will share equally in the work necessary. But focusing on the 25% who become faithful followers of Jesus Christ (those who are represented in the parable of “The Sower and the Seed” by the good soil that produces a crop of thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold—be sure to see Part One of “Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold”) is insufficient to protect yourself from the frustration, despair, betrayal, and bitterness described previously. A second discipline needs to be practiced if you seek the satisfaction and joy of serving Christ and others.

That second discipline requires that you Limit Your Involvements.

Those who are most often commended for tireless efforts are anything but tireless. We’re worn out. The world around us sees that we bear false witness, testifying by our behavior the exact opposite of what Jesus promised in Matthew 11:28-30. “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” We are weighed down, burnt out, emotionally-drained, and more than a little cranky more than a little bit of the time. (At least I know that I am.) What should the world find inviting about a lifestyle that would probably kill most people quickly, since it seems to be slowly killing those who are sustained by God’s provision and protection? (II Corinthians 4:7-11 describes God’s sustaining influence in light of persecution, affliction, and even death…but not when we are willfully damaging our health by carrying Christ’s yoke, others’ expectations, and our own baggage.)

Think about the jobs we are not called to do in this parable.

We are not instructed to become “soil-management consultants.” Some want to plow-up the road, pull out the rocks, and eradicate the thorns. No such activities are prescribed in the parable. We are also not instructed to become “seed-conservation distributors.” Trying to discern the demographics of the good soil, some would pour all our seed only small plots where greater growth seems more likely. In the context of Jesus’ illustration, soil conditioners and crop-yield appraisals do not reach into the dark recesses of the human heart. We cannot know, and therefore cannot “target” the seed as some would recommend.

Then, what we are called to do here?

We are called to do two things. First, “scatter the seed.” Don’t worry about where it lands. In fact, you cannot control where it lands, because of the second things we are called to do: “bear fruit.” Where does the seed come from? The fruit. We bear fruit, and as we live out being branches of the vine, the seed scatters wherever we go. And we are to go everywhere.

But we are not to do everything. For every obligation and responsibility you undertake, ask these two questions: (1) Does this serve the core purposes of connecting persons in relationship to God through Christ? And (2) Is this part of my role/calling as a channel of Christ’s ministry to, and in, and through me?

How, then, do we discern what to do where and when? For whom? By what means? That is the subject of the third part of our examination of this parable. We’ll take that up in the next post.

“Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold” – Part One

On Sunday, March 11, 2014, at The Glenburn Community Church, due to circumstances beyond anyone’s control, the morning sermon was interrupted. For those who have been following along in the parallel series in Samuel-Kings (“The Kings of Israel”) and the gospel of Mark (“The Kingdom at Hand”), the next three posts summarize the main points of that sermon from Mark 4:1-20 entitled “Thirty, Sixty, and a Hundredfold.” To those who have expressed their concern for the parishioner experiencing a health crisis in the midst of the sermon, please know that they are doing well and are very thankful for the support and encouragement they have received.

In the previous week’s sermon we discussed three categories of individuals who often choose to attend religious services, though without fully participating in the life or community of faith. Some are Dilettantes, those who admire religion, and who might dabble in some practices, but do not participate as practitioners of “the life of faith.” Others are labeled Backsliders, who have enthusiastically involved themselves in religion at some point, but for a variety of reasons choose to distance themselves from “the life of faith” they once claimed. Still others are Pretenders who want to be seen as practitioners of “the life of faith,” but whose beliefs, attitudes, behaviors, and words align only marginally, if at all, with those of the religion they claim to follow.

My hope in describing these categories is to assist in maintaining and enhancing the spiritual health of devoted disciples of Jesus Christ, those who carry the vast majority of the responsibility for any particular congregation. I also find that it helps my mental health to admit that dealing regularly with dilettantes, backsliders, and pretenders…well, it makes me a little crazy sometimes. So, I recommend three distinct disciplines. I see them suggested by the difficult realities Jesus expresses in Mark 4:1-20, “The Parable of the Sower and the Seed.”

 The first of those disciplines is to Lower Your Expectations.

