Dikt om måttlighet

Måttlighet är en viktig ingrediens i ett kristet liv,
att i allt skala av sitt överflöd.
Se till sin nästas behov och ha inte mer än du behöver,
utan bara det vi behöver utan att lida nöd.

Att gott kan vi unna oss till en gräns,
frosseri är synd så akta dej för det.
Att hålla sig till en dygd är bättre än att hålla sig från en synd
som lätt oss leder från sundhet.

Rannsaka dig själv dag för dag,
överflöd är till för att ge andra inte för dej.
Denna dygd bör vi ej förneka om vi följer Jesus,
den gäller oss alla även mej.

Den kan vara svår så sök Jesu styrka,
för i dig själv är du bara svag,
Daglig överlåtelse är livets bästa melodi,
leva i kärlek värdigt Jesus är vår lag.

One thought on “Dikt om måttlighet

  1. Ja du vet nog att jag invänder. Då jag betraktar det som någon arbetat för eller fått som gåva som enbart deras att förfoga över – till och med förstöra om de nu vill det snarare än att avhjälpa nöd. Om de önskar klä sig i guld och juveller eller bränna upp pengar som virke är det deras rätt. Jag tycker visst det är bra att det finns fattigdomshjälp antingen nu det sker via samhället eller genom enskilda personer, men den hjälpen bör alltid ges frivilligt – de arma som inte kan eller vill jobba har ingen rätt till andra människors förvärvade egendom. De kan bara få den av barmhärtighet men kan aldrig kräva den. Själv ser jag det som moraliskt fel att någon ska få det andra jobbat för – annat än av barmhärtighet från deras sida. Se denna historien

    Nicci’s father was wealthy. Worse, to Mother’s way of thinking, he wasn’t morseful about it. Mother explained that self-interest and greed were like the eyes of a monstrous evil, always looking for yet more power and gold to feed its insatiable hunger. “You must learn, Nicci, that a person’s moral course in this life is to help others not yourself,” Mother said. “Money can’t buy the Creator’s blessing.” “But how can we show the Creator we’re good?” Nicci asked. “Mankind is a wretched lot, unworthy, morbid, and foul. We must fight depraved nature. Helping others is the only way to prove your soul’s value. It’s only true good a person can do.” Nicci’s father had been born a noble, but all his adult life he had worked as armorer. Mother believed that he had been born with comfortable wealth, and instead of being satisfied with that, he sought to build his legacy into a shameless fortune. She said wealth could only be had by fleecing it from the poor in one fashion or another. Others of the nobility, like Mother and many of her friends, were content not to squeeze an undeserved share from the sweat of the poor. Nicci felt great guilt for Father’s wicked ways, for his ill-gotten wealth. Mother said she was doing her best to try to save his straying soul. Nicci never worried for her mother’s soul, because people were always saying how caring, how kindhearted, how charitable Mother was, but Nicci would sometimes lie awake at night, unable to sleep with worry for Father, worry that the Creator might exact punishment before Father could be redeemed.

    His work kept him busy most of the time. Mother said it was a sign of his barren soul that he spent so much of his time at building his riches-taking from people, she often called it-rather than giving of himself to people, as the Creator meant all men to do. Many times, when Father came home for dinner, while servants scurried in and out with all the dishes they’d prepared, Mother would go on, in tortured tones, about how bad things were in the world. Nicci often heard people say that Mother was a noble woman because of how deeply she cared. After dinner Father would go back to work, often without a word. That would anger Mother, because she had more to tell him about his soul, but he was too busy to listen.
    Once, when he asked her how much she wished him to contribute, she shrugged and said, “I don’t know. What does your conscience tell you, Howard? But, a man of true compassion would do better than you usually do, considering that you have more than your fair share of wealth, and the need is so great.” He sighed. “How much do you and your friends need?” “It is not me and my friends who need it, Howard, but the masses of humanity crying out for help. Our fellowship simply struggles to meet the need.” “How much?” he repeated. She said, “Five hundred gold crowns,” as if the number were a club she had been hiding behind her back, and, seeing the opening she had been waiting for, she suddenly brandished it to bully him. With a gasp, Father staggered back a step. “Do you have any idea of the work required to make a sum of that size?””You do no work, Howard-your slaves do it for you.” “Slaves! They are the finest craftsmen!” “They should be. You steal the best workers from all over the land.” “I pay the best wages in the land! They are eager to work for me!” “They are the poor victims of your tricks. You exploit them. You charge more than anyone else. You have connections and make deals to cut out other armorers. You steal the food from the mouths of working people, just to line your own pockets.” “I offer the finest work! People buy from me because they want the best. I charge a fair price for it.” “No one charges as much as you and that’s the simple fact. You always want more. Gold is your only goal.” “People come to me willingly because I have the highest standards. That is my goal! The other shops produce haphazard work that doesn’t proof out. My tempering is superior. My work is all proofed to a double-stamp standard. I won’t sell inferior work. People trust me; they know I create the best pieces.” “Your workers do. You simply rake in the money.” “The profits go to wages and to the business-I just sank a fortune into the new battering-mill!” “Business, business, business! When I ask you to give a little something back to the community, to those in need, you act as if I wanted you to gouge out your eyes. Would you really rather see people die than to give a pittance to save them? Does money really mean more to you, Howard, than people’s lives? Are you that cruel and unfeeling a man?”

