Who Cares?
If I am having a really bad day, my mantra becomes, “Who cares?” Here’s how it works.
As I am putting on my socks in the morning, I see a hole in the toe and I say, “Who cares?”
When I open the refrigerator door and see we’re low on milk, I say, “Who cares?”
When I read the tragic headlines in the morning newspaper, I say, “Who cares?”
When I realize I have fifteen important things on my to-do list for today, I say, “Who cares?”
Years ago psychologists gave a name to this “Who cares?” attitude. They called it “compassion fatigue.” Compassion fatigue occurs when we are so bombarded by needy people, critical situations, and serious issues, we shut down emotionally. Our “Who cares?” is really our way of saying, “I have no more energy to care about a blessed thing!”
I don’t like it when I get this way, of course. After all, I am a woman and women are “trained” to be selfless and nurturing. (A male friend of mine did a very thoughtful favor for someone. When I complimented him on his sensitivity, he said, “I like being a man. I get extra credit for every kind thing I do!” He was on to something.) Besides being a woman, I am also a Christian and aren’t Christians supposed to care about things? And on top of that, I am a nun—and aren’t nuns women who, in a way, vow to care—not only about people, but also about every worthy cause under the sun?
All of this led me to wondering: did Jesus ever experience compassion fatigue? Perhaps he did. Remember those times when the crowds just wouldn’t leave him alone? Or when his disciples were so dense they completely missed the point of his teaching? Or all those times he got more than a little testy with the Pharisees? Or when he was so exhausted he fell asleep in a boat during a violent storm and had to be awakened by some 
terrified fishermen? Or when, in the Temple one day, he grabbed a whip, flipped over some tables, and chased the money changers out of the place? He probably was experiencing compassion fatigue. Maybe he was even tempted to say (at least under his divine breath) “Who cares?”
When I find myself slipping into the “Who cares?” mood, I know it is time. Time for what? It is time for me:
* to get some rest
* to make myself unavailable for a while
* to talk to God and/or to a good friend about what may really be going on in my life
* to rearrange my priorities. Again.
* to humbly acknowledge the fact that I have limits—and I have just reached them
* to say over and over again: I am not the savior of the world. Jesus is!
* and to pray something like this:
Jesus, everything inside me is screaming, “Who cares?”
But you know, deep in my heart, I really do care.
I care about people, I care about faith,
I care about peace, I care about justice,
I care about today, I care about the future.
I am just overwhelmed right now by all the needs swirling around me.
Give me the common sense to deal with my fatigue.
Give me the humility to acknowledge that I can’t do everything.
Give me the strength to know I can do something.
And help me to keep trusting in your unending care for me,
for my loved ones, for everyone, and for our beautiful and needy world. Amen.
The song today is “Sweet Bird” by Joy Zimmerman. When I’m having a hard time caring, I often seek a “dose of nature.” Maybe you do too. Time spent outdoors tends to renew my spirit. Even the song of a single “sweet bird” has the power to revive my soul.
Do you have any response to today’s reflection or song?
How Much Time Do You Have?
Do you ever say to yourself, “I wonder how much more time I have left on earth.” I do. This reflection on life expectancy is based on a chapter in my book When the Rain Speaks.
In the world of nature, various life forms have different life expectancies. A mouse can expect to live four years, a rabbit nine, a pigeon twenty-six, a deer thirty-five, a crocodile forty-five, and an elephant seventy. Other animals live even longer.
In recent years, bowhead whales were found with harpoons in their bodies dating back to the 1800s. One such whale, after an autopsy, was determined to be 211 years old. Then there’s the Aldabra giant tortoises. At first it was hard to determine their exact age because they outlived their human observers. But one carefully documented tortoise died in 2006 at the age of 255.
Some members of the plant world live even longer than us animals. A bristlecone pine in the White Mountains of California is currently about 5,000 years old! I wrote about it in a previous post. That tree was already 3,000 years old when Jesus walked the dusty roads of Galilee! Amazing!
