Down The Road: Strategic Charitable Giving Utilizing QCDs

My wife and I are doing some early retirement planning this week. Essentially we are getting our plan together for leaving the workforce in the next five and fifteen years, respectively and mapping out what that is going to look like. 

As I have written about before on this blog, I consider work a privilege I am grateful to have as a man, and I for the most part enjoy my job so I am in no urgent rush to jump ship. I had a 'mini sabbatical' for a month or two in between jobs in my twenties and realized in taking that time to get a taste of "mini-retirement" that I actually enjoy and appreciate the structure and meaning work provides. On top of that, I have various incentives to stay for the long haul which can be utilized at age 59. My wife, however, is in a physically demanding job (albeit, part time) and probably has five years left in her to be able to continue doing it.

Of course we know God laughs at future plans; at the same time we also see the admonition for prudent foresight and preparation for times of want in Proverbs 13:4, 7-8:

A sluggard’s appetite is never filled,

    but the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied.

One person pretends to be rich, yet has nothing;

    another pretends to be poor, yet has great wealth.

A person’s riches may ransom their life,

    but the poor cannot respond to threatening rebukes.

Part of that foresight for us as a couple is evaluating what we value and how we can move our lives closer in alignment to those values. One of those values is hospitality--we try to make a point to open our home to others as a welcoming place of refuge, fellowship, and comfort; another is service--we don't want to just indulge our wants, but make ourselves instruments of God's purposes to accomplish His will. In doing so, we made the decision years ago to make every effort to pay off all our debts and frontload as much of our paycheck into savings (including retirement) so that we can take full advantage of the value of time as it relates to compounding interest (what Albert Einstein called the "Eighth Wonder of the World"). We did this by making sacrifices and living frugally early, in addition to various good fortunes, privileges and windfalls that we banked rather than spent, so that we are (hopefully) in a position later in life to step out of the workforce and live off our savings in retirement and pass on money to our children.

However we see the frightful warning in Luke's gospel  (Lk 12:16-21) of the "retired man" with his giant grain barns who has more than he knows what to do with yet hoards it for himself:

And he told them this parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. 17 He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.’

“Then he said, ‘This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. And I’ll say to myself, “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.”’

“But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?’

“This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.”

What was the wealthy man's end goal? To take it easy, enjoy life, and be merry. I.e., live it up in his "golden years."

Now, there is nothing wrong with enjoying life, even the finer things in life, in old age. As Christ makes clear, the problem lies in storing up "things for themselves" who are not rich toward God. What does it mean to be rich toward God? Mercy and charity go hand in hand, since mercy seeks to alleviate burden and charity can be the means by which one does that monetarily. If Christ is in the needy, we serve God when we both tithe to the Church, and to those in need as well. 

The thought of sitting back and making my life's purpose to enjoy material things and indulge my whims and senses ad nauseum is not appealing to me (or my wife) in the slightest. We don't talk enough about having a "philosophy of money" in the Church, I think to our detriment. Money (like the internet, or technology, etc) is a tool that holds the potential for evil purposes and self-indulgence, but can also be utilized for greater purposes; it shouldn't be taboo, or an overly emotional topic either. And God promises to multiply the dividends for the cheerful giver as well (2 Cor:9-6-7). We have witnessed this first hand in our life--that the more we give away to serve His purposes and His people, the more he lavishes upon us. It's crazy, actually. It's like a kind of "spiritual compounding interest." 

The funny thing is, as my wife and I have discussed together, we are in want of nothing; in other words, there is nothing more that you could add to our lives in terms of increasing the happiness factor or value of the quality of our lives. We have exercised and trained the muscle of frugality (not cheapness, mind you, they are different) for so long that it doesn't take much to give us pleasure. We are trying to raise our kids with the same mindset, since there is nothing more off putting than spoiled children. And so, we have no desire for second homes, boats or nice cars, or lavish vacations. Just simple pleasures that are within the reach of many middle-class people, as well as the gift of the one thing you cannot buy: time.

Now, God can throw all kinds of curveballs, so it's important to defer to and follow His will in all things as it comes. But in learning more about our retirement options and the nuts and bolts implications of having a degree of saved wealth later in life, we realized that at some point, the power of compounding interest will be like rolling a small snowball down a mountain as it picks up speed and snow, so that at the bottom it kind of "gets away from you" and is a huge snow boulder. What that means in terms of finances is that your accumulated savings/investment interest begins to outpace your spending needs. So the question then becomes, what do you do with all that accumulated wealth, since you obviously can't bring it with you when you die?

Well, as I've said before, have all the babies. I also think it's good to help your children in their life if you are able, and also leave an inheritance to them to give them a leg up in life. Same goes for helping one's parents as needed, in fulfillment of the 4th Commandment. The Old Testament clearly extols this idea of inheritance to one's heirs, and is one of the benefits of staying married as well. I think it's best to find a balance between the "Die With Zero" philosophy and the miserliness of saving everything, which is what my wife and I plan to do. Between pension income, delayed Social Security, and various taxable accounts, it is very possible for us to live comfortably without touching our retirement accounts. Which means they have the potential to exponentially grow and develop a "problem" later on (albeit, a good problem to have, but a problem none the less) when it comes to taking Required Minimum Distributions in one's early seventies. This is money the government makes you withdraw, whether you want to or not, from tax-deferred 401k and traditional IRA accounts so they can get their tax money from it to fund their debt and incompetence.

One thing I have found in common among all wealthy people, is that they will do everything they can to minimize their tax liability. There are shady and immoral ways of doing this which many avow themselves of; but there are also legal and strategic ways of doing so that minimize the taxes you pay to the government. I am all in favor of not feeding the glut of government spending and minimizing taxes where at all possible (which I guess makes me a fiscal, as well as a social conversative?). And one way to do this later in life if you are charitably inclined is to make use of Qualified Charitable Contributions (QCDs). 

At age 70.5, the IRS specifies that you can give up to $100,000 per year ($200,000 per couple) to qualified 501c3's from your tax deferred retirement savings; this is more effective than itemizing or simply writing checks from your already taxed income because you don't pay the tax on those distributions, and the charity gets a bigger share than they would have otherwise. If you need to take RMDs as well, those can be used as QCDs. You can read more about how to take advantage of this IRS allowance here.

So, that is part of our "money is a tool" strategy later in life--that we keep our spending modest and leave my wife's 403b account alone to grow from age 55 to 70.5, and then draw that down to close to zero over our lifetimes so that we limit our own tax liability (less money to the government), and fund charities that we value. This would include:

• One's local parish, of course
• Your local St Vincent de Paul Society
• The underground church in China
• Traditional monasteries and religious orders
• Organizations that foster Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, such as the Catholic Art Institute
• World Villages for Children, which my friend Kevin Wells is involved in and who do great work for exploited children
• The Laboure Society to help those with religious vocations pay off their school loans
• Perhaps scholarships for innovative new trade schools (like St. Joseph the Worker)

I'm sure there are many more worthy organizations, hopefully with low overhead and who get the money where it needs to go to do the most good. Of course, as a family we continue to make our weekly offerings to our local parish and help families we know as needed when circumstances arise. But the most "bang for the buck" in terms of very pragmatic, strategic, tax-advantaged giving can come from utilizing these QCDs later in life, in case you weren't aware of them (which is why I am writing this very boring post). 

As a family, we don't want to see money as evil in and of itself, and maintain a kind of detachment from it; everything belongs to God, and we are, and want to simply be, good stewards of what He has given us. Money can be a means for self-indulgence or a tool to achieve good in the world and serve those in need, fostering charity in ourselves and the alleviation of suffering in others. All things for the glory of God, and our finances are no exception.

How about you? What are some other charities that do good with low overhead and are effective at fulfilling their stated mission? Feel free to comment below. 

Who Are "The Poor" Anyway?

Our Lenten observance during this penitential season rests on three pillars--prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. They often seem to come in that order for us, with focus and pride of place being devoted to the first two while the third--almsgiving--tends to trail a little. 

I don't believe this is because we willfully wish to neglect this most pious and ancient practice, but because we don't actually know how to go about it properly. We learn the secrets of mental prayer from the Fathers and the saints and the concrete laws of the fast from the Church, but with regards to almsgiving we are sometimes left to our own devices to figure out how to subjectively put it into practice, or rely on the cardboard CRS "ricebowl" to stuff our weekly dollar bills in fulfillment of this precept.

