Category: Articles

Articles from periodicals about Christianity.

Posted on

6 Ways to Be a More Generous Person

In our heart of hearts we all know how important it is to share and give to others (and how good it makes us feel when we do). But how do you become a truly generous person? And is it even possible when you’re super busy or feeling broke?

The fact is, generosity is first and foremost an attitude, a way of being in the world, and a commitment to follow through on our desire to give and share with others. Here are six ways you can become a more generous person…

1. COMMIT TO DOING ONE GENEROUS ACT PER DAY.Every day, make a point to do one truly generous thing. Maybe it’s buying lunch for the homeless man who hangs out near your office building. Maybe it’s taking a few minutes out of your day to talk to a neighbor. Perhaps it’s giving $10 to a fundraiser you see on your social media feed that tugs on your heartstrings. Whatever it is — and no act is too small — daily acts of giving will build your generosity muscle.

2. GIVE TO EVERYONE WHO ASKS.In the Bible, Jesus tells us to give to anyone who asks. That sounds a little unrealistic, doesn’t it? I mean, if you opened up your wallet every time someone asked you for money, you could end up broke. But giving isn’t first and foremost about money; it’s about giving yourself in some way. Can you be a listening ear for someone or give a word of encouragement? Can you spare a short prayer? How about sharing some helpful resources or a particular talent or? There is always something to give when someone asks.

Remember, generosity is about so much more than doling out money or material goods; it’s primarily an attitude and a way of being.

3. GIVE YOUR GOOD STUFF.Many of us clear out our closets and give our old things to the poor. But is that the best we can do? What if we started giving our good stuff, items we actually enjoy or even want, but don’t need as much as someone else? Giving something we actually like might hurt a little, but it can help us grow. It also honors the dignity of the person we are giving it to.

4. REACH OUT TO SOMEONE WHO’S LONELY.Mother Theresa once said that loneliness is the greatest kind of poverty. And there are lonely people everywhere – in our neighborhoods, schools, churches, streets, even the grocery store. We don’t always know who is lonely, but we can be kind to strangers, offer a smile or a helping hand when we’re out and about, and regularly call relatives and friends who live alone or are going through hard times.

5. IDENTIFY A COUPLE OF WORTHY ORGANIZATIONS AND COMMIT TO SUPPORTING THEM. One of the best ways to be more generous is to support worthy causes and organizations. Which ones speak to you the most? Which ones do you believe are really making a difference in the world? Commit to the ones that are most important to you and make a point to support them regularly in whatever way works for your budget

6. GIVE A LITTLE MORE THAN YOU THINK YOU CAN. Every time you give to someone, challenge yourself to go just a bit further. If you’re about to write a check for $20, make it $25. If you’re going to donate a coat, throw in a scarf, too. If you want to buy a homeless person a cup of coffee, add a sandwich. If you challenge yourself to stretch just a bit more out of your comfort zone, you will grow in your generosity.

Remember, generosity is about so much more than doling out money or material goods; it’s primarily an attitude and a way of being. By intentionally practicing regular acts of giving and sharing, you will indeed become a more generous person — and be all the happier for it.

Posted on

FEAR IS MY TEACHER – by Christopher Heffron

“Do you think you have pantophobia?”

“What’s pantophobia?”

“The fear of everything.”“That’s it!”

One of my favorite scenes from A Charlie Brown Christmas is the one in which our hero books some face time with Lucy, the resident psychiatrist. For a paltry nickel, she runs down a list of phobias from which Charlie might be suffering.

Cats? Staircases? Crossing bridges? Nope, none of those. The rest of the conversation went as follows:

True to her proactive nature, Lucy suggests Charlie busy himself to conquer his fears and curb his deepening, adolescent depression. (Oh, if life could be that simple!) While I’ve never suffered from pantophobia, I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t cautious, tremulous, even afraid. My mom continues to tell this story with relish: When my sister, Lauren, first attempted to walk, my mother steadied her on her feet. Then Lauren charged ahead, arms akimbo like a pint-sized stuntwoman. Of course, she fell on her face and wailed, but even as a baby she was fearless.

Same scenario, four years later. My mom steadied me for my first few steps and then sat back. But I wouldn’t let go of the coffee table. With every step, I made sure my hands kept their grip, as though I had a preexisting fear of what might happen. It’s an instinct that has never left me. I don’t learn with abandon like my sister. I cope with challenges by envisioning every possible outcome and planning accordingly.

Some scenarios, however, I cannot control. One of my greatest fears is flying. My relationship with air travel is multilayered. For starters, I am simply not built for longer flights. I’m taller than average: long on legs, short on tolerance for tight spaces. In November of 2001, I was on a flight to Los Angeles to do a story. The second I sat down in my seat, my mind began to race. My palms were sweaty. My knees started to knock.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe deeply. I was certain that we’d have engine troubles. Or that my luggage was on a flight to Belarus. Or that the pilot had one too many scotch and sodas at the airport Chili’s. I envisioned everything.