Those who are intensely involved in serving local congregations often have the expectation that everyone who attends, no matter how seldom, should be serving in the same way. But is that reasonable? Scripturally, there are differences in ministries due to variations in the passions, gifts, and experiences held of individual members. In response, the overworked claim that others should at least “measure up” to the investment of time, effort, money, prayer, and criticism they contribute. “And regardless of gifts and talents,” some would add, “when it’s time to fill up the _________ rotation, they need to take their turn!”

Others expect everyone to serve exactly as they do, which is “barely, if at all.” This results from a pervasive heresy: that the “ministers” of a congregation are the paid professionals on staff, with a few “lay volunteers” assisting when (rarely) necessary. Amazingly, this view is held even in small, rural churches with no full-time staff. Is this reasonable? It is, if we allow for the comma some have inserted into Ephesians 4:11-12. One punctuation mark radically changes the perspective of “who does what” in the local congregation. As it reads in the KJV, the reasons for employing pastor-teachers in the church are “for the perfecting of the saints, (and) for the work of the ministry, etc.” Markus Barth, writing on Ephesians for The Anchor Bible commentary series, points out that the error in this matter is far too important to rest upon whether there is a comma (as above), or whether pastor-teachers are given “for the equipping of the saints for the work of service.” He notes the “all-hands-on-deck” approach evident throughout the Ephesian epistle, most notably in Ephesians 2:22. Regarding the “holy temple” into which the “whole building” is to grow, it is that temple “in whom you also are being built together into a dwelling of God in the Spirit.”

Even in the most broadly involved congregations, though, the percentages of those “carrying the load” remain very low. And so, I recommend, should our expectations also remain very low. What is our alternative? Too many are already infected with the bitter assumption that, “though everyone should, most won’t serve, and that’s just how it’s going to be.” The bitterness is hardly biblical. But the perception of a devoted corps of workers carrying the load for a much larger group of dilettantes, backsliders, and pretenders seems to fit the simply math of the parable here.

The seed is scattered onto the roadside, the rocky ground, and the thorny ground, as well as onto good soil. While “The Pareto Principle” routinely quotes an 80-20 division (“80% of the work is done by 20% of the people.”), Jesus holds slightly higher hopes for us. Fully 25% of the soils result in positive outcomes. And those outcomes are extraordinary: “thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold.”

In light of this, we clearly have a choice among three options.

First, we could expect that 100% of those we serve will become fruitful disciples of Jesus Christ. If we do, we are likely to live in constant frustration, on the brink of despair.

Second, we could focus our efforts on motivating, influencing, persuading, nagging, and haranguing the 75% who respond only minimally, or temporarily, if at all. This leaves us with a persistent sense of betrayal and bitterness.

But if we choose the third option, to focus on the 25% who become faithful followers of Jesus Christ, we greatly increase the possibility that we will find satisfaction and even joy in our service to Christ and others…even as we wade through the 75% that remain dilettantes, backsliders, and pretenders.

But in order to do that, we must also consider a second essential discipline—if we are to maintain our spiritual and mental health. Let’s visit about that in the next post.

“That Icy Breath, It Whispers…” – Stop for a moment, and let yourself hear it.

"Rublev's Trinity"

The following is written in response to a particularly evocative blog post by my professor, colleague, editor, and friend, Dr. Paul Louis Metzger, entitled “Jesus’ Open Posture and ‘The Open Table.’” I think you’d enjoy it. It’s found here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/uncommongodcommongood/2014/04/jesus-open-posture-and-the-open-table/ under a copy of 15^th Century painter Andrei Rublev’s “Troika,” also known as “Rublev’s Trinity.” I think you’d like that, too, so I’ve included it as well.

Dear Dr. Metzger,

        As you know, we all have our formative influences. Andrei Rublev for you; Van Gogh, Escher, Dali, Rackham, and the darker among their extended crew for me. Johnny Cash, and others with a decided edge on your end; Frank Zappa, Harry Chapin, and—notably, in contemplation of your blog post—Alice Cooper on mine. As I read, I heard, “Is someone calling me? I hear my name!” That is, I recognize myself in the examples you cite. And that, in part, has caused me to delay responding. I apologize. Here are a few of my thoughts.