For conservative Catholics, there can perhaps also be an unconscious fear of aligning ourselves too much with a "redistribution of wealth" mindset with those who did not work or earn it, or with the mindset of so-called Social Justice Warriors who prioritize corporal works over the spiritual. Or we may simply struggle with the idea of a "deserving versus undeserving" poor, and fear feeding addictions or bad habits with our alms. Lastly, we can sometimes feel the pressure of manipulation to give as we are approached on the street with oftentimes fabricated stories of someone needing bus money to get to where they are going, or panhandlers who are sometimes known to strategically exploit those with tender hearts, and so our alms are not always freely given in these cases, but extorted in a sense.

It would be helpful to lead off with the teaching that almsgiving is first and foremost of act of mercy, as St. Thomas notes “the motive for giving alms is to relieve one who is in need” (S.T. II-II q32 a1). We can see the terror of the debtor who is being threatened with being sold with his family into slavery in Matthew 18:23-25 when he cannot pay back what he owes. When the man begs for mercy, the master takes pity and cancels the debt in full; however, the man forgiven does not apply the same mercy to one who owes him a much smaller sum, and when the master hears about he punishes him severely. Our Lord relates this physical act of mercy to forgiveness of grievances, but it is clear from the parable that relieving the burden of need from our brothers as an act of charity is tied closely with the exercise of mercy. 

We can also see the eternal consequences of neglecting charity with regards to the rich man and Lazarus--the poor man who is intentionally ignored in his need. When they both meet their ends, the rich man goes to Hell specifically on account of his callous neglect. When we meditate on Hell, we often confine our thoughts and guilt to our sins of commission, rarely ascribing ourselves to the place of the rich man and sitting in his seat feasting. St. James makes a similar point with regards to the "work" of charity,

"Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?" (James 2:15-16)

Just as God cannot be outdone in mercy and by our penance, we attempt (but never can fully accomplish) the act of repaying all the Lord has done for us in ransoming us from sin and death (Ps 116:12). And so we know there are also spiritual benefits to exercising mercy in imitation of our Lord who forgives seventy times seven:

'Give alms out of thy substance, and turn not away thy face from any poor person: for so it shall come to pass that the face of the Lord shall not be turned from thee.

According to thy ability be merciful. If thou have much, give abundantly; if thou have little, take care even so to bestow willingly a little.

But do not hesitate to give alms; for thus thou storest up to thyself a good reward for the day of necessity.

For alms deliver from all sin, and from death, and will not suffer the soul to go into darkness.

Alms shall be a great confidence before the most high God, to all them that give it.'

(Tobias 4:7-12)

Charity does not bind anyone to employ extraordinary means in order to safeguard his own life (St. Alphonsus, op. cit., III, no. 31). As a guide, St. Alphonsus offers a tangible outlay corresponding to "two per cent of temporalities superfluous to social prestige suffices to satisfy the obligation." This may be helpful to us when we are tempted to either give too much imprudently or too little in letting ourselves off the hook of our obligation to the needy, and assuage scrupulous consciences. Furthermore, St. Thomas states that we cannot help all, but only those close to us as “we are not bound to relieve all who are in need, but only those who could not be succored if we not did not succor them” (II-II q32 a5). 

Likewise, well-meaning Christians can sometimes struggle with exercising the prudence required of being a steward of wealth, in making concrete determinations of where and to whom to give. They should keep in mind the teachings of the Apostolic Constitutions that discretion is required in such circumstances and that "alms must not be given to the malicious, the intemperate, or the lazy; lest a premium should be set on vice" (Const. Apost., ii, 1-63; iii, 4-6).

As Christians, we can sometimes elevate "the poor" to a kind of ethereal status, in the same way we might speak of "the Communists" as a specter of threat--out there, but not knowing where they really live or who qualifies as "poor." Because our brains often rely on stereotypes to reduce complexity and avoid cognitive overload (known as heuristics), we construct what a poor person is based on physical or environmental circumstances--the disheveled man on the street, or the migrant with children living in a shelter, or the elderly person subsisting on cat food and tap water. 

But what about the head of household who makes a six figure salary and who through poor choices finds himself leveraged by debt with no emergency savings and a negative net worth? Is he and his family "poor," despite their ample means? What about the family with a median household income, who nevertheless live in an extreme high cost of living area in which they cannot afford adequate housing? The poor are not always the indigent, and sometimes they are hidden in plain sight but in non-stereotypical circumstances. Nevertheless, these can be difficult, subjective situation to discern.

So what does almsgiving look like, practically speaking--both for the giver and the recipient? Before answering that question it may be helpful to look to scripture of the disposition of the rich young ruler who approaches Jesus asking what he must do to gain eternal life in Mark 10:17-27. The man prides himself on his "doing"--that is, on fulfilling the Commandments. When our Lord takes it a step farther with another action item--to sell all that he has and to give it to the poor, and follow him--the young man cannot bring himself to take that step. If he could fulfill all the commandments of the Law, why could he not also fulfill this command? What was stopping him from doing so? Was the man going away damned like the rich man with Lazarus at his feet? Or was he simply forfeiting a higher calling to be "perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect," (Mt 5:48) prioritizing his locus of control over the more volatile future of complete dependance on Divine Providence and as a result "settling for less?" As St. John of the Cross wrote, "It makes little difference whether a bird is tied by a thin thread or by a cord. Even if it is tied by a thread, the bird will be held bound… it will be impeded from flying as long as it does not break the thread.” Christ has called us to freedom, and while we hate to admit it, sometimes wealth (even modest wealth) and security can be that very thin string that binds us to this world.

For married men like myself, we know sainthood is possible, that is, made possible by Christ's redemption and our free will. But we are also reminded of St. Paul's words that "it is better not to marry" (1 Cor7:8), and that in accepting our state of life and necessarily being "of the world" we make a hard thing harder--impossible with men, but still possible with God. If we were forced to categorize ourselves as middle-class Americans as either "rich" or "poor", comparatively to the world, we would undoubtedly be considered the former. And that means as rich people, comparatively speaking, it is harder for us to enter Heaven than it is for a camel to enter through the eye of a needle (Mt 19:24). Again, impossible for men, but possible with God. To whom much has been given, much will be required (Lk 12:48). Almsgiving is as much for our spiritual benefit and fire protection as it is for its beneficiaries. 

As "wealthy" people we are stewards, and as such we have the freedom of discretion in how much and in what ways we give alms. The Church herself does not exact a strict 10% tithe on Catholics, but rather uses this a suggested guide (5% to the poor, 5% to the Church). Likewise, we have freedom for how we as Catholics are privileged to exercise mercy through giving--some may prefer established charities, either close to home or abroad, others through direct service of time and treasure. Fr. Thomas Dubay in his book Happy Are You Poor presses in on this challenge to remind us that “Having wealth is damaging to the pursuit of the kingdom because the very having does something to one's inner life, one's very ability to love God for his own goodness and others in and for him.” Almsgiving is our Lord and the Church's proscription for our spiritual malaise. 

For our family, we have gone the route of mainly prioritizing supporting individuals and families over established charities. In this economy, there is no shortage of those who are quietly struggling but may make too much to qualify for public assistance. We have PayPal-ed funds to indigents abroad (who were vetted by a trusted friend), as well as written checks to cover mortgage and utility payments for large families in which the husband has lost his job or suffered health issues. Other times, it was simply someone in need who came into our path who was an answer to prayer, and we were able to alleviate some of their financial burden. In all these circumstances, I try to write a check with my right hand while the left hand is kept in the dark. We are not saviors, for there is only one Savior--we are merely stewards, and given the privilege of exercising the spiritual mercy shown to us by the Lord to others in corporal need. Rather, we recognize that while we cannot do everything to relieve the burdens of others, we can most certainly do something. 

"The poor" are not caricatures, though for those who like to flex virtue it would be more convenient if they were. For the poor can surprise us by their demureness, their hiddenness. They may be our neighbor in Christ, our neighbor of another faith, or our literal neighbor languishing behind closed doors next to us. And since the poor we will have with us always, there will be never not be an opportunity to exercise the muscle of charity during Lent and beyond it. The harder work, when we regard ourselves like the rich young ruler, is settling for less, shortchanging ourselves by prioritizing the pleasures of trifles and temporal distractions over the gift of charity, and keeping our hearts from becoming calloused. We would be wise to recall the words of St. Ambrose as a reality check when considering those in need: "You are not making a gift of your possessions to the poor person. You are handing over to him what is his. For what has been given in common for the use of all, you have arrogated to yourself. The world is given to all, and not only to the rich."