I was so deep into my Lamaze breathing that I didn’t notice the young woman who sat down two seats over. And she was in even worse shape than I was. Every noise made her jump. She buckled and unbuckled her seatbelt constantly. As the plane was approaching the runway, she pulled out a St. Christopher prayer card (which never dawned on this Chris—go figure). And as we took off, I saw her grip the card so tightly her fingers turned white. This heartened me. Even though I was filled with anxiety, there was somebody on the flight even more terrified.

We struck up a conversation not long after takeoff. She was going to her sister’s wedding. It turned out to be the first enjoyable flight I had taken. I even enjoyed the in-flight movie—Miss Congeniality—and I hadn’t thought that would ever be possible. God sends little remedies all the time and we rarely notice. Sometimes it can take the shape of conversation with a new friend or a bad Sandra Bullock movie. Fear is a great teacher, but God is a better one.

There will come a day—possibly even tomorrow—when I’ll be unsteady on my feet, cautious, afraid, just as I was when I learned to walk. But I’ll put one foot in front of the other, armed with a mantra that has been credited to Joan of Arc: “I fear nothing for God is with me.”

Posted on

Be Still and Know by Casey Cole (1/23/20)

I believe we are naturally restless people. For whatever reason, we feel our lives are somehow incomplete as we experience them and we long to fill in what is missing. We anxiously grasp at the world, hoping that more stuff, more wealth, more power, and more acclaim will satisfy us. Despite the futility of the world, something tells us it will bring us ultimate rest, but it never does. The more we seek, the more we realize how unsatisfied we are.

I would argue, interestingly enough, that this is among the best arguments for the existence of God. As we continue to search unsuccessfully for what will bring us rest, the longing we feel only grows stronger within us. With every question we are drawn to a wider horizon, forced to see ourselves against the infinite backdrop of our lives. Despite the ever-deepening hole within us and the futility of the world, something within us drives us to keep seeking, makes us believe there is something out there that will ultimately fulfill us. We refuse to settle, refuse to find comfort, no matter how much we have, because something within us knows that we need more. Our very longing points to that which can fulfill us. How true were St. Augustine’s words: our souls are restless until they rest in God!

As disciples of Christ, we must give up our restless anxiety and trust in God.

That means first and foremost trusting what we know in our hearts, what yearns within. Despite our doubts, we also possess some faith that we cannot explain, brief moments of calm that offer us a taste of a kingdom far beyond our own. There is something deep down that finds solace in the story of the Gospel and is filled with joy in the presence of goodness. Like the pregnant Elizabeth upon meeting her cousin Mary, there is something that leaps inside us at the presence of Christ. This is more than just wishful thinking or projection; it is our very souls reaching out for our Creator. In moments of doubt, do not worry that this feeling cannot be proven or quantified, but simply rest in it. Trust your feelings. Be still, and know that God has created you and speaks to you in the depths of your heart.

If this is not enough, trust in the faith that has been passed down for millennia. Things that are false, things that are destructive, pass away, but that which is true remains. For thousands of years, people of faith worshipped God and maintained a Tradition of faith; for two thousand of those years, that people existed as the Church, a people founded by Jesus himself and guided by the Holy Spirit. Despite scandals and wars, abuses and threats, division and persecution, the people of God have refused to be turned away. They staked their lives on what they have seen, passed down what they have heard, and stood by what they have known to be true. Despite the world, the Church prevails. In times of frenetic anxiety, do not worry about what cannot be seen, but simply remember the faith of our ancient mothers and fathers. Trust in their examples. Be still, and know that God founded and guides the Church.


If that still is not enough to calm your fears, trust, finally, in the power of love and truth you find in the world. While we are quite familiar with being disappointed by the worst we see in the world, we cannot deny the extraordinary heroism of which humanity is also capable. All around us, ordinary people are performing acts of sacrifice, giving up their own lives so that others may live. It is nearly impossible to look into the world and not see love overflowing at every turn. Science cannot explain it, logic doesn’t understand it. And yet, love emanates more powerfully than any substance we can measure. Truth transcends any instrument or equation. In moments of pessimism, when we find ourselves impatient with the world, do not grow hopeless, but trust in the unexplainable love lived by so many. Trust the goodness you see. Be still, and know that God is the source of all that is Good, Beautiful, and True, and that all love exists because God wills it.

