[Firstumemo] Memo: "Auction Values"

Tue May 16 14:45:20 CDT 2006

M I N I S T E R’ S  M E M O

“Auction Values”

By every measure, Saturday evening's church auction was a success. The
fellowship was wonderful. The food was delicious and plentiful. Mary
McAllister and Madeline Silva, and their committee did a superb job of
convincing our congregation to contribute and to gather. And most of us came
home with some pretty wonderful services and gifts. While our grand total is
still being tabulated against expenses, it appears that we cleared over
$12,000.00. (The church budget, and the Prudential Committee thank you!)
Auctions can bring out the best in us: our generosity, our support for one
another, and our appreciation of one another's varied gifts. They can also
evoke some of our lesser qualities: greed, envy, insecurity, judgment, and
competitiveness.

Early in life, my own auction experience started badly. I was a young woman,
living in Paris in a garret. Getting by on an extremely limited budget, I
nevertheless badly needed a desk to write on. A friend took me to a used
furniture auction. When the table I wanted came up for bid, I found myself
locked in a nasty bidding war with a seasoned antique dealer. In what seemed
to me like an endlessly escalating, and highly costly competition, I met him
"franc for franc". In the end, I prevailed, but not without great damage to
my character. (I wanted my competitor dead, or at least to suffer greatly.)
I was surprised to discover how ruthless I could feel in direct combat. My
unhappiness increased when I converted the francs to dollars, and was
chagrined to discover that my blood had come to the boiling point over a
seven-dollar, badly worn table. Since then, whenever possible, I have
avoided auctions.

What determines value at an auction? Who determines what an object or a
service is worth? How can we predict what an object will fetch on the open
market? How is it that something we once valued highly, we now gladly give
away? What is it about time that turns some furniture into priceless
antiques, and other tables and chairs into junk?

Changing tastes and arbitrary dictates of fashion are not limited to the
material realm. Ideas, philosophies, and political and economic theories are
frequently labeled as worn, or dated, or no longer valuable. Especially in
the realm, known as the cutting edge, there are often severe judgments
placed on thoughts that are no longer deemed as "acceptable". This is
certainly true for poetry. What was popular in the 1920's is now labeled as
unsophisticated, dated and sentimental. If a person shares an old, treasured
poem in this harsh, name-calling environment, the fear is that you,
yourself, will be called "unsophisticated, dated and sentimental". But if an
old poem speaks some truth to me, I like to bring it out of the closet once
in a while. The following poem, written in 1921 by Myra Brooks Welch, is
such a treasure.

It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three",

But, No,
>From the room far back a gray haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."

And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered with bourbon and gin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master's Hand.

Over the years, this poem has offered hope to recovering alcoholics, who
have found new life in their relationship with their "higher power". But it
certainly has a more universal audience. The old violin has everything to do
with how we understand our own gifts and talents. It speaks to the way we
see the gifts of others.

What was ultimately valuable at the church auction, was not the items up for
bid, or the quick talking auctioneer, or the generous crowd. What makes our
congregation vital is the way we are able to laugh with one another. It is
the way we acknowledge the inherent dignity in every child of God. It is our
capacity to see one another as infinitely worthwhile. That changes us from a
thoughtless, foolish crowd, into a spiritual community. Sometimes, God uses
our hands to bless the world.

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