A good friend recently explained that - as a distress call -
the term “May Day” is really from the French SVP m’aider meaning “please help me”. Well, this is only a call for help in the
usual mode of a prayer letter…
Most of you (if not all) also get the intermittent C4L
Bulletins, so you have heard that several government grants are immanent for
C4L. That is a huge lift to me
personally, although it is more of a medium term factor than short term relief. This is because government funding moves with
glacial slowness.
However, these recent funding approvals should lift C4L to a
new plateau in terms of government funding of training through “learnerships”
(a combined work-study approach). This
is part of C4L’s 10-year strategy for sustainability – and succession. I do not see C4L getting past me in its
current incarnation. It has to outgrow
the incarnation before it can outgrow me!
So the ascent has begun…
I have often quoted the adage that the role of nonprofits
leaders is “to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable”. In the following poem, which I wrote
recently, you can find me caught in this role of intermediation. Frankly it’s not a pleasant place to be. Comforting the afflicted has a nice “look and
feel” to it - until you recognize the inherent pitfalls. But afflicting the comfortable can only be
described as an occupational hazard for NGO directors.
You just have to call a spade a spade, as Jesus did when he
met the rich young ruler. From one youth
to another, he said that wealth was getting in the way of eligibility. So I am in good company in writing these
lines, which I hope you will take to heart.
Pray for me to deal with the angst that this role causes me. I think it is captured in the poetry?
Alienated By
Entitlement
Only one letter before
the F-word
Comes the E-word that
nobody wants to hear...
In a global village
Who says that some
continents
Can consume natural
resources
Faster than others?
No creed condones it
But some still feel
entitled
To leave the lights on
when not in the room
To drive a gas-guzzler
Even to the parish
church on Sunday mornings
Instead of walking
And to give less to
Charity
When they hear that
Aid begets Dependency
That there are
millions who never get off the Dole
Some of them hooked on
drugs
Whose sense of
entitlement is deeper?
In a rainbow nation
Who is the most
privileged?
Those who live behind
walls topped with razor wire
Coasting along on
accumulated capital?
Or those who don't
have to perform to standards
Protected in their
jobs by affirmative action
Overpaid and
underproducing?
They both feel
entitled
To live in their black
enclave or white ghetto
Alienated by
entitlement
In Sunday morning
worship
Whose prayer rises
fastest?
Who does God hear
above all the clamour?
Not all are privileged
with the gift of tongues
Not are entitled to
miraculous healing
Thus saith the high
and holy One
Who inhabits eternity
I dwell in the high
and holy place
And also with him
Who is of a humble and
contrite spirit
Is it humble to be so
sure that your doctrine is sound?
Is it contrite to have
shoes in your closet
That you never wear
When others go
barefoot?
Eternal security feeds
entitlement
When doctrine was
corrected
Purgatory was
abandoned
But blessed assurance
crashed humility
The body language of a
contrite spirit
Is to kneel prostrate
before the altar
Not to raise both
hands in Alleluias
Like the Pharisee
Praying beside the
groveling tax collector
Who did God listen to?
The only thing gold is
good for
Is paving the streets
of heaven
Interlocking gold
bricks as paving stones
Each one with an
imprint embedded
Joe the Samaritan
helped me after I was mugged
Frank of Assisi clothed me with
family hand-me-downs
August of Halle paid
my school fees at the Ragged School
William Booth helped
me shake off my drug habit
Theresa of Calcutta comforted me
before I died
The road to hell is
also paved
With good intentions
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