When it comes to life expectancy, most insects get shortchanged. A worker bee lives only one year; a worker ant lives only one-half a year. Some species of moths live for a mere twenty-four hours. (You will never hear these moths say manana, for all they have is hoy.)
Where do we humans fall on the life-expectancy scale? The average life expectancy for the world human population is sixty-six, but life expectancy for humans varies greatly from country to country. An American can expect to live 77.7 years. But a Mozambican has a life expectancy of only 40.3 years. Spain has the highest life-expectancy at 82.3. (All those siestas must help!) We can never take personal credit for our longevity, though, which is determined largely by genetics and geographic location.
The oldest documented human being was Jeanne Calmet of Arles, France who lived to be 122 years and 164 days old. Her story is fascinating. She was amazingly active, taking up fencing at eighty-five and still riding her bike at 100. In 1965, when she was a mere ninety, she signed a contract with a lawyer, Francois Raffray, age forty-five. Called a “reverse mortgage,” the contract stipulated that Raffray would pay Calmet a monthly sum for her apartment. Upon her death, Raffray would get the apartment no matter how much money he had paid her. Since she was already ninety, that was a great deal, right?
Wrong! Raffray ended up paying Calmet every month for thirty years! When he himself died at age seventy-five, his poor widow had to continue to make the payments until Calmet’s death in 1997. That ended up being a very costly apartment!
Chances are we won’t live as long as Jeanne Calmet. But as Christians we 
believe that no matter how long or short our life may be, our life is in God’s hands. There’s an old poem that speaks of the length of one’s life in a unique way. You sometimes here this poem at funerals. The poet says how the dates on a tombstone are often separated by a dash. The dash represents all the time the person lived on earth. We never know how long or short our dash will be. What matters in the end, the poet says, are not the dates on the tombstone. What matters is how we lived our dash. The poem concludes:
For it matters not how much we own—
the cars, the house, the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.
What will you do with your dash today?
Our song is called “Speak Life” and it’s sung by Toby Mac. The song reminds us how important and powerful our words can be…
Did anything in this reflection surprise you or affect you?
Did anyone ever “speak life” to you? When? How? How do you “speak life” to the people in your world?
Is there anything special you want to do with the time you have left on earth?
PS: Thank you for your prayers for my two talks in Florida. And thank you to all the wonderful people who came! I ask your prayers for my next two speaking engagements. On Saturday morning, March 3, I’ll be in Camden, NJ speaking on hope. My contact person is Sr. Mary McGarrity, IHM, at the Diocese of Camden offices. Then I travel to Immaculata, PA where I’m leading a weeklong retreat for the Immaculate Heart of Mary Sisters. Thank you for your prayers.
The Story of Tea
The other afternoon, I made myself a cup of hot tea. As I poured the boiling water into the cup with the tea bag, I thought: “I bet tea has a fascinating history.” So I did a little reading and came up with this.
Legend says that tea was discovered in 2737 B.C. by a Chinese emperor named Shen-Ning. Evidently, as he was boiling a pot of water one day, some tea leaves accidently fell in. That’s the legend. But here are a few facts. Ceramic tea pots were used in Asia and the Middle East 11,000 years ago. In the beginning, tea was considered medicinal and was sold in ancient “pharmacies.” Even today many health professionals say that tea is good for you. Supposedly, it contains antioxidants that can repair cells in the body.
The word for tea reflects tea’s history and universality. The words for tea in virtually every language fall into three
groups: te, cha, chai. In these words, we see the transmission of tea from China to the rest of the world. This is how you say tea in the following languages: Spanish, Swedish, Italian: te; French: le the; Irish: tae; German: tee; Czech: caj (pronounced cha-y); Russian: chay; Hebrew: teh; Arabic: chai or shai; Swahili; chai. The upshot is, if you want a cup of tea anywhere in the world just say cha, chai, or tea and chances are you’ll get one!
China and Indian are the largest producers of tea. The best teas seem to come from higher elevations and are hand-picked. It takes about 2,000 tiny tea leaves to make one pound of finished tea. Which tea is the best in the world? Tea connoisseurs say it is Darjeeling tea. This “champagne of tea” is grown in India at the foot of the Himalayas in an area that is only 70 square miles.
