Tag Archives: compassion

Compassion, Generosity, and Love

September 24, 2023Inspirationbooks, compassion, Eric, fathers, generosity, God, Gospel, homily, Jessie Bazan, Jesus, laborers, love, Marcus Borg, Matthew 20:1-16a, migrants, NYT, parable, Philippians 1:20c-24, Robin Wall Kimmerer, ROOTS, Spirit of Peace, vineyard, writingKaren Buley

Last week, a colleague asked if I was writing anything. I said a quick “No” before adding, “well, I’m working on a homily.”

“That’s writing,” she replied.

I delivered my homily at Spirit of Peace this morning. Despite having read it aloud numerous times in the past few days, I choked up when I shared the segments about my dad and the New York Times article. I hadn’t expected to falter through those words.

During the sign of peace and again during coffee hour, I received several compliments about my homily. In one conversation, we chatted about being part of the “universal church,” referencing the fact that the Scriptures we shared during liturgy today were shared by others around the globe.

When I opened my email hours later, I discovered a message from a person of a certain age who had joined our liturgical celebration via Zoom:

Karen, Your Homily this morning provided the best insights into this Gospel that I have ever heard. Thanks!

His message, and the conversation about our universal church, inspired me to share my homily in this post.

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© Cristina Deidda
| Dreamstime.com — Manual Harvesting © Cristina Deidda | Dreamstime.com

The first reading from Philippians [Philippians 1:20c-24, 27a] says, “For to me life is Christ, and death is gain. If I go on living in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. And I do not know which I shall choose.”

We also hear about labor in Matthew’s Gospel [Matthew: 20:1-16a], as Jesus illustrates God’s divine compassion and generosity. Numerous times after the first laborers begin to work, the landowner tells others, “You too go into my vineyard, and I will give you what is just.”

This parable is one I’ve struggled with in the past. Perhaps some of you have as well. Thankfully, a variety of resources helped shape this homily.

At Home with the Word 2023 explains, “The daily wage for laborers was enough for a small extended family of several adults and children to purchase bread and vegetables for the day’s meals with a bit left over for taxes and other expenses. Observant Jews had to be especially careful to keep enough for Sabbath days when they refrained from labor. The vineyard owner was thus making sure all his laborers could eat regardless of the work they put in. His concern was for the effects of the wage, not its value as a symbol of effort.”

Theologian Jessie Bazan had this to say, in part, on Catholic Women Preach.

“The first group of laborers in today’s parable get stuck in binary thinking at payment time:

Either you work a full day and get paid the usual wage, or you work part of the day and get paid part of the usual wage.

This thinking makes sense. It seems fair.

But then they see the later hires get paid the full wage, and the first group makes an assumption:

If those who work part of the day get the full wage, then those of us who work the full day will get the full wage plus a bonus.

Again, this thinking makes sense. It seems fair.

But the landowner rebukes this reasoning—and through his actions, Jesus shows us once again:

God is far too creative for binaries.

God is far too mysterious for assumptions.

Our God is a God of infinite possibilities, whose ways are high above the human ways to which we’ve grown accustomed. Our God cannot be tamed within the made-up constructs of in or out, worthy or unworthy, last or first. Our God is near to all who call upon the divine name in truth, no matter if we got to work at the crack of dawn or right before quitting time.”

Bazan’s words, “This thinking makes sense. It seems fair,” encapsulated my interpretation of today’s Gospel throughout the years.

My parents taught me about the importance of work, unions, and workers’ rights during my childhood in Butte. My paternal grandfather, Joseph Antonietti, immigrated from Italy. He died in 1937 when my father was only nine years old. In 2015, I helped my dad with a brief family history. Together, we wrote:

“Joseph was a walking delegate for the Cooks’ and Waiters’ Union, No. 22. Dan remembers asking, as a young boy, why his dad had to make weekly treks to collect union dues. His father’s reply, ‘If everybody was honest, we wouldn’t need unions,’ inspired Dan to become a lifelong union member. Now eighty-seven, Dan recently celebrated sixty-five years of active union membership.”

My parents also taught me about compassion, generosity, and love.

I was reminded of Matthew’s Gospel as I recalled a conversation I had with my son Eric several years ago. We were talking about ROOTS—the young adult Seattle shelter I’ve mentioned before that serves 18-25-year-olds who are experiencing housing instability.

Those seeking overnight shelter can call ROOTS between 8:00 and 8:30 PM or sign up at the door during the same thirty-minute window and ask to be put on the list. If more than forty-five people sign up, a random drawing at 8:30 PM determines who can stay, or who is offered a plate of food, a blanket, and a bus ticket—the latter which could be used to try to access another shelter.