It Is Only For Your Love Alone That The Poor Will Forgive You The Bread You Give Them

This morning some guys and I are going to head downtown to do some homeless outreach and ministry on the streets. This is nothing organized or pre-scripted: to be honest, we're just kind of winging it and praying to be used by the Holy Spirit. Last night my daughter and I made sandwiches and made up some care packages with granola bars, some snacks, toiletries, a Miraculous Medal and Ven Matt Talbot prayer cards. I stuffed the freezer with bottles of water, since it's been in the mid-nineties this week and especially hot and humid. 

I wrote an article recently on some practical ideas of how to practice the works of mercy, both spiritual and corporal. There are many different ways to do this work, and this just compiled a few. What we are doing this morning is pretty basic, but of course goes to our Lord's command in Matthew 25:

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink" (Mt 25:35)

In The Key That Opens The Door To Paradise, I wrote about the act of Perfect Contrition, that is, contrition motivated by the love of God rather than the fear of Hell. From the Catechism:

When it arises from a love by which God is loved above all else, contrition is called “perfect.” Such contrition remits venial sins; it also obtains forgiveness of mortal sins if it includes the firm resolution to have recourse to sacramental confession as soon as possible.

The contrition called “imperfect” is also a gift of God, a prompting of the Holy Spirit. It is born of the consideration of sin’s ugliness or the fear of eternal damnation and the other penalties threatening the sinner. Such a stirring of conscience can initiate an interior process which, under the prompting of grace, will be brought to completion by sacramental absolution. By itself however, imperfect contrition cannot obtain the forgiveness of grave sins, but it disposes one to obtain forgiveness in the sacrament of Penance. (CCC 1452-53), 

What came to me in prayer this morning was that in the act of charity, there is also a kind of perfect and imperfect charity. I imagined that when we arrive on the streets near the train station this morning, walking around with our bags of food and cold water, and are asked, "Why are you doing this? Why are you out there," one could reply in two ways:

"We are doing this because our Lord commanded it." (Mt. 25) "So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, 'We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty. '” (Lk 17:10). And this is a perfectly acceptable way of responding.

But there is also another way, when you encounter someone laying on the street, sweating and hungry, and they ask "Why are you here? Why are you doing this?" to respond:

"Because you are hungry. Because it's hot, and you thirst."

This is the charity motivated not by duty, but by love. When we pray for grace and feel the loneliness, the hunger, the thirst of our brothers and sisters in need, and wish to alleviate that suffering in some small way, this is the motivation of a more perfect charity not bound by duty but by love. We can also only feel it and enter it it when we have felt it ourselves. As St. Mother Teresa observed,

“The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty -- it is not only a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There's a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God.”

We should remember that in "doing our duty," we are also given the great privilege of grace in service. I want to tell the guys too before we set out, "It's ok to give someone you meet today a hug. Ask their name. Tell them they are loved. It might be awkward, but think about the last time someone may have afforded them such comfort. Be prudent, be careful, but don't harden your heart." 

St. John Chrysostom was known to preach such uncomfortable sermons, not in removed, lofty and theological discourses, but earthy and convicting:

"Do you wish to honor the Body of the Savior? Do not despise him when he is naked. Do not honor him in church with silk vestments while outside he is naked and numb with cold. He who said, “This is my body,” and made it so by his word, is the same that said, “You saw me hungry and you gave me no food. As you did it not to the least of these, you did it not to me.” Honor him then by sharing your property with the poor. For what God needs is not golden chalices but golden souls.

…It is such a slight thing I beg…nothing very expensive…bread, a roof, words of comfort. [If the rewards I promised hold no appeal for you] then show at least a natural compassion when you see me naked, and remember the nakedness I endured for you on the cross…I fasted for you then, and I suffer for you now; I was thirsty when I hung on the cross, and I thirst still in the poor, in both ways to draw you to myself to make you humane for your own salvation." (Homily 50 on Matthew)

And St. Vincent de Paul,

"You will find out that Charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the full basket. But you will keep your gentleness and your smile. It is not enough to give soup and bread. This the rich can do. You are the servant of the poor, always smiling and good-humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting master you will see. And the uglier and the dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them."

I think it's good to "get your hands dirty" in the trenches on the regular if possible, to bring us down from our safe and removed theological perches. Not because we have to (we do), but because we get to. Not because we make any lasting impact, for the "poor you will have with you always;" but because in doing so our hearts soften, become amenable to grace and the realization of our own dependence and wretched state. We also have to remember we are guests in their home, even if that home is the streets. This is where they live, and many have wounds we cannot see from lifetimes of trauma or neglect. We have to tread lightly, respectfully, not as personal messiahs but only as guests doing small things with, hopefully, great love.

 The Lord affords us the opportunity to make sure our faith is not a dead faith, as St. James says, one that manifests in works for our salvation but also in the physical manifestation of the small alleviation of suffering to those in need. It is the practice of mercy that perfects charity, and we can't do that while we remain holed up with our wagons circled in our safe spaces. The work is not for the poor, but for us.

I don't have a script this morning, or a real plan. I'm hoping the Holy Spirit will just guide and protect us, and send those neglected Christs to those whom we are meant to encounter, and that me and the guys too get some training in humility and service in the school of charity. So your prayers are very much appreciated. Thanks in advance. 

It's Not Easy Being Perfect

Apart from the $1 scratch offs my mom gives us every Christmas, I've never played the lottery. But the convenience store down the street from us just sold three Powerball tickets totaling $1.4 million. And I heard a Skid Row bodega sold the winning $1 billion Powerball ticket. Irony of ironies. 

In 2002, when businessman Jack Whittaker won a record-setting $315 million Powerball ticket, he was already a self-made millionaire. But he, like many others before him, was beset by the "lottery curse"--drinking, gambling, strip clubs, overspending, death, divorce, violence, bankruptcy etc as a result of the fast infusion of wealth. He admitted later, "I wish I had torn the ticket up."

I'm giving a talk on virtue of prudence next week, so have been thinking about how this virtue applies particularly in finances. Prudence is the intellectual virtue which rightly directs particular human acts, through rectitude of the appetite, toward a good end.As a moral virtue, it is a habit that makes its possessor good. You don’t just know the good, you DO the good. You behave well.

Obviously there were wealthy and blessed men in the scriptures (Abraham, Job, Zacchaeus, Joseph of Arimathea, to name a few), but that didn't keep Christ from preaching on the danger of riches:

“He who trusts in his riches will fall, but the righteous will flourish like the green leaf.” (Prov 11:28)

“Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!” (Mk 10:23)

“No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Mk 6:24)

“And the one on whom seed was sown among the thorns, this is the man who hears the word, and the worry of the world and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, and it becomes unfruitful.” (Mt 13:22)

“When you have eaten and are satisfied, you shall bless the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you. Beware that you do not forget the Lord your God by not keeping His commandments and His ordinances and His statutes which I am commanding you today; otherwise, when you have eaten and are satisfied, and have built good houses and lived in them, and when your herds and your flocks multiply, and your silver and gold multiply, and all that you have multiplies, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the Lord your God who brought you out from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.” (Dt 8:10-14)

“If we have food and covering, with these we shall be content. But those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a snare and many foolish and harmful desires which plunge men into ruin and destruction.” (1 Tim 6:8-9)

“Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” (Lk 12:15)

On the topic of wealth, it's often the mean that gets missed when we speak in extremes. I made this point in my post "Not 'Clown Masses' Nor 'Golden Unicorns': The Truth of the N.O. Lies In the Liturgical Mean;" when it comes to liturgy, people point out the ideals of the reverent Novus Ordo (ad orientum, chant, Latin, etc) and the existence of things like liturgical dance and other cringe abuses while neglecting the fact that 80% of Masses in the New Rite are simply beige and banal. To the degree that one moves toward reverence in liturgy is the right trajectory; to the degree that one moves towards "Gospel simplicity" we'll call it (in terms of material goods) is the right trajectory as well.

The same may be said for the false binary of the "1%" versus the homeless on the street or minimum wage workers just trying to get by (who also may be homeless!). Of course we see this example in the sixteenth chapter of Luke's gospel with Lazarus and the rich man. 

"Child, remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner bad things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish." (Lk 16:25)

What we neglect to realize is that we, too, have stepped over those lying in destitution on the way to our jobs, or driven quickly past at intersections, just as the rich man neglected to share his bread with Lazarus even though he would have been content with the crumbs from his table. If we had to identify with one man or the other, which one would it be?