Sadly, many do yield to the temptation to say, as you note: “Jesus’ posture may be open, but not God’s.” We have built whole theological systems to explain precisely this point. We are compelled to rationalize our fearful withdrawal from among those whom God calls us to engage openly, because otherwise we are left to obey scripture, instead.

Rackham, after Poe's "Masque of the Red Death"

The Apostle Paul is indisputably clear (I Corinthians 5:9-10) on the necessity of our engagement with one another. Why must he state it so strongly? Because our tendency to disengage from those in the world needed to be, and still needs to be corrected constantly, forcefully. Our tendency to merely pretend to engage within the Church is in view as well, since one sure symptom of analgesia in the body of Christ would be the self-congratulatory accommodation of incestuous fornication.

And I think I understand, too clearly, and far too personally, one of the reasons why we withdraw, abandon, and betray the personhood of one another. We do fear being misunderstood, but less so than we fear the potential of inadvertently understanding others. They may be someone, something, or somehow other than I imagine. Since others’ answers might invalidate our stereotypical assumptions, we leave our questions unasked. We leave others’ experiences, circumstances, beliefs, and persons undiscovered.

It is not safer that way, but it is more comfortably convenient. Consider our preprogrammed dialogue. “How are you?” “Fine, and you?” Innocuous, except that it frequently passes for actual conversation. And it does so, even among patients and families I serve as Hospice chaplain. I have not yet screamed in response, “NO! We’re not all fine. We’re all dying; in fact, one of us is dying damn quickly!” But I have been close at times. And yet, I worry that one of the things that prevents me from such brutal (and inappropriately vulgar) honesty is that I, too, “hide (my) secrets and lock everything up in dark closets and shacks of painful experiences and throw away the keys,” as you have noted.

"First resting place," indeed.

Among my dirty little secrets? I am dying, too. Just like the rest of us. But if we don’t talk about it, we can pretend that maybe it won’t happen. Just as my choice, not to ask others who they are, means that I can pretend they’re just exactly who I imagine them to be.

If I allow myself to understand any part of you, by openly engaging you rather than politely dismissing you in a socially acceptable manner (“Have a nice day!”), I risk several things. I risk the possibility that even my questions will betray some part of me that you might then understand. I risk the shock to my system of potentially learning that I am not entirely alone in each of my fears, assumptions, prides, and pains. I risk the probability that if I open myself to another human person, I will lose some of my vain hope that I can hide any part of myself from the God who draws us all together.

But perhaps worst of all, I know that in openly engaging others…I risk being ostracized. Because to betray my fellows, the other denizens of denial, means that I might carry with me an understanding of what they, and we, all share together: an entirely unnatural mortality, and with it, an absolutely indispensable dependence on the God who engages.

That one God, eternally existing in three persons as He does, has no fear of self-disclosure. So, as one created to bear His image and likeness, why do I? It is not, as some would assume, because of the brokenness of sin’s damage in the world and in me. It is, for me, because of the petrifyingly paranoid paralysis that accompanies this thought: If I actually seek to know and understand you, then I may inadvertently allow you to know and understand me.

Yes, sometimes, it is a nightmare. But you are welcome.

So, can’t we just continue to pretend? “For a little while longer? Maybe an hour?” Maybe only a few will recognize the voice of Alice Cooper’s little “Steven.” Very few have ever heard the voice of my own memories of being little Billy. But like all the rest of us, to whatever extent we are familiar with those nightmarishly dark closeted places, “I hear a voice; it’s outside the door.”

And it says, “It’s time to come home now.”

BFREF: If you don't have one, start one.

Dear Friends,

You may not be blessed to live in a small enough community to be so interconnected as we are in the Intermountain Area. But you may still have a local organization that has committed itself to addressing the widening gap between public and legislative expectations and executive budgeting for our public schools. And if you don’t have such an organization, as you’ll see below: there’s a chance you could start one!