I told Eric a lottery system didn’t seem fair, and asked why it wasn’t “First come, first serve.” He said some guests might have phones or bus money that enable them to access the list more easily. Others may have neither and might have to walk long distances to get to ROOTS. Thus, not applying a first-come-first-served approach was more equitable. And if more than forty-five people were looking for shelter, first-time shelter guests and those with medical needs who were referred by healthcare professionals were automatically welcomed in, not included in the lottery.

I was reminded of today’s Gospel again last week by a heartbreaking article in The New York Times, titled, “Suing. Heckling. Cursing. N.Y.C. Protests Against Migrants Escalate.” The tagline read, “After migrants were sheltered at a defunct school, neighbors on Staten Island turned on a loudspeaker and put up signs to drive them away.”

The article talked, in part, about a 52-year-old father and his 24-year-old daughter, who had journeyed from Ecuador and had been at the shelter for twelve days. They were vetted by the U.S. Border Patrol and had an immigration court date scheduled in the future. The authors wrote, “The two had spent the day in Queens—a three-hour round trip—canvassing every Spanish-speaking restaurant and store for open positions. But no one was hiring. Their plan was to wake up early tomorrow to try again.”

So, returning to today’s parable…the laborers who showed up early might have had privileges the latecomers did not: beds, breakfast, and proximity or the means to get to the marketplace at daybreak. Conversely, those who arrived later might have battled hunger and thirst as they walked hours to reach their destination. Or some, like the father and daughter in New York, might have been looking for work the entire day.

As always, I received inspiration from this community too. In Tim’s latest homily, he encouraged us to open our hearts and look upon others with compassion. He introduced me to Marcus Borg, whom The New York Times described as “a leading figure in his generation of Jesus scholars.” Borg’s words, “God’s primary quality is compassion; therefore, a life centered in God will be compassionate,” are reflected in today’s Gospel.

Earlier this month, John proclaimed: “Comfort to you who courageously advocate for fairer distribution of resources and challenge the belief that wealth is a sign of favor from God.”

And last Sunday when Alan unfolded the readings, he urged us to treat each other mercifully.

When I dove into today’s readings, I was in the midst of listening to Robin Wall Kimmerer narrate her nonfiction book, Braiding Sweetgrass. She wrote, “Generosity is simultaneously a moral and a material imperative, especially among people who live close to the land and know its waves of plenty and scarcity. Where the well-being of one is linked to the well-being of all. Wealth among traditional people is measured by having enough to give away.”

Today’s reading from the Philippians directs us to conduct ourselves “in a way worthy of the gospel of Christ.” May we continually be inspired to model our Creator God’s compassion, generosity, and love. Amen.

I am grateful to all whose words enriched my own.

1968 Words Ring True

July 26, 2020COVID-191968, books, compassion, COVID-19, generations, integrity, masks, parents, senior living, sisters, TouchmarkKaren Buley

I rediscovered two messages from my parents in my Log -o-Life. My “baby book,” its four-page index implies a long and productive life. Numerous pages are incomplete. Some are not applicable, like “Doctor of Philosophy Diploma” and “Military Record.” Others reference experiences that slipped by, unrecorded: High School Activities, Transcript of College Credits, Publications, and more. The Middle Age Photo page is blank. And though there are seven pages for autographs, there is a single entry. Laurie Antonietti – 11/10/69.

Karen & Laurie Antonietti 1964 — Karen & Laurie Antonietti 1965

My parents penned their notes on my dad’s forty-first birthday—November 25, 1968. My mom was thirty-seven. Written to a preadolescent baby boomer, their words are precious. Many are timeless.

“The game of life is a challenge. Especially for your generation. Play it fair and always play it to the best of your ability. Retain your faith, be charitable to all and refuse to do wrong.”

“Stand by your convictions and what you have been taught and know what is right – always be charitable to all – and honest with yourself and others, and just always do your best.”

My dad has been gone three and a half years.

My mom, on the cusp of her eighty-ninth birthday, lives at Touchmark, a senior living community. COVID-19 restrictions have limited her interactions with family and non-Touchmark friends. Aside from a pair of respites piggybacked onto medical appointments, she has had one outing since March. Following a doctor visit three weeks ago, she waited in the car while I ran into Target. She needed laundry detergent, but I had to remind her she could not go into the store.

When I returned to the car, she said, “A lot of people aren’t wearing those things…I can’t believe it.” She pointed to her mask. “We might have this for the rest of our lives.” She sighed. “Do you think they’ll be able to have the wedding?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

Mom’s memory waxes and wanes, and sometimes she struggles with words. But she remembered something about the pandemic. And her thoughts swung to the granddaughter who had already rescheduled her wedding once.