Though we are what you would call "middle-class", rarely a day goes by in which I experience the pangs of hunger, and even when I do (by fasting), it is self-imposed not because of circumstance. I feast sumptuously every day (3 squares a day, from Aldi), and am dressed in clothes that I have chosen and bought myself, even if they were from Goodwill or Walmart. 

"Woe to you that are filled; for you shall hunger." (Lk 6:25)

Not only that, but I am not dependent on buses or rideshares, but own not one, but two cars. And not hoopties either! My children can play in our yard and street safely...they are not confined to inside due to violence. Even if they were, though, they have plenty of space, and even their own bedrooms! It's hot, we turn on the central air. It's cold, we fill up the oil tank. An appliance breaks, we buy a new one. 

If that weren't enough, we have a degree of choice and control over our lives because we are debt free. And not only that, but we contribute to retirement and savings each month from our paycheck, and take a yearly vacation as well.

"And he told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’ But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” (Lk 12:16-21). 

I even have health insurance through work, so we don't have to worry necessarily about being blindsided by massive medical bills in this broken U.S. healthcare system. We are in good health for the most part, though...another mark of good fortune.

Though we are what you would call "middle-class", and I make a median salary, which man do you think I share more in common with? To whom is Christ speaking his admonitions? When Nathan brought the scales down from the indignant King David's eyes, it was with the words: YOU ARE THE MAN! (2 Sam 12 7:14).

And that's the thing with regards to my point above--most of America is not in the extremes but in the mean. The 1% are in their own (gated) worlds, and the truly poor theirs. Even though the middle class is shrinking in the U.S., many of us are still quite comfortable and deal more with wants than needs. 

One of the more challenging books I have read in recent years is Fr. Thomas Dubay's Happy Are You Poor. It’s one of those books you want to throw across the room. I think the reason it is challenging is because it was written for people like myself who are have our needs met but who wouldn't consider ourselves "rich" and so give ourselves a pass while clinging to the power and security that wealth--even if it is modest--provides. Fr Dubay does not give an out, never takes his gentle foot of the gas--his tone is not one of condemnation or judgment, but simply a challenge to "be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect" (Mt 5:48). And what does our Lord say to the good, earnest young man asking about eternal life? "If ye wish to be perfect, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in Heaven" (Mt 19:21). 

I'm going to share something personal here: for the first time, I had a real seizing fear of my parents passing one day. Not because of their deaths, but that all that my father had accumulated in this lifetime in terms of wealth is earmarked for my brothers and I. And while I had always been grateful for that sense of security and future safety net, all of a sudden the other night, that thought of a sudden influx of wealth made me very, very apprehensive.

It's not that I'm not a responsible, prudent, financially literate person. But as Francis Chan said once in a sermon, "Money does weird things to us. You're rich. I'm rich. And that puts us at a very serious disadvantage spiritually."  Knowing this, my first temptation would be to treat that inheritance as a kind of hot-potato, and give it away in a way that provides for the Church and those in need right away in an abundance of spiritual caution. But would that be dishonoring my father? Foolish? Imprudent? If so, on what would I spend it? I literally feel like a rich man already, and have everything I need (even if those needs are admittedly modest). 

A study came out in 2010 saying that happiness doesn't increase much above a $75,000/yr salary (adjusted for inflation, I'd say $100,000/yr would be appropriate). Now a new study out of Penn puts that number at $500,000/yr. I don't know where they get these numbers, or what criteria they use to determine happiness. It's not really about the actual numbers per se, and happiness is also a matter of perspective as well. I think its reasonable to say that once one's basic need are met, things above and beyond do have the potential to plateau. 

Compared to the riches of the Gospel, and the invitation to eternal life, riches in this life pale in comparison. Even if He were to liquidate my savings, my home, take my family from me...nothing can separate us from the love of Christ (Rom 8:37-39). And that is true treasure. 

Fr. Dubay makes the point that "sensible people do not choose emptiness for the sake of emptiness. Of itself, negation has no value. It is literally nothing is worth nothing. Reality is made to be and to be be full. The value of negative things derives, must derive, from something positive, something they make possible" (54). This is what he calls the "radical readiness" of the disciple for the kingdom. And I realized that the fear I experienced the other night could be viewed as a threat to that readiness, that girding of loins, if it ever got to the point that I was clinging to not only what I have now, but what is promised to me in inheritance. "Having wealth is damaging to the pursuit of the kingdom because the very having does something to one's inner life, one's very ability to love God for his own goodness and others in and for him. The more we possess, the more we are--in our own minds" (59).   

Robert Couse-Baker, on his blog devoted to Fr. Dubay's work, makes a good point: much of the unhappiness we experience as a result of wealth is tied up with the unfortunate American ideal of individualism divorced from community: 

"The platitudes about trusting in God...can all come across as very patronizing to the poor. In reaction to this, he advocates a certain kind of self-reliance and self-sufficiency. Both positions miss a fundamental point. Jesus didn’t come to give humanity a code of ethics that individuals could adopt at will; rather, he came to found the community of the Church. Within that community, we’re supposed to be as tightly joined to one another as the members of a physical body. For an isolated individual or family, poverty entails a damaging lack of security. The only way to attain security as an individual is through the accumulation of wealth.

The pursuit of such individual security is harshly condemned by the Gospel. What is often missed, however, is that Christians are called to replace the individual security based on accumulating wealth with the security that comes from being part of a loving community. The rich fool with his barns was condemned, while the first Christian communities described in Acts shared their goods to such an extent that “there was no needy person among them”. (Acts 4:34) If we’re going to tell the poor to trust in God, then we have to get busy and ensure that their trust is not in vain. We have to act as the agents of God’s providence; otherwise, as St. James tells us, our faith is dead." (James 2:14-17)

I realized that much of my current state of contentment is that my family and I already possess the pearl of great price--the assurance of salvation in Christ. I have meaning and purpose in my life because I actively try to conform my life and will to His, and meaning and purpose are two major ingredients for happiness. Cultivating gratitude as well, which we do by recalling our blessings and all God has given us. We have a good, caring community of other Catholics. We help those in need financially. We are not alone, and have one another as well. What more could I ask for? 

But the Devil is wiley. He was working in Ananias and Sapphira, whom Peter harshly admonished for holding back part of the money intended for the Apostles for themselves (Acts 5:1-11), while they themselves were struck dead. I think the greatest hurdle to overcome myself is that 'holding back', not trusting completely the Lord God who says, "Test me in this, and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it" (Mal 3:10). 

What is a work-in-progress is the way of perfection, and perfection is--well, perfected--the closer we move towards confidence in God and not individual reliance. To the degree that confidence is strengthened , those things which strengthen it should be pursued and the things which threaten it should be kept guard against. 

To circle back to the issue of the virtue of prudence: prudence applies universal principals to particular situations. Whereas the WEF dictates the universal to the particular: "you will own nothing and be happy," the Christian realizes that private property is a right and good, "pre-eminently in conformity with human nature" (Pope Leo XIII). And yet when we give the poor to alleviate their destitution or want, as St. James indicts us regarding (Jas 2:14-17), we "are handing over to him what is his. For what has been given in common for the use of all you have arrogated to yourself" (Populorum progressio, no. 23). 

I think one thing that is worth remembering is if all things are a gift from God to be used in His service, it is a great privilege to use wealth--should we be afforded it--in the service of others rather than on our own amusement, diversion, or accumulation of goods. The change in perspective fulfills what St. Paul writes: God loves a cheerful giver (2 Cor 9:7). The opportunity to give, then, becomes the gift. This does not even depend on wealth per se, but the heart. For the widow's mite had infinitely more value because it was given not out of abundance but out of need, even though its value was minuscule. Despite the fact that the parents of St. John Vianney were not rich, they practiced great hospitality toward the poor and needy. Evening after evening a number of poor and needy wayfarers were set at table at the the family meal. Many times the elder Vianney would bestow his own share upon some belated arrival. This noble example made a profound impression upon the boy’s pious disposition.

How we carry out this charge we have been tasked with as Christians rests on this virtue of prudence to apply these universal principals (charity) to particular situations. In the manner or to the degree we do so depends on our individual or family circumstances and state in life; but that we do so as a universal injunction we cannot excuse ourselves from.

Neglected Christs

 

"Remember that the Christian life is one of action; not of speech and daydreams. Let there be few words and many deeds, and let them be done well."

