Reverend Ed Bacon of All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena, California, stood in his pulpit, resplendent in his flowing white robe and colorful vestments. He's a big man with a booming voice and charisma enough to light up the sanctuary without candles. On this particular Sunday, he was practically glowing with joy -- energized by his guest of honor, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the Nobel Prize-winning peacemaker from South Africa.
"Most people say, 'Give 'til it hurts,'" Reverend Ed announced to the standing-room-only congregation. "But I say, 'Give 'til it feels good!'"
The crowd's laughter and applause thundered their approval. The choir burst into song as ushers made their way down the aisles with collection baskets.
This wasn't just any Sunday -- and it wasn't just any collection. Archbishop Tutu had come to All Saints to tell us about the latest developments in his homeland. Apartheid had been abolished and the country was now embarking on the long, slow, painful journey of healing. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) had been established to facilitate the healing process. It was a court-like body, chaired by Archbishop Tutu, which played a key role in the transition of South Africa to a full and free democracy. Anyone who felt that he or she had been a victim of apartheid's violence could come forward and be heard. Perpetrators of violence could also give testimony and request amnesty and forgiveness.
But, as Reverend Ed pointed out to us that Sunday morning, justice isn't free. It costs money to hold tribunals, to handle the paperwork, to underwrite the process of hearings and all the administrative details. So he asked the congregation to dig deep into our pockets and purses, since he was giving all the donations that Sunday to Archbishop Tutu to help support the ongoing work of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.
"I've never done this before," Reverend Ed said, "But I'm going to do it today. I am urging to give what you can, in whatever form you can. If you want to donate your car, we'll take the pink slip. If you want to donate jewelry, we'll take that. If you want to give cash or a check, or even put your donation on a credit card, fine. We'll take it all. We here in Southern California have a wonderful standard of living -- we're rich by any standard. So I'm asking you to give as much as you can to the people of South Africa to support their healing and reconciliation. Most people say, 'Give 'til it hurts' -- but I say, 'Give 'til it feels good!'"
There wasn't a dry eye in the place. We were so moved by Tutu's sermon, so inspired by his moral authority and loving compassion, that we could do no less than give our all.
As the collection basket made its way toward me, I wondered what to do. My business had been slow, so I had no extra money to give. I needed my car, so I couldn't donate that. What can I give? I asked myself. I desperately wanted to support this marvelous process unfolding in South Africa. I wanted to contribute something -- no matter how small -- to the good people half-way around the world.
The collection basket finally came to me and I looked down into it, still not sure what to do. As my hands cradled the basket of love offerings, I noticed that I was wearing a 14K gold and garnet ring my mother had given me on my 12th birthday. Instantly, I knew what to do. I took off the ring, put it in the little white offering envelope, and dropped the envelope into the collection basket. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I passed the basket to the person next to me. I imagined the South Africans melting down my gold ring to help pay for their national healing. I was filled with gratitude and happiness to be a tiny part of something so momentous, so important, so essential to humanity.
As I wiped away my tears and joined the choir in song, I realized that Reverend Ed had been right. I gave ... and it felt good.
BJ Gallagher's new book is If God Is Your Co-Pilot, Switch Seats (Hampton Roads).