THREADING THE NEEDLE

“It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” (New Testament)

For once, I’m not going to check my source.  Pick your Gospel.  I learned it in Sunday School, and so did most of you.  Or at least you heard it somewhere.  Yes, it’s in the Bible, so it’s probably as factual as anything else there.  Personally, I’m not a big believer in human accuracy.  Don’t care when things were written.  People were misquoted in Biblical times probably about as often as they are now.

I find this statement offensive on so many levels.  It offends me as a person of wealth.  It offends me as a woman.  And it offends me as an extremely competent needleworker!  I can thread a #10 beading needle, and I do it on a daily basis, without benefit of a needle threader.  How many people, whatever their income level, can say that?  If there’s a needle out there I can’t deal with, I haven’t found it yet.

OK, I’ve had my fun.  I realize Jesus (if he existed, and if he was prone to metaphors) may have said just that.   He may have been referring to wealthy women too, just wasn’t used to using gender-inclusive language.  And he probably never threaded a needle in his life, although as a carpenter, he probably knew his way around tools.

As a person of wealth, who more than covers the traditional “tithe” amount when it comes to charitable giving, I’m REALLY offended.  And I don’t plan to get over it.

One of the most difficult things for me, when it comes to working in the non-profit sector, is the lofty, judgmental, holier-than-thou language I deal with.  Which, of course, reflects the attitudes of a lot of the people in it.  I was reminded of this the other day when I did a Google search for information on non-profit acquisitions.  Now, of course, trying to repeat that search, I can’t find the phrase that pissed me off so much.  It was something about the sacredness of the public trust, and the difficulties ascertaining donor intentions.   Well, here I am!  Want to know my intentions?  Just ask.

I addition to the excessive and lofty language, the lack of specificity drives me crazy.  I’ve spent over thirty years in the non-profit sector, and NOT ONCE have I found a professional that answers questions reliably and confidently.  The amount of CYA (“Cover Your Ass,” for those of you so overwhelmed by new acronyms you’ve forgotten some older ones) and “be sure to consult a financial professional” qualifiers, makes me sick.

I never figured all this out until I read “Uncharitable” by Dan Pallotta.  If you haven’t read it, stop right here and do it now.  The first 30 pages will do.  Until Dan, I never quite got it where all these attitudes come from.  Care to guess?  It’s religion!  Of course!

Continuing down the camel track, you will learn that charitable giving has been traditionally required of the wealthy so that they can redeem their sins.  You made all that money through child labor?  You beat your wife when she questioned you about it?  You kicked the dog on the way out the door?  Write a check to the nearest charity RIGHT NOW!!!

Speaking for myself here, which I always do, I am not redeeming my sins.  First of all, I’ve given up most of them.  I don’t smoke, I have only an occasional cocktail, don’t use recreational drugs (that reek outside my front door didn’t come from me) and I work very hard to control my temper and be kind and polite.  My last vice is swearing, and I don’t intend to give that one up.  Most of my past sins are beyond financial redemption anyway.

I give with one goal in mind.  I am doing the best I can, while I’m still here in this sinful world, to build awareness around the issue of childhood sexual abuse, and hopefully save some people some of the pain and trauma I have suffered.  In recent years, I’ve refocused on grants that help selected non-profits grow and increase their revenues.  If, in the process, I’ve suffered from reliving my own traumas, and being misunderstood and misinterpreted by those I try to help?  Well, goes with the territory.  My shoulders are broad, I have an excellent command of the language, and a growing amount of legitimacy and respect I can call on when I feel powerless.  But please, don’t tell me I’m doing this out of guilt.

And Heaven?  I wish I had a nickel for every time someone has told me my reward is waiting for me there.  I’ve asked most of my philanthropic colleagues to email me when they get to Heaven and let me know what that reward is like.  In the meantime, I’ll keep threading that needle.