 --St. Vincent Pallotti

In my previous post, I mentioned learning to intentionally structure our daily lives so that we build in "do-nothing" (white) space in order to focus more on 'being' instead of 'doing.' Today may seem like a contradiction to that post, since it focuses on a low-hanging but overlooked segment of potential charity that necessitates action over being. It does piggyback off that previous post, however in the sense that the 'doing' in this case is actually a manifestation of presence/being. If you are "so busy" in your normal life, this is the reason behind training ourselves to intentionally carve out empty space so that it paradoxically may be filled--not with leisure or empty caloric-time, but with the charity we are commanded to exercise.

When we think of "the poor" as a general term, we perhaps imagine a homeless man or woman on the street under dirty blankets asking for handouts. The action in this case is feeding, sheltering, clothing, etc., which takes work. This is an easy example. But there is another population of the poor we don't typically think about because they are not in plain sight and often live under the radar.

One in three of Americans aged 65 and older are economically insecure, with incomes 200% below the poverty line. But as the NIH notes, almost one quarter of community dwelling Americans 65 and older are also socially isolated. An astounding 60% of nursing home patients never have visitors. This population of Americans are not only poor, but incredibly lonely.

What's heartening about this situation is that American Christians are not in short supply. And we don't even need to stress about "solving the problem" on a large scale--you simply "start with one," as Mother Teresa said (Is 51:10; Mt 25:35). Like the Gospel, it costs nothing to enact, but demands everything from us (our presence). Anyone can do this work of mercy. The doing is the being.

Here's how it could work. As I was reflecting on this issue this morning, I sent an email to our parish secretary asking if she knew of or could identity seniors or shut-ins (either parishioners or those in the community, Catholic or not), and if they would be open to a visit to their home and sharing their contact info. Then, you would reach out and ask if they would be open to a visit. If your schedule precludes physical visits, phone calls or postal letters are a great substitute. Have you ever gotten a hand-written letter in the mail and felt a touch of excitement, because it is so rare to receive one today, and that someone cared enough to take the time to write and send it? Think about that.

If they are open to a visit, show up with a commitment to just be, to listen. Don't try to solve anything or do anything--your presence is the present, as the saying goes. Bring a small gift, nothing big--a flower or a card or even a Miraculous Medal on a chain they can wear. Ask them questions--about their life, growing up, their hobbies or interests. Smile. Be present. Bring a kid or two of yours if you can--the elderly love young kids, and it also serves as a witness of charity to your children they will remember. 

This isn't overly complicated. But it does take you making the time, taking the first step, a little bit of logistics, and exercising the muscle of the heart. "Half the battle is just showing up" as one of my friends would say.

The returns, I suspect, would be compounded one-hundred fold. Not only spiritually, but in the life of the poor old Christ you visit. You may extend their life, since loneliness is an epidemic. You may instill in them hope that they are not alone. Just as the Sabbath was made for man, so the exercise of charity goes beyond merit or command, but the joy of the gift for the recipient, the joy of doing the Lord's work for the Christian. 

A lot of my writing is theological, big-picture, speculative. This is 100% pragmatic. It can appeal to the "doers" but also more introverted types, since it is a one:one connection. It is for both Marthas and Marys. It models our Blessed Mother's charity (the Visitation), and fulfills the commands of the Lord on which we will be judged (Mt 25). It gets us out of our selves, so it's good for our mental health if you are struggling with depression. It gives witness to our children, and solves a tangible problem with no money and no overhead. Christ sets the example, and we follow it.

We often ask like Pilate, when confronted with these overwhelming societal issues, "Who are the poor?" Perhaps they are right under our nose, and we haven't seen them because we haven't gone out to look. 

I'll let you know when I hear back from our parish secretary, and how it goes. Maybe you can do the same? Then we can say with our Lord, "my bread is to do the will of Him who sent me" (Jn 4:34). 

The Place of Honor

 Since I was twelve years old, I have always worked. I started with a paper route, getting up every morning at 4:30am before school to deliver newpapers. Every summer I worked as well, in a variety of jobs. I portaged canoes, edited blue prints for an architecture firm, tested welds and repainted tanks in a propane factory, worked in greenhouses, did data entry, waiting tables in a restaurant, washed dishes...the list goes on and on.

I always thought I had a decent work ethic because of this, but one off-hand comment by an adult co-worker when I was nineteen stayed with me and cast doubt on that.

I was servicing swimming pools for the summer for a friend's father's local business. It was a small crew, a combination of seasonal staff like myself and the full-time guys. Most of the clients we serviced were rather wealthy, and we got an inside look at some rather opulent houses. I was taking a break sitting down on a tree stump when one of the full-time guys called me "lazy." He was a hard-working, blue collar guy. His comment stung, because it was mostly true. 

You see, my work wasn't by necessity. If I didn't work, I still ate. If I didn't work, I still had a place to sleep. It was a sort of "privelege work" to pad up my savings account and give me some spending money. 

But this isn't the crushing reality of the truly poor that most of us are rather removed from. The poor work not to build up their resume or network, or to pad anything, and certainly not as a "choice." They are working to simply survive, with a thin margin for error. 

Most, also, are not lazy, and most are not visibly panhandling on street corners. Many are largely hidden in plain sight right in front of us, stringing together an endless hamster wheel of low wage, low-skill jobs, cobbling together child care, and feeling like they are powerless to get ahead. These are the jobs that I may have taken when I was a teenager, but to consider them now would be ludicrous. 

This is the nature of my privilege, and for many of you readers, yours as well.

Now, I know many conservatives get triggered by the p-word used above. It does wrinkle the narrative of hard-working people changing their badly-dealt hand through tenacity and grit to become successful business owners or entrapenours. And that certainly does happen in some circumstances. Because of this narrative, the temptation is to place the onus for not getting ahead at the feet of those trapped in poverty. Their existence can sometimes feel like an indictment against ourselves. 

The collective poor in the scriptures appears with such regularity, however, that it cannot be simply ignored. The most damning and sober justice that appears in Matthew 25 ("I was hungry and you did not give me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink...") is also underscored by the parable of Lazarus and the rich man in Luke 16:19-31, when Lazarus is carried to the bosom of Abraham seemingly on account of his poverty, and the rich man to his damnation on account of his privelege. And our Lord says as well, "the rich he has sent away empty" (Lk 1:53) and "Woe to you who are full now, for ye shall hunger" (Lk 6:25). The Lord speaks to those of us who have never gone hungry in this way, and reminds us of our fate:

"Those who shut their ears to the cries of the poor will be ignored in their own time of need." (Prov 21:13)

I had an interesting experience that led me to think twice about what part of the Lord's table I was sitting at in regards to my disposition on this topic. I had driven out to mushroom farm country (the mushroom captial of the world), which is about a thirty minute drive from us, because I had scored a good deal on some organic avocados (the fact that I am buying organic avocados in the first place should be a tip off of my standing in the social order). Because it was a longish drive, I figured I would stock up while I was there at this random mushroom farm with a walk-in cooler and buy 14 boxes of avocados containing 40 each, for a total of 600 avocados. Since they are so expensive in the store, and we have a chest freezer, and my wife and I are trying to do the low-carb thing, this made perfect sense in my mind (ridiculous, I know). 

When I got home, though, and started quartering, pitting, and bagging the fruits, I realized I had perhaps overbought and it would take me several hours to get this task done. It was a Saturday evening, and so it was a race against the clock on two fronts--complete the task before the Sabbath, and before they over ripen. After doing this for a couple hours, I started thinking, "is this really worth my time?" As if preparing food was beneath me, meant for migrants (who do this work in mushroom country every day for 10-12 hours a day). My co-worker's words from over twenty years ago resurfaced: "you are lazy." I didn't feel like processing these avocados for storage. And so I went to bed around 2am, after only a few hours, with about nine boxes remaining. 

The thing is, I had that option....to take a break, walk away, choose to work on something, etc. The poor don't have that privilege. They work in factories, in hotels, on farms, in restaurants, doing the things we wouldn't want to do ourselves for more than a few hours, and get paid a fraction of what many of us middle-class skilled workers do for their efforts. Because, really, they have no bargaining chip. No power. No voice. This is the mark of the truly poor--those with no options, no rest, no hope for a better future in this life. And yet, God

"saves the needy from the sword in their mouth; he saves them from the clutches of the powerful. So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth" (Job 5:15).

It is sobering to realize we are not blessed Lazarus', but often the unnamed rich man setting off for perdition. That we are not the hungry dependent being filled with good things by Providence, but rich fools padding our nest eggs saying "You have plenty of grain laid up for many years...eat, drink, and be merry" (Lk 12:19). 

