Like everyone I have talked with, I am saddened by the shooting death of teenager Trayvon Martin and outraged at the lack of justice in Sanford, Florida. The shooter has not been charged with any crime. Groups too numerous to count have sought to find meaningful ways to express their sympathy and solidarity. One popular response is the wearing of hooded sweatshirts at rallies and other events. Trayvon was wearing a hooded sweatshirt when he was profiled as a suspicious person by the shooter. Both of my sons wear hoodies, but since they are white they are unlikely to be called suspicious because of that kind of attire. A few days ago, Lebron James released a picture on Twitter of the Miami Heat wearing hoodies. And some of my clergy colleagues will be attending a worship service and prayer vigil in Cleveland after which they are planning to don hoodies and march a short distance around town.
I affirm this expression of concern about this horrible incident, and I hope that all in attendance (marchers and bystanders) will be moved to consider God’s vision of a peaceful and just world. And that they also are moved to action.
As much as I support this witness by others, I am conflicted as to the best way that I can participate in this process. I just don’t know if wearing a hoodie is the best way for me to express my own feelings. As a 55 year old white suburban male, I wonder at what my hoodie wearing, Cleveland marching image would say to others. Part of my struggling is with my own collection of hoodies. You see, I could wear a blue hoodie that I have which has the letters M-I-C-H-I-G-A-N on the front, but I can tell you that more than a few Buckeye supporters through the years have acted irrationally at the sight of those letters. Better to leave that one in the closet. Then there is that crimson zipped hoodie which has on its front these letters: H-A-R-V-A-R-D. A bald middle aged white man wearing a Harvard sweatshirt while marching for justice? I might as well be pictured in Doonesbury as a cliché for out of touch intellectual elitist. Then there is that brown hoodie I was given for completing three trail races last fall. It says “OhioOutside” on the front. I love the people I have run alongside at trail races, but they are among the whitest groups that I am ever in. And a group of hood wearing white folks probably sends the wrong message too.
I just don’t want to be like one of those palm waving folks who showed up as Jesus was coming into Jerusalem. They came for the excitement, they were attracted by the energy of it all, but in their end their faith in and commitment to Jesus was as deep as a thimble. Part of the cheering crowd one day, but a no-show after that. I don’t want to be a hoodie-wearing hypocrite.
So I think I am sitting out the hoodie wearing movement right now. It is right for others and a genuine statement of support for them to make. I hope it is a life-changing way for them to be involved and a genuine witness to their faith. But it just isn’t right for me. I am still struggling with the response that is true and authentic for me.
Let us all hope that all of our responses to this crime are more than just fashion statements.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
When are you "all in?"
When are you “all in?” How often are you fully committed (heart, soul, mind, and strength) to an event, to an experience, or to a relationship? In what parts of your life, do you push all your chips into the center of the table and leave nothing back in case things don’t work out?
If you are like many people, you are rarely “all in.” You body might be somewhere, but your mind is elsewhere. You might be performing one task, but you are already thinking about the next one. You are talking on the telephone, but you are also responding to emails. Your body is with one person, but your heart is with another. You are driving and texting at the same time and doing a poor job at both. You can claim that you are using your time wisely by multitasking, and you may be crossing off a number of items on your “To Do” list. But as you lay your head back on that pillow at the end of the day, are you satisfied and at peace with how you spend those hours or are you exhausted and fragmented?
In the course of a typical day, I perform a lot of things half-heartedly or distractedly. I do not fully invest myself as I pick up my dry-cleaning, shop for groceries at Acme, or make a deposit at my local bank. I try to be friendly and cordial and display some of the fruits of the spirit like patience, kindness, and self-control. After all, some of the clerks and cashiers know that I am a minister so I have to keep up appearances. But I don’t think that everything I do every day is worth all my chips.
Other folks seem to be “all in” all too often, don’t they? Every conversation, every encounter, every event turns into an intense and personal determiner of their self-worth. They seem to be in a constant battle with something, someone, somewhere. They are obsessive about everything. To them I say, “Lighten up. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. It is never just about you.”