Today there are roughly 1500 different kinds of tea. When we think of tea, many of us think of England. In British novels, films, and TV shows, the Brits are always offering each other a cup of tea. Today the U.K. drinks 6.2 billion cups of tea a year. That’s 65 million cups a day. Those of us in the United States still prefer coffee over tea. Interestingly, 85% of the tea consumed in the U.S. is iced tea.
Speaking of iced tea, the person credited with serving the first iced tea was a British tea seller at the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis. It seems the weather was exceptionally hot at that time. The tea seller was distraught as the crowds passed by his tea stand in search of cooler drinks. That’s when he got a brilliant idea. He threw some ice into his tea and presto! Iced tea was born!
The tea bag was invented a few years later by another tea seller, Thomas Sullivan. In 1908, he decided to send samples of his tea to his customers in small silken bags. The customers thought the bags were to be used in the same way as the metal infusers they ordinarily used. So they threw the little bags into their tea cups. Eventually Sullivan began to make the bags out of paper. At first, the British were wary of using tea bags. In the 1960’s, tea bags accounted for only 3% of the tea sold in Great Britain. But today, tea bags account for 96% of the tea sold there. The Brits were converted to the American labor-saving device called a tea bag.
Did Jesus drink tea? Most historians say no. Tea was unknown in that part of the world in Jesus’ time.
The story of tea is a fascinating one. Historically, it was the British tax on tea that led to American Independence. Before that, tea was a major factor in connecting the East and the West. Today, tea is still connecting people everywhere. Tea is consumed by more people in the world than any other beverage—except water!
Do you drink tea? Hot or iced or both?
Does tea play a significant role in your life? If so, how?
Tea is a great connector of people. Can you think of other things that connect people around the world?
I chose a song by Carrie Newcomer entitled “Room at the Table.” The spirit of this song coincides with welcoming someone in for a cup of tea. The images here tell us of other “things” that unite us as human beings: music and dance!
PS: I ask your prayers for two presentations I’m giving this week. The first is a retreat day on Saturday, Feb, 24 at St. Peter the Apostle Parish in Naples, FL. Entitled “A Celebration of Hope,” the retreat goes from 10:00 to 3:00. The contact person is Dr. Evelyn Allen at 239-348-2492. The second one is on Monday, February 26 at Espirtu Santo Parish in Safety Harbor, FL. I’ll be speaking on “Hanging onto Hope in Today’s World” after the 8:30 am Mass. See Deacon Steve for details at 727-726-8477. Thank you!
I welcome your responses below to today’s post!
Jesus: "Tender, Luminous, Demanding"
In her poem “Maybe,” Mary Oliver speaks of Jesus calming the storm at sea. She uses three words to describe him: tender, luminous, and demanding. I was intrigued by her word choice. As I reflected on what these words could mean, I came up with this:
Jesus was tender. Who could deny that? Even a cursory reading of the gospel reveals his tenderness. Jesus speaks kindly to people—especially to women and the poor. He touches the sick, feeds the hungry, is moved to compassion, plays with children, weeps for the loss of a good friend. He speaks tenderly too, underscoring the importance of faith and love, thus giving his listeners hope.
Jesus was luminous. Luminous can mean many things: emitting light, radiant, gleaming, enlightening. One sign of Jesus’ luminosity was his ability to attract a wide range of individuals. He was 100% approachable. He drew people to himself almost effortlessly. Jesus was so luminous that when he invited ordinary fishermen to follow him, they willingly left their boats and nets upon the shore and followed him. Women risked their reputations by speaking with him in public. Wherever he went, crowds flocked to him not merely for cures, but also just to catch a glimpse of him and listen to his words.
Jesus also formed deep relationships with individuals: Peter, John, Lazarus, Mary, Martha, Mary Magdalene. People seemed to enjoy just being in his company, sensing he was more than meets the eye. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus said, after being in his presence for only a short time, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way?” I imagine many people felt that way after an encounter with Jesus.