How does one learn radical dependence on God and charity to our neighbor when we are filled with good things in this life, to be sent away empty-handed in the next? What is our "privilege" (to use that word again) in having a voice, and how is it a spiritual liability? It is easy to write a check from our surplus, but to feel truly the pain, the helplessness, the dependence of the poor and the widow's mite--this is a grace from God if it does not allow us to ignore them. For again, there are thoes terrible words from scripture: "Those who shut their ears to the cries of the poor will be ignored in their own time of need." (Prov 21:13)

I will admit I am calloused to the poor...I get annoyed seeing them panhandling by the Home Depot, get righteous when I judge how they handle their money, get impatient when their EBT card declines in front of me at the supermarket, and get judgey when it comes to their uncoothness and language in public spaces. I am in my own world. I have gotten used to my place of honor, of stature, or not being in want for anything.

And sometimes, too, the Traditionalist blanket we wrap ourselves in to keep the outside world at bay as we recite our rosaries in church can close us off to these messy realities as well in our hearts, as if serving the poor directly was something "normie" Catholics do. Let it be a challenge, then, to surpass in charity the low bar we set for ourselves. Maybe these little instances of doing the tedious, thankless, tiring work of the poor every now and then--like pitting 600 avocados, or whatever--when it is their every day reality, be a reminder that we should not ignore them, lest we ourselves are ignored in our time of need. 

The Wisdom Of Christ's Woes To The Rich

 In conversation with a priest friend last week I was recounting a particular inter-personal struggle I was having with someone. I knew my inner-conflict of how I was grappling with how to love this particular person had more to do with me than them. My priest friend gave me a piece of advice that at first seemed condescending: "Pity him, the way Christ pitied those sheep without a shepherd."

His words stayed with me. We often super-impose our own backgrounds and way of doing things upon other people. "If so-and-so would just X," or "Why can't they just Y? Don't they see Z?" Etc. And then we get annoyed when they don't. 

The fact is God made all of us unique, with distinct characteristics set apart for particular missions and charisms. As St. Paul said, we are one body but many parts. The more I thought about it, and the more I did in fact pity this particular individual rather than get angry, offended, or put-off, the more my compassion developed for them, the more I prayed for them, and the more my heart softened and I felt, interiorly at least, that I was able to love them more. It wasn't condescending...it gave me an insight into the fact that there may be struggle and insecurities in this individual I just never bothered to see before.

Which brings me to the topic at hand.

I have my own struggles and insecurities, but having more money than I know what to do with is not one of them. We are solidly middle-class, but have also been afforded various privileges in life, as well as good health and good fortune, that have allowed us to have minimal debt and has afforded us a nice quality of life. We're far from poor--we have never gone hungry or lived with the insecurity of figuring out which bills need to be paid this month--while being unburdened from having a lot of money to invest (or divest). We live simply by choice, but also because there is not much we could buy or acquire that would increase our bottom-line happiness quotidient. There is plenty we could have, but there is little but that we find we actually want beyond what we already possess.

I realize upon reflection this is a very blessed place to be. As the wisdom of Solomon petitions, 

"give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, `Who is the LORD?' Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God" (Prov 30:7-9). 

As one therapist to the 1% confided,

"What could possibly be challenging about being a billionaire, you might ask. Well, what would it be like if you couldn’t trust those close to you? Or if you looked at any new person in your life with deep suspicion? I hear this from my clients all the time: “What do they want from me?”; or “How are they going to manipulate me?”; or “They are probably only friends with me because of my money." 

Most of the people I see are much more willing to talk about their sex lives or substance-misuse problems than their bank accounts. Money is seen as dirty and secret. Money is awkward to talk about. Money is wrapped up in guilt, shame, and fear. There is a perception that money can immunise you against mental-health problems when actually, I believe that wealth can make you – and the people closest to you – much more susceptible to them."

This is a pitiable state to find oneself in--hardened, suspicious, unempathetic, unhappy and unable to relate to 99% of the world. There is also something else that I have observed in addition to these characteristics: wealth tends to make a man effiminate. Granted many of the ultra-wealthy work long hours in their industries and endure a good deal of stress as the cost of doing business at the top. For this reason, I suspect, many have a "work hard, play hard" attitude. Exotic vacations, yachts, fine dining, second (and third, and fourth) homes, beauty treatments, hired help, etc...the more wealth one aquires, the more aclimated one becomes to the 'wants' becoming 'needs.' 

There is also this kind of effiminacy that comes with a total lack of perspective: "my steak was not cooked the way I like it," "this car has a scratch on it," "I need a manicure and massage today," "I can't live without an air conditioned pantry." Rather than building character through adversity, having everything one could possibly want at their fingertips erodes it. The funny thing is, the ultimate intended purpose of these things--to make one happy--often has the opposite effect. Many of the super-rich find happiness and contentment elusive, a kind of needle in a haystack that they are always hoping will turn up, but never does. Instead, as Jack Ma (the owner of Alibaba, who is worth about $25B) said simply, being rich is "a great pain."

Of course not all the 'rich' are like this, and there were wealthy men of God in the Bible as well. But I think it needs to be said--being rich is more of a danger and a burden that I think people realize.

This I know, for the Bible tells me so, as the old saying goes:

Hebrews 13:5: "Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have."

James 5:1-6: "Come now, you rich, weep and howl for the miseries that are coming upon you. Your riches have rotted and your garments are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have corroded, and their corrosion will be evidence against you and will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure in the last days. Behold, the wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, are crying out against you, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in self-indulgence. You have fattened your hearts in a day of slaughter"

1 Timothy 6:10: "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs."

Luke 6:24: “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation."

Proverbs 23:4-5: "Do not toil to acquire wealth; be discerning enough to desist. When your eyes light on it, it is gone, for suddenly it sprouts wings, flying like an eagle toward heaven."

1 Timothy 6:9: "But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction."

I could go on, as there are no shortages of warnings and admonitions in scripture concerning the lure and danger of riches. Part of the reason, from a strictly pragmatic perspective, is that acquiring (and maintaining) wealth requires much of one's time and energy, with little left over for spiritual cultivation. Of course, this prioritization is not quite right--Christ demands of his disciples not leftovers, but their whole mind, heart, strength, and soul, and that the secret to the Kingdom is to give up all one's possessions and give to the poor to obtain treasure in heaven. How many of us have done just that?

The problem is, so few of us have done this. And personally, I wrestle with what that means for men of average means (who nonetheless may be considered "rich" depending on what part of the world you live in) like myself. How much is too much? How much is enough? What do we keep to live and what do we give? What do we save up for rainy days in prudence, and what do we leave to the trust of Divine Providence? I think these are questions that are good to wrestle with, and there is no one-size-fits-all formula.

But the proportionate unhappiness that comes with acquiring wealth should be a canary in the cage for the large majority of us who are not in those situations. Rather than angry condemnation or aggressive Occupy Wallstreet type protesting, I find that pitying the lot of the rich is maybe a better response. For many, they are trapped, unhappy, untrusting, isolated, stressed out, suspicious, and spiritually empty. They will face a harsh judgement, as our Lord warns, and they didn't even have the consolation or being truly happy in this life either. I wouldn't want their life or their fate. Theirs is the "spiritual poverty" Mother Teresa observed in her visits to the U.S. Indeed, maybe this is why our Lord gives woes to them as a warning to everyone else. 

But our own economic standing should be a cause for reflection to make sure this hardness of heart and uncharity doesn't creep in either, whether we are making $40,000 a year or $40 million. If you have a house, a full stomach, minimal bills, two cars, good health insurance...depending on where you are standing, maybe you are the rich Christ is warning others about. We should always have a degree of self-accusation not born of guilt, but of suspicion of our motives and our attachments. 

When Nathan the prophet came to King David to recount the tale of the man who stole the sheep, King David's indignation burned white hot. "The man must die, and deserves no pity!" But then Nathan drops the mic on him: "YOU ARE THE MAN!" Not the man, like "you're awesome," but "the judgement with which you have judged you will now be judged by!" It's terrifying. We all need a Nathan in our lives like this to lead us to self-knowledge.

Maybe it's best to treat and regard our good fortune like a hot-potato, lest it burn our hands. If wealth is a tool, it's quite possible it can cut us to bleeding if we don't take the necessary precautions: charity, generosity, temperance, detachment, a strong prayer life, and most of all, putting God first before everything else so that it is not said of us, "For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked." (Rev 3:17). Best to heed our Lord's advice and be on guard against that which can lead our hearts away from him, lest we fall into temptation.

