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Getting what we deserve
It seems we have become a nation of entitlement. Somebody, somewhere, owes me something, we seem to think, it's guaranteed by the Constitution. Oftentimes, when I hear the phrase, "I don't deserve this, I deserve better," whether coming from my own lips or from someone else's, I have to wonder, what would happen if I truly got what I deserve.
I spent 11 years working in the child nutrition program for the Brighton Public Schools. A wonderful job. I had grown up in the years before federally subsidized lunch programs, and frequently brought some pretty sorry excuses for lunch in my used and oft' re-used brown paper bag. Saltine crackers, buttered (oleo) bread, and lots of bologna and braunsweiger were among the slim pickings.
Some mornings, Mom would get a little assembly line going, six bag lunches for five kids and dad.
We loved to laugh at the story she told about the morning she stumbled sleepily into the kitchen to set up her assembly line. Out on the counter went the slices of bread, on went a thin layer of Miracle Whip, and then the bologna.
The brand she was using had a label depicting a perfect slice of bologna on the top of the package, and in her weariness, she slid that label onto one of the sandwiches.
Imagine Dad's surprise later that day when he bit into that papery fare. As I recall, his laugh was less enthusiastic then ours when Mom confessed the deed.
Working in child nutrition gave me a great deal of personal satisfaction, serving meals to hungry little munchkins. How my heart had envied kids with chili, cinnamon twists, carrot sticks and milk on their trays. Or those whose lunch pails contained sandwiches, complete with lettuce and sliced tomatoes, potato chips, cookies and fresh fruit.
Now I was the one dishing up the chili, twisting the cinnamon knots, and eventually, planning the menus and putting the food out to bid. (I got moved into the main office after only a few short months in the kitchen. Portion control was a constant battle for me. All I could see were hungry little eyes as I ladled the food onto the plate. It was cheaper to keep me on the other side of the serving line.)
Finances were a constant struggle, with Washington tightening the purse strings and the district subsequently tightening theirs.
It was frustrating. Having grown up knowing the occasional gnawing of an empty tummy, I could never figure out why the CN program was so maligned. All of this money poured into education, virtually millions of dollars a year in our little district alone, and from my perspective, all for naught if they were trying to teach a hungry child.
It seemed to me the height of futility to try to determine who was responsible for feeding the children. They were in school to learn. They couldn't hope to do well if they were hungry, therefore, they should be fed. It made perfect sense to me then, it makes perfect sense to me now.
I often commented to virtually anyone who would listen, that our representatives in Washington should go on a one day fast and see how well they coped with the pressures of their day, and then perhaps they wouldn't begrudge the children. I never quite got the message all the way to Washington.
I always knew my parents loved me. I understood, barely then, and now more fully, how frustrating it was for them to have to somehow get us all by on less. They worked hard, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, everyday. Yet, ends were tough to meet. Admittedly, priorities sometimes got out of line, and sometimes, hard times just came with the rising of the sun. They did the best they could with what they had. Most parents do.
To me, the child nutrition program offered the opportunity to close at least one of the cracks America's children seem to all too easily slip through in this day and age. Though we only fed them for a day, we provided a sustaining base so that they had the energy and attention necessary to learn how to fish and so much more.
Such a basic need. So easily met in this land of plenty. The newspaper office is right next door to The Pantry, which is housed in the Canterbury House, a part of St. Alban's Episcopal Church. The Pantry meets a basic need without creating a new burden on the community at large. Each household or individual, as they desire, are able to contribute as they desire.
Occasionally, the clientele entering that benevolent organization looks anything but needy. The vehicle they arrive in may be a newer model and though they aren't draped in jewelry and furs, they aren't clad in rags of poverty either.
This can have a damaging effect on those who give, for the visual perception is that people who aren't needy are taking advantage of the system, getting something for nothing when they have resources to spare.
The temptation then is to withhold our alms, lest they come to someone we deem less than deserving.
However, in so doing, we negate the purpose of the work we sought to do in giving the alms to begin with, just as the education system sometimes negates their mission by neglecting a basic need. No gift goes unrewarded, and the gifter is as blessed as the one receiving the gift.
Furthermore, if we measure every gift on the worthiness of the recipient, we bring ourselves under the same judgement. And for my part, if I got what I truly deserved out of this life, then I would not be here, penning this message. I would have long since been consumed, nothing but dust, forgotten and unmourned.
"...remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'" Acts 20:35b (NIV)