Jesus was demanding. Jesus was no namby-pamby. He was no weakling, no overly sentimental guy. As tender and luminous as he was, he was also demanding. He did not say, “Take up your cushion and follow me.” He 
said, “Take up your cross.” His parable of the last judgment does not say, “Just take care of yourself.” No, he demands of his followers concrete acts of compassion and justice: feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, visiting the imprisoned. His Beatitudes do not say we will find God in affluence and power, in complete satisfaction, in joy only, in being accepted by everyone. No, he demands that we find God even in places we are tempted to think God is absent: in our poverty, in our weakness, in our hungering, in our mourning, and even in being insulted or excluded.
At the end of her poem, Oliver says this: Jesus was “a thousand times more frightening than the killer sea.” Why was Jesus frightening? Because through his tenderness, luminosity, and demands, Jesus has the power to transform our lives forever.
Some questions for reflection:
How can I be more tender in my words and actions at home, at work, and everywhere?
Have I ever met someone I would describe as luminous?
Is Jesus demanding of me? Or have I tamed him or watered down his teachings?
Since Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, I chose this simple “Lenten Song” by Michael John Poirier:
Are you doing anything special for Lent? Would you like to share your thoughts with us–about Lent, this reflection, the song?
Jesus: “Tender, Luminous, Demanding”
In her poem “Maybe,” Mary Oliver speaks of Jesus calming the storm at sea. She uses three words to describe him: tender, luminous, and demanding. I was intrigued by her word choice. As I reflected on what these words could mean, I came up with this:
Jesus was tender. Who could deny that? Even a cursory reading of the gospel reveals his tenderness. Jesus speaks kindly to people—especially to women and the poor. He touches the sick, feeds the hungry, is moved to compassion, plays with children, weeps for the loss of a good friend. He speaks tenderly too, underscoring the importance of faith and love, thus giving his listeners hope.
Jesus was luminous. Luminous can mean many things: emitting light, radiant, gleaming, enlightening. One sign of Jesus’ luminosity was his ability to attract a wide range of individuals. He was 100% approachable. He drew people to himself almost effortlessly. Jesus was so luminous that when he invited ordinary fishermen to follow him, they willingly left their boats and nets upon the shore and followed him. Women risked their reputations by speaking with him in public. Wherever he went, crowds flocked to him not merely for cures, but also just to catch a glimpse of him and listen to his words.
Jesus also formed deep relationships with individuals: Peter, John, Lazarus, Mary, Martha, Mary Magdalene. People seemed to enjoy just being in his company, sensing he was more than meets the eye. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus said, after being in his presence for only a short time, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way?” I imagine many people felt that way after an encounter with Jesus.
Jesus was demanding. Jesus was no namby-pamby. He was no weakling, no overly sentimental guy. As tender and luminous as he was, he was also demanding. He did not say, “Take up your cushion and follow me.” He said, “Take up your cross.” His parable of the last judgment does not say, “Just take care of yourself.” No, he demands of his followers concrete acts of compassion and justice: feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, visiting the imprisoned. His Beatitudes do not say we will find God in affluence and power, in complete satisfaction, in joy only, in being accepted by everyone. No, he demands that we find God even in places we are tempted to think God is absent: in our poverty, in our weakness, in our hungering, in our mourning, and even in being insulted or excluded.
At the end of her poem, Oliver says this: Jesus was “a thousand times more frightening than the killer sea.” Why was Jesus frightening? Because through his tenderness, luminosity, and demands, Jesus has the power to transform our lives forever.
Some questions for reflection:
How can I be more tender in my words and actions at home, at work, and everywhere?
Have I ever met someone I would describe as luminous?
Is Jesus demanding of me? Or have I tamed him or watered down his teachings?
Since Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, I chose this simple “Lenten Song” by Michael John Poirier:
Are you doing anything special for Lent? Would you like to share your thoughts with us–about Lent, this reflection, the song?