Giving It All Away

 We are very judicious in our household of what we allow our kids to watch, and never unrestricted or unsupervised. But every now and then we find some fun stuff out there. Since we don't have cable or Netflix, we rely on channels like Curiosity Stream or Youtube when we want to watch something as a family.

The kids recently discovered this 22 year old Youtuber named Mr Beast.  He is a phenomenon, with 72 million subs (subscribers to his channel) and 18 BILLION views of his channel. That's a lot! He does these crazy challenges like "Last To Take Hand Off Lamborghini Keeps It." and "$500,000 Game Of Tag". The way he throws money around at people, you'd think he was crazy. And he kind of is! But he's also very likeable and down-to-earth as well.

We ended up watching a documentary about him as a family last night, and the evolution of his YouTube channel. He started making videos when he was around 14, and was sort of obsessively focused and driven about producing content. As he noted, he didn't really make much money if any from Youtube for years. He dropped out of college to devote himself full-time to becoming a famous Youtuber. He and his best friend would just do these fun, crazy things but they weren't getting traction. At some point, he started making a little money, while at the same time giving it away on his channel, which drove up traffic. Eventually, the traffic growth became exponential and with it the revenue. The more he made, the more he gave away, the more he made, the more he gave away. 

In the documentary, I noticed two things. 

For one, the kid has a good heart. At one point he bought a fancy car for himself with the money he was making from videos, but realized "it didn't make me happy" and gave it away. 

What did make him happy, he discovered, was helping people, whatever that looked like. He would hand homeless guys $10,000 in cash, tip pizza delivery drivers $500, bought out an entire grocery store and donated all the food to a food bank, and even raised $20 million to plant 20 million trees. His mom was a struggling active duty single mom, and he paid off her house for her. The more money he made, the more he found creative ways to give it away. I don't think he's a religious guy, but he seemed to have that Zacchaeus joy of detachment in giving away his wealth. 

The other thing I noticed and appreciated was that he was focused on making positive change in the world. I think as Catholics we get in this complaining-about-how-bad-the-world-is mode--the latest scandal in the Church, the lousy state of our political system, the dire warnings of imminent destruction. I have nothing against Taylor Marshall, but he's the first person I think of who is a "famous Youtuber" on the other end of the spectrum, who has largely built his following by focusing on all the things that are wrong with the world. 

Maybe it is Mr. Beast's naïve youth and energy that makes him determined to make a difference, but he arguably is making a difference in many people's lives, and on a big scale. And he's having a good time doing it. He is pursuing his happiness, but in an inarguably unselfish way, which seems to be the key that unlocks the chest. He also seems to have adopted, in a secular way, the teaching of Christ that "those who lose their life will find it" (Mt 16:25). The more he gives, the more he makes. The more he makes, the more he is able to creatively give. 

Maybe it's the artist in me, but I appreciate creativity and creative people. And maybe it's the Augustinian in me, but I also appreciate truth, beauty, and goodness, even when it is found outside the Christian faith. Wealth has a strong propensity to corrupt; maybe Mr. Beast's formula-for-life is to give it away so that he doesn't give it that opportunity. "Helping people makes me happy," he noted. As Christians, maybe we can learn from this young man, that the joy is in the giving, and that we don't have to always be stuck in complain-outrage mode, but can creatively work to make positive change and be "the light of the world, a city on a hill" (Mt 5:14).

Dirty Hands

 

This evening I was perusing Youtube and came across a video titled "Philadelphia's Most Violent Areas." It was basically just a guy driving around and filming, and I was thinking to myself "I used to ride my bike through this hood" when I worked in social services. Not having a car (and not really needing one), I would visit my clients with a combination of the El, bus, and bike. It's not that I got desensitized to it, but it was kind of like an anti-body of exposure. 

When my wife and I first started dating, she needed to pick up something from the store. "Why don't we just walk to the Save-a-Lot on 4th Street?" She looked at me like I had two heads but was so in love (ha!) that she said ok. This was probably one of the worst parts of Wilmington, though when we first got married it was only a few blocks from where we lived. She always made a point to drive to the suburbs to go to the supermarket. We did make the walk, picked up some instant pudding for a batch of friendship bread, and walked back. She had lived in Wilmington her whole life, and that was a first for her. I guess I didn't really think about it.

After college, I had moved to one of the roughest areas of Harrisburg, Allison Hill, to run a house of hospitality for men in recovery and to serve the poor of the neighborhood. Drug dealing, prostitution, and gun violence was a common occurrence, just part of the fabric of the neighborhood. Of course, I came from a more or less upper-middle-class background, so I innately knew I was a temporary sojourner-outsider, and that was fine. But again, this experience of living among the poor and those in need, and doing our best to live a life of voluntary poverty and simple living in community made it not so...foreign. I ate my meals in the soup kitchen, and if we cooked it was with donated food. Someone gifted me a car--a 1988 Celica stick with 230,000 miles and no A/C which I would use to shuttle guys to AA and NA meetings. Some people cut checks, but since I didn't have checks to write, I served with my time, talent, and treasure. 

I live in the suburbs now, in a more-or-less upper middle class area, just like I was raised in. I'm more or less insulated from the 14th & Derry life now, but it's not completely foreign or uncomfortable. 

A good-hearted friend who was studying for the priesthood asked me a couple years ago if I wanted to visit the tent cities in Center City to hand out bottles of water and pray and talk with the homeless. We parked in the cathedral lot and set out on foot. We would sit on the ground and listen to people's stories, pray with them outside their tents, and offer words of encouragement and stories from the Gospel. 

I think that's one thing that was lacking for me this Lent as I cut checks and upped my poor-box contributions--I wasn't getting my hands dirty. Almsgiving is one of the pillars of Lent, along with prayer and fasting, but it's hard to love the poor from a distance. It's not uncomfortable or foreign, it's just--an afterthought. Probably because we're so insulated from it.

I want to raise my kids in a safe and relatively comfortable environment, but I also want them to not be so sheltered that they become callous to the needs of others, including the destitute. We named our daughter after Mother Teresa (her middle name) because she is a dirty-handed saint close to my heart. Mother deliberately set out to serve the poorest of the poor as her calling and inspired other sisters in the MoC to do the same. 

This isn't my calling, but it serves a need in the world, this service to the poor. For the poor, yes, but mostly for those like myself and my family who live without knowing need and have little exposure to their plight. Christian charity is essential to our religion, a non-negotiable. That doesn't mean you have to be a SJW, and cutting checks is important for capital campaigns and things like that. But we learn in the school of love by doing. And doing, building a kingdom, sometimes necessitates getting your hands dirty. It benefits us, because it acclimates us outside of our sphere. 

Anyone who has been on a "mission trip" knows it's not as much about what you do for the poor, but what they do for you.  St. John Chrysostom knew this intimately: “The rich exist for the sake of the poor. The poor exist for the salvation of the rich.” Symbiotic. 

In all honesty, though, the drugs and violence is not something I want my kids exposed to. And so often, poverty and drugs/violence are intertwined. I may have felt fine biking through Kensington at night during my single twenties, but not in the family minivan today. We need to use prudence. And honestly, if you've ever worked with drug addicts or maybe had them in your family, you know how tiresome the cycle gets, and you don't want to be an enabler. 

But that doesn't mean we should harden our hearts to the poor. This is the constant challenge, because that is the seminal temptation: to become callous. Loving can be dirty at times--whether its washing the bottom of a disabled family member you are caretaking for, or being lied to and betrayed. "After all I've done for you," we may find ourselves saying. And then we remember our Lord, who died for men--you and I--who continue to do just that to him. 

We can only love the destitute because we have known destitution and the poverty and abandonment of being dead in our sin. Someway we must tap into that in order to love the unlovable. Because we ourselves have felt unloveable, trapped in our own cycles of sin, and the Lord never abandoned us. The streets are a school of hard knocks, but the Gospel is a school of hard love, and we have a lot of learning to do still.

As a visual of what this work and school of love looks like, here is one of my all-time favorite trailers from the documentary film about the CFRs (whom I visited at St. Crispan's Friary in the Bronx years ago). A worthwhile meditation on the dirty work of loving in an imperfect world.

https://youtu.be/63ZKn4QtqSU

The Man Of Many Cares

I grew up in what I would say was a more or less upper-middle class family, though we didn't come from money. My grandfather on my dad's side worked at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, and my grandfather on my mom's side was a chemistry professor (both grandmothers were homemakers). All passed away either before I was born or not long after.