The friend who first introduced me to the Burney-Fall River Education Foundation (BFREF), when he was a member of their board of directors, was unable to attend the annual fund-raising dinner and auction this past Saturday night. He asked how it went. This is what I wrote in reply. I’ve redacted the local names. Folks up here in the Intermountain Area will know who’s who, probably. But maybe if you have to fill in with your own local personnel, restaurant, newspaper, etc., you’ll still find it interesting, and perhaps even more inspiring toward how you might support what is, or could be true in your community, for your schools, serving your children.

Regarding BFREF:

Saturday was a blast, even being as painfully ill as I was. Attendance was said to be outstanding. (I haven’t tracked the numbers like others have.) One of the most fascinating activities, for me, is to look at the various expressions of gratitude for the grants provided during the past year. It still strikes me a strange that so often, when I talk about the great work being done toward enhancing the education of our children, the conversation turns to how awful it is that someone isn’t already paying for most of these things. Whether it’s supposed to be budgeted by the district, sent to the schools by the parents, or included as part of a teacher’s personal contribution to their employers’ business (that’s the concept that strikes me as most odd—especially shortly after tax time when I’m forced to look at how expensive it is to have a public school teacher for a wife!), so many imagine that there is some technology fairy, or publishing gnome, or maybe laminating and binding elves who are supposed to make it all magically appear. Of course, with some of the photo-essays, there’s the challenge of determining who it is that is thanking the foundation for what—not every teacher is skilled at communicating via display-board.

But even when I can’t quite figure out which item in the photos it is that some teacher and class  are grateful for (they’re recognizable, I’m sure, to their fellow district personnel), I am absolutely convinced of the value and necessity of the work being done, and the effectiveness of the support provided. I was even more convinced Saturday night when two folks from Cedarville were introduced. They were in attendance in order to explore further how BFREF operates, in preparation for establishing their own version of a foundation for their schools.

Still, having followed the primary fund-raising work of the foundation for several years (i.e., the dinner/auction), I will say that there seemed to be a number of items missing from the various auctions and raffles. Some were sadly missing (i.e., [recently deceased, much-beloved teacher’s] consistent fiber-arts contributions), and some were, well, conspicuously and oddly absent. Just from memory, I think we’ve had two to six yards of crushed gravel, a tool chest or two, rustic benches, tickets to a Giants game, and a bit wider range of artwork in just about each of the prior years I’ve attended, along with a selection of unique one-time-only contributions (e.g., the FFA picnic table that went somewhere in the $2000s, as I recall). In the live auction there were two different lots that were essentially accessorized greens fees (although one included one of those outrageously oversized drivers), two more that were each fly-fishing excursions, and another that was an opportunity to go shoot ground squirrels on someone’s ranch. That’s five lots out of a total of eighteen in the live auction. But we did have fun. As I was told by those with better vantage points, it was [district administrator] and [district administrator] who most enjoyed running [notoriously supportive retiree – who has purchased the pine needle basket at each auction, forever] up on [outstanding local artist’s] pine needle basket (sometimes a dollar at a time—to the minor annoyance of our auctioneer, [area newspaper publisher/reporter/photographer]), and I think they were joined by one other bidder in the early stages of [talented, self-taught watercolor artist’s] painting ending up at $1000 (and, in case you were wondering, also ending up at my house).

Unusually, the dinner itself drew mixed reviews. Well, what’s most remarkable, I guess, is that I heard one criticism. (I wasn’t in any shape to put something in my stomach, even a bottle of water, and still be sure to hold out through the end of the live auction—my favorite item was listed last, of course.) But it looked very nice. Not sure what some of the expectations may have been, or what range of variables there may have been in what arrived at various tables. Of course, I do know [eponymously incorporated local restaurateurs’] skills. And I also know the eccentricities and peccadilloes of some of the assembled connoisseurs. So, I’m willing to say it was as wonderful as usual.

Okay, well, that’s probably more words than I spoke to anyone Saturday night, actually. But writing it out gave me more of an opportunity, I think, to reflect on my role as an annual supporter and occasional grant-writer, and to be thankful for those who commit to ensuring that the business of supplementing the declining material and capital investment available for our children’s education continues to grow and thrive. So, I am glad you asked.