When I reread these words from long ago, I was reminded of our conversation in the Target parking lot. If my dad had been in the car with us, he would have echoed what my mom tried to say.

Be charitable to all. And wear a mask.

Helena Women's March January 2020 — Helena Women’s March January 2020

An Evening at ROOTS Young Adult Shelter

October 19, 2014Volunteerismcompassion, dignity, Eric, homeless, resilience, ROOTS, Seattle, shelter, social justice, young adultsKaren Buley

During my recent visit to Seattle, I had the privilege of volunteering at ROOTS (Rising Out Of The Shadows) Young Adult Shelter. Its mission statement reads: ROOTS provides shelter and other essential services to homeless young adults. We build community, advocate for social justice, and foster dignity among low-income people.

ROOTS provides a safe place for up to forty-five young adults, ages eighteen to twenty-five, 365 nights a year. The night I volunteered, there wasn’t enough space to accommodate all who sought shelter. According to ROOTS’ website, this has become a more common occurrence. “These young people are spiraling out of the foster care system and onto the streets, fleeing abusive homes and failing to find work opportunities to survive in this tough economic climate.”

Those who weren’t lottoed in that night were given a plate of food, a blanket, a bus ticket, and a referral to another shelter if space was available. Of the guests in shelter, their resilience and unfulfilled potential were palpable. Some were students. Others were employed. But none had stable homes.

I helped two other volunteers prepare dinner. Though it was their second night at shelter, it was their first night on kitchen duty. We prepared a “feast” using leftovers, salad, fruit, baked goods, and four packages of egg noodles which we added to gorgonzola cheese sauce we scored from the refrigerator.

While we were preparing the meal, some folks carried in leftovers from a group gathering. Since we had plenty of food, we dated their donations and put them in the refrigerator, where they were sure to be a welcome discovery for the dinner crew the following night.

In addition to the above, several things struck me about my evening at ROOTS.

The dedication of staff and volunteers.
Preferred gender pronouns on staff and volunteers’ nametags.
An on-site resource specialist.
Donated clothing and books.
A sign which said that you could not use on-site, but if you arrived with dirty needles, they could be disposed of safely.
The smooth transition of the room as guests helped arrange mats and bins.
Guest access to computers, laundry facilities, showers and lockers.
The camaraderie between volunteers and guests.
The politeness and appreciativeness of the guests.
The opportunity for guests to earn locker privileges by volunteering in shelter.
The serenity of the room and its forty-five guests after lights out.

Our opening meeting before guests arrived and our debriefing after lights out were impressive. I was moved by the compassion and commitment of the volunteers, several of whom were in the age group of the guests.

During our debriefing, we were given the opportunity to share concerns, warnings given and an evening highlight. No one had warnings or concerns, but we all had highlights. One volunteer, whom we learned in our opening meeting was there for the first time, was enthusiastic about her desire to return. Others were regulars, evident by nods of recognition as they shared highlights about familiar guests.

When it was my turn, I shared three highlights: being part of a team headed by my son Eric, the evening’s Program Coordinator; seeing the welcoming, safe, inclusive place I’d heard so much about; and having guests help in the kitchen and in the dish room.

I didn’t share one huge highlight though, afraid tears would stifle my words. Working with my kitchen companions, and peripherally with the other volunteers, was deeply moving. To witness their kindness, compassion, dedication and connectedness with the guests was an affirmation of the goodness in our world. I wanted to tell them that they’re making our world a better place. I wanted to say that being in their presence made my heart sing, but I knew I would choke on my words.

I was touched by the guests as well. Through my observations and brief interactions with some of them, I felt so much unfulfilled potential. Two poignant memories stand out. As I was preparing a burrito for a guest, another awaiting his dinner asked, “How’s your night going?” I told him it was going well and asked how his was. “Pretty good,” he said. “That’s what we always say. Pretty good,” he repeated, with a hint of a smile.

What resilience.

Later, Eric had just given me a quick introduction to the dish room and sterilizer when a guest arrived and donned an apron. Wordlessly he turned his back to me and held out his apron strings for me to tie. Eric asked if he wanted help with the dishes but the guest said no, so I went back into the kitchen to collect our serving dishes.

After adding them to the overflowing counter, I thanked our helper for tackling the mountain of dishes. He said he’d done “twenty times that many” and told me he used to work in a restaurant. When I asked where, he hesitated. I’d wondered then if, in my attempt at small talk, I’d overstepped my bounds. He allayed my fear seconds later when he said in a soft voice, “Colorado.”

What a tender moment to be gifted with his trust.

Thank you, ROOTS, for the important work you do. Thank you for providing a safe, welcoming and inclusive place and for being a stepping stone as you raise young adults out of the shadows.