My parents were teachers, and we learned to be frugal from a young age by way of my dad's example. We were never in want, never really worried about how to pay bills and things. We didn't go out to eat often, but when we did the joke in the family was "water only." We got our clothes from thrift stores. We were taught that money=security, and my father had little sayings he would coin and pass down to us in the way of worldly wisdom like "accidents don't have to happen," and "you can never have enough of two things: money and firewood."

I started working at age twelve delivering newspapers and never stopped working. I always had a job. Aside from the newspaper route, I worked in a propane factory, a greenhouse, I edited blueprints at an architectural firm, filed, serviced swimming pools, portaged canoes, waited tables, was a dishwasher, bar-back, valet, bike courier, case worker, barista, transcript evaluator...you get the idea. I always felt good working, though I never made a whole lot of money or had a "good job," a bit of a black sheep in the family in that way. But my expenses were minimal and I learned to adapt my lifestyle and habits to accommodate my modest income.

I'm not ignorant to the issue of privilege. Everything my father did, he did for us--my mom, and my brothers and I--and with us in my mind. I'm grateful for that. Like the father in the story of the prodigal son, "everything I have is yours" was his attitude. This did not extend to people outside the family. I suppose it was a general belief that people who were less well off had the government to rely on, or that he paid taxes that somehow helped in some indirect way. In any case, we didn't really learn those things growing up, but we did learn about things like the amazing power of compound interest and that money equals options. When you don't have money, you don't have options. And that's not a good thing.

When I moved to the inner city after college to run a house of hospitality for homeless men with drug and alcohol addictions and minister to men in prison half-time, I was living off the money I had saved from working, since I had no source of income. We lived a block from one of the most notorious drug corners in Harrisburg (13th & Derry) known for its violence and prostitution. Gunshots in the night were a regular occurrence. I had a manual 1988 Celica with 220,000 miles and no AC that someone gave me, shuttling guys to NA and AA meetings in it and taking the neighborhood kids to camp and the pool. I ate lunch every day in the soup kitchen and whatever food was donated to us for breakfast and dinner. I had very few material needs and was content with what little I had.

My dad had come out to visit at one point while I was there. He was always supportive of everything I ever did, but we got into some discussions about money, wealth, the poor, the Bible, and the Christian life. I was a zealous convert of three years trying to explain things without marginalizing him or sounding judgey (I was probably doing a bad job), wanting him to see that there was more to life than wealth and security, and he for his part was trying his best to respect my choices and keep from leveling charges of idealism against me, figuring I would wake up soon enough to "the way things really are." I was well aware that I was a 22 year old kid from the suburbs and that this was voluntary poverty, not destitution or grinding poverty that I was born into with little hope of escaping from. I could leave at any time. And when scandal and leadership struggles shook our particular Catholic Worker community after my first year, I did just that.

As the years went on, I maintained a good relationship with my father, looking to him for worldly and financial advice when I sorely needed it. He planned well, had good luck with his health and did not experience any major catastrophes, and so was able to retire somewhat early. I was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to getting established in the world and in a job, since for ten years I thought I was going to be a monk and that it didn't matter all that much what I did in terms of career; I had spent all my time and energy and effort at trying to live the beatitudes and had essentially handicapped myself in the world while my brothers went on to get good high paying jobs and established themselves in their careers. My dad was enjoying life; he had planned well, focused, and now could sit back and enjoy the well deserved fruits of financial discipline; essentially well-off by most accounts, even though he still wore sweatpants with holes in the knees.

As I read more and more scripture over the years, though, there was a story that bothered me. It appears in Luke 12:16-21, and it goes like this:

“The land of a rich man was very productive. And he began reasoning to himself, saying, ‘What shall I do, since I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘This is what I will do: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years to come; take your ease, eat, drink and be merry.”’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your soul is required of you; and now who will own what you have prepared?’ So is the man who stores up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God.”

I tried not to see my dad as the man in the story. But I was having trouble. It wasn't judgment, but a sense of worry based on what I knew. The parallels were unsettling--a mistaken sense of security ("many years to come"), investment vehicles ("bigger barns"), a focus on the here and now in the world ("eat, drink, and be merry") and if I was brutally honest, a charity that we never saw demonstrated in real life towards those in need ("treasure for himself"). Was I judging him? Being too critical? Naive and idealistic? Or was he in danger of the same fate? And how do you save a rich man, ultimately, from that terrible sentence?

I did not know how the world worked all that well, but I knew what the scriptures said. There was Lazarus and the rich man; there was the rich young ruler that went away sad, unable to follow Jesus in perfection; there were the goats separated from the sheep, the ones who did not give Christ food to eat, water to drink, clothes to wear, a place to sleep, a visit in time of need. There was the camel and the eye of the needle. There was the manna in the desert that rotted when the Israelites attempted to store it up. There was the Sermon on the Mount to those rich who have have already received their consolation. There was the Gospel seed that fell among thorns--the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and the desires for other things that come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful.  There was warning after warning from the saints, and common sense spiritual wisdom like the that from the holy fool St. Francis of Assisi: "Riches prick us with a thousand troubles in getting them, as many cares in preserving them, and yet more anxiety in spending them, and with grief in losing them."

I struggled with this for many years, as my father's and my trajectories--the choices we have made the set the course of our lives as adults--diverged seemingly farther and father apart. In grad school, perhaps as way to reconcile my unease with my relationship to wealth (and by extension, my father's), I did one of my term papers on the topic. I attempted to find out just what constituted, what made one considered to be "rich" and as a result, at a handicap in the spiritual realm. Did having two houses make one wealthy? Two pairs of shoes? Eating more than two meals a day? The paper and presentation were, as they say in the scientific community, "inconclusive." I simply could not say or point to what made one person wealthy by way of definition; it was simply too relative. In drawing up indictments, perhaps I had implicated myself! After all, I was never without food, running water, clothing, healthcare, shelter. I had more than I needed, and probably held on to and shielded what I did have from others less fortunate. Was I, in fact, the rich man? And if so, how could I be saved, since it is, quite literally, "impossible." (Mt 19:24) Impossible, that is, with men. But with God, all things are possible.

The older I get the more I see the wisdom in and meditate on the scripture in Proverbs, settling on it as my mantra of concession to reconcile this conundrum as to how I want to live in the world, that says,

"Keep deception and lies far from me, 

Give me neither poverty nor riches; 

Feed me with the food that is my portion, 

That I not be full and deny You and say, “Who is the Lord?” 

Or that I not be in want and steal, 

And profane the name of my God." 

(Prov 30:8-9)

I have had to learn generosity and almsgiving on my own, or rather, by way of grace, since I was not raised with this example. I have had to learn (and it is very difficult) how to trust the Lord with our finances, balancing being prudent with trusting in Providence for "our daily bread." I have had to learn detachment--to trade my treasure from a place where moth and rust threaten to destroy it and thieves may steal it, in exchange for treasure in heaven, the only place it is truly secure. I have had to learn how to not ignore those in need, those covered in sores which are licked by dogs, just outside my door who would be content with the crusts from my kid's sandwiches I pitch in the garbage can underneath our granite countertops. Truly, truly--it is impossible for us to be saved without grace, without God.

I love my dad, am so grateful for him, and pray for him often. But the more my wife and I approach that point of material and spiritual equilibrium as a family--the stasis which offers peace in exchange for worry and anxiety, contentment in lieu of striving and covetousness, and trust in lieu of doubt that we will be provided for--the more we see the splendor of those lilies arrayed in natural beauty, the loftiness of those birds endowed with immeasurable security making their nests in the trees. The more we orient our heart to the Lord and strive to follow His commands in every aspect of our lives, the more the Chinese finger trap of wealth and earthly security begins to loosen. The more we give away, the more we are blessed. The less we have, the less we have to lose.  When you put "first things first," everything else seems to fall into place, at least from what I've seen so far. 

The peace Christ gives is not the peace the world gives (Jn 14:27). And so depending on what foundation we build our house on--security in this life or in anticipation of the next; wealth in the things of God or the things of the world; charity to neighbor or a building bigger barns to hold our grain--our peace may find itself in relation to our respective state. For Christ says to us in full disclosure, "Woe to you who are rich, for you are receiving your comfort in full. Woe to you who are well-fed now, for you shall be hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you shall mourn and weep" (Lk 6:24-25). And that where we put our heart is where our treasure may be found (Mt 6:21). The closer we come to our death, the more somber, and the more hollow those things that felt so comforting and the source of earthly security--investment accounts, 401k's, vacation homes--are.

But the man who has peace at the hour of his death, who is prepared to meet his God and stand before the throne despite having a handful of bills to pass on to his children? Suffice it to say, he dies a wealthy man indeed.