    In her work on the streets, Nicci came to understand the needs of many of the people there. Their problems seemed insurmountable. No matter what she did, it never seemed to resolve anything. Brother Narev said it was only a sign that she wasn’t giving enough of herself. Each time she failed, at Brother Narev’s or Mother’s urging, Nicci redoubled her efforts. One night at dinner, after being in the fellowship several years, she said, “Father, there is a man I’ve been trying to help. He has ten children and no job. Will you hire him, please?” Father looked up from his soup. “Why?” “I told you. He has ten children.” “But what sort of work can he do? Why would I want him?” “Because he needs a job.” Father set down his spoon. “Nicci, dear, I employ skilled workers. That he has ten children is not going to shape steel, now is it? What can the man do? What skills has he?” “If he had a skill, Father, he could get work. Is it fair that his children should starve because people won’t give him a chance?” Father looked at her as if inspecting a wagonload of some suspicious new metal, Mother’s narrow mouth turned up in a little smile, but she said nothing. “A chance? At what? He has no skill.” “With a business as big as yours, surely you can give him a job.” He tapped a finger on the stem of his spoon as he considered her determined expression. He cleared his throat. “Well, perhaps I could use a man to load wagons.” “He can’t load wagons. He has a bad back. He hasn’t been able to work for years because of his back troubling him so.” Father’s brow drew down. “His back didn’t prevent him from begetting ten children. Nicci wanted to do good, and so she met his stare with a steady look of her own. “Must you be so intolerant, Father? You have jobs, and this man needs one. He has hungry children needing to be fed and clothed. Would you deny him a living just because he has never had a fair chance in life? Are you so rich that all your gold has blinded your eyes to the needs of humble people?” “But I need-” “Must you always frame everything in terms of what you need, instead of what others need? Must everything be for you?” “It’s a business-” “And what is the purpose of a business? Isn’t it to employ those who need work? Wouldn’t it be better if the man had a job instead of having to humiliate himself begging? Is that what you want? For him to beg rather than work? Aren’t you the one who always speaks so highly of hard work?” Nicci was firing the questions like arrows, getting them off so fast he couldn’t get a word through her barrage. Mother smiled as Nicci rolled out words she knew by heart. “Why must you reserve your greatest cruelty for the least fortunate among us? Why can’t you for once think of what you can do to help, instead of always thinking of money, money, money? Would it hurt you to hire a man who needs a job? Would it Father? Would it bring your business to an end? Would that ruin you?” The room echoed her noble questions. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. He looked as if real arrows had struck him. His jaw worked, but no words came out. He didn’t seem able to move; he could only gape at her. Mother beamed. “Well . . .” he finally said, “I guess . . .” He picked up his spoon and stared down into his soup. “Send him around, and I’ll give him a job.”

    “Generositet är bra, om det sker genom ditt fria val, men en tro på självuppoffring som en moralisk skyldighet är inget mindre än sanktioner av slaveri. De som säger att det är ditt ansvar och plikt att uppoffra dig försöker blända dig för de kedjor de fäster runt din hals. – citat från en av böckerna i serien. (Min livsfilosofi; Ingen har rätt att kräva att vdu ska uppoffra dig för dem, likaså har du ingen rätt att kräva det av någon annan).


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