For a world fixated on proofs and certainty, following a God of mystery seems ludicrous. Giving up our will and assenting to another seems like we’re following blindly and passively. It may seem as though we enter the darkness because we can’t face the truth. But we know through faith that this couldn’t be more wrong. We enter the darkness, letting go of our need to know and be in control, not because we wish to be blind, but because it is only time when we can truly see. In leaving our anxiety and trusting in God, we enter into the source of all truth and allow ourselves to be led in a way that we could have never found by ourselves. We may not know where the road leads, and that might cause great concern in us. But for those who trust in God, simply knowing who is leading is all we need to know. Following Christ is not about knowing where we are going, but knowing who we are going with, and trusting that he knows the way.

When Christ is our leader, we have no reason to worry.

Posted on

The Widow’s Mite by Randall Smith

There’s a story that when the Statue of Liberty was being renovated and restored in the early 1980s and money was being solicited from donors across the country, an envelope showed up with two dimes in it and a note from a young boy, saying: “This is my lunch money for today, but I am sending it for the Statue of Liberty. Please use it wisely.”

If true, this is a modern version of the story of the “widow’s mite” (Mark 12:41-44, Luke 21:1-4), in which a poor widow donated two small “mites,” the lowest denomination coin in the realm, to the Temple treasury. “Calling his disciples to himself,” Mark tells us, “Jesus said to them, ‘Amen, I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they

have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.’”

It’s a lovely story, generally well known and well-liked. I sometimes worry that we like it so much because it’s one of those stories where the rich might seem to get their comeuppance and the poor (whom we associate with ourselves, even though we live in the richest country on earth) get praised. “Yes, poor people like me are going to heaven and those rich arrogant jerks will finally get what’s coming to them.”

This may not be the best lesson to glean from the story, given that we are a rich people to whom much has been given and so from whom much will be expected. And who, if we are honest with ourselves, generally contribute from our surplus wealth, and not from our need. So perhaps it would be best to set aside those financial resentments for the moment and consider two other lessons we as a Church might take from the stories of the widow and the young person who sent his lunch money with the note to “Use it wisely.”

The first lesson is one that it seems certain bishops need to learn. That money in the “Temple treasury” is not your money. It is that widow’s money that she has entrusted to the Church and to your stewardship. Your God-given duty is to use it wisely and worthily.

Of each and every expenditure, a bishop should ask: Is this use of this money worthy of the poverty and love of the person who gave it? Did the widow put her last two coins in the collection plate so that you could fly first-class to Rome? Did she donate so that you could hand out expensive gifts to those with whom you are currying favor?

There are few things more disgusting than prelates who treat donated money as though it has become their property to do with as they will. I don’t suppose this would be a good time to mention that at their last meeting in November the U.S. bishops voted to increase the tax on every diocese in the country by 3 percent, to fund the various activities of the USCCB. I trust they will use it wisely.

The second lesson, however, is one for all of us and is undoubtedly more important because less directly “financial.” Whatever gifts or talents we have, they are enough if we offer them to God. Especially during troubling times such as these, when large-scale historical “movements” in the world and the Church seem so far beyond us, it is tempting to say, “Me? What can I do? What can I give?” If God gave it to you, it is enough.

Recall the story of the multiplication of the loaves and the fishes. (John 6:1-14) Seeing the crowd of “some five thousand,” Jesus says to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” Philip answers, “It would take more than half a year’s wages to buy enough bread for each person to have one bite.” Another of the disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish.” The rest, as they say, is history. Jesus took the two small loaves and the fish and fed the entire crowd. And after all had eaten their fill, the leftovers filled twelve baskets.

This is another famous story, for good reason. But we don’t want to miss the importance of one of the minor characters: the young boy. The five loaves and two fish were his entire food for the day. When the apostles asked him, “Can we have those?” we can imagine him replying: “These? Not these. This is all I’ve got. Go find a rich guy with a big crate of bread.” But he didn’t. He gave the little he had. Not much, but it was enough.

Imagine being him and having people ask you: “You gave the five loaves and two fish that fed five thousand?” What do you say to that? “Well, sort of. It’s not like I fed five thousand people.” “No, but if you hadn’t given the five loaves and two fish, it wouldn’t have happened. It was like Mary. You did your part; you said ‘yes.’ And that made all the difference.”

So, dear friend, you give your lousy five loaves and two fish freely, selflessly, without a desire for profit or advancement, and then just trust that God can feed thousands with whatever gifts He has given you. This is the strange mathematics of love: it multiplies. The selfless gift of love of two people creates a third, and then another and another until there are thirty-five grandchildren. A small society of friends can produce good effects that expand exponentially, on their own, without the mechanisms of power, propaganda, and social control.

It’s a big Church, a big world, with billions of people. “What can I do?” Give your two cents worth. Give your loaves and a couple of fish. And then let God do His God thing.*

Image: The Widow’s Mite by Émile Auguste Hublin, 1869 [Herbert Art Gallery & Museum, Coventry, England]