I imagine that Jesus was “all in” a lot of the time. When he listened to you, I believe he looked you in the eye, looked into your heart, and didn’t look over your shoulder to see if the next person would be more interesting than you. When he preached and taught, I am sure he was fully engaged. When he went away by himself to pray, he put everything he had on the table with God. He threw himself on the ground when he prayed. He sweated blood. He wept. Jesus was not texting when he was with you, with God, or with the disciples. That’s why some people turned away. Jesus wouldn’t look by them or around them but looked at them and inside them. They weren’t equipped to handle such focused intensity and intimacy. What would it have felt like to have been touched or healed by a person who saw you so completely?
I believe that Jesus was fully engaged almost all of the time. He did not fear committing all he had. Many things were worthy of his complete attention including things that others did not value like lilies, lepers, or little children. But are you “all in” any of the time, in anything that you do? Is there anything in your life that you love so much, that you are so committed to that it takes all of your attention and may even take your breath away? Something you give yourself to not grudgingly or fearfully but thankfully and joyfully.
For physician and philosopher George Sheehan, his “all in” was running. He wrote: “When running becomes for me, as my poet friend put it, ‘a total entered experience.’ It becomes a religious experience. I give it my body. I give it my mind. I give it the yearnings of my heart, the further reaches of my soul. From the act of running – now an act of awareness, of love, of stretching myself – comes whatever wholeness, whatever certitude I possess then and for the rest of the day.” The Running Life, p. 274
Though I am not as fast or graceful or thoughtful or eloquent as George Sheehan was, I too am “all in” when I run. On these frigid winter mornings, I don’t need outside encouragement or motivation to slip on those layers of wicking clothing that make me look like a middle aged super hero. When I am running ten miles on the Cuyahoga Valley Towpath and my sweat is turning to frost on my hat and my nose is running, I may not look much to you. Despite my appearances, I am really something – I am a human being fully immersed in an activity that brings me deep joy and tremendous satisfaction – my heart and my soul and my mind and my body are all singing the same tune. I am a concert even if it is music that only God and I can hear and appreciate. These experiences heal my brokenness and keep me whole all day long.
Going “all in” is not a sacrifice or a risk, but it is a decision and a commitment. Going “all in” enables you to begin to see and then to become who you really are when all parts of you are working as one. Going “all in” restores you to wholeness and helps you discover your true self – that person that God intended you to be all along.
When are you “all in?” In what activities or experiences do you fully and gratefully invest all parts of yourself rather than hedging your bets and holding something back? When are you a beautiful concert in which every part of you is in harmony with the rest? What does that sound like, what does that feel like, to you?
If you are like many people, you are rarely “all in.” You body might be somewhere, but your mind is elsewhere. You might be performing one task, but you are already thinking about the next one. You are talking on the telephone, but you are also responding to emails. Your body is with one person, but your heart is with another. You are driving and texting at the same time and doing a poor job at both. You can claim that you are using your time wisely by multitasking, and you may be crossing off a number of items on your “To Do” list. But as you lay your head back on that pillow at the end of the day, are you satisfied and at peace with how you spend those hours or are you exhausted and fragmented?
In the course of a typical day, I perform a lot of things half-heartedly or distractedly. I do not fully invest myself as I pick up my dry-cleaning, shop for groceries at Acme, or make a deposit at my local bank. I try to be friendly and cordial and display some of the fruits of the spirit like patience, kindness, and self-control. After all, some of the clerks and cashiers know that I am a minister so I have to keep up appearances. But I don’t think that everything I do every day is worth all my chips.
Other folks seem to be “all in” all too often, don’t they? Every conversation, every encounter, every event turns into an intense and personal determiner of their self-worth. They seem to be in a constant battle with something, someone, somewhere. They are obsessive about everything. To them I say, “Lighten up. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. It is never just about you.”
I imagine that Jesus was “all in” a lot of the time. When he listened to you, I believe he looked you in the eye, looked into your heart, and didn’t look over your shoulder to see if the next person would be more interesting than you. When he preached and taught, I am sure he was fully engaged. When he went away by himself to pray, he put everything he had on the table with God. He threw himself on the ground when he prayed. He sweated blood. He wept. Jesus was not texting when he was with you, with God, or with the disciples. That’s why some people turned away. Jesus wouldn’t look by them or around them but looked at them and inside them. They weren’t equipped to handle such focused intensity and intimacy. What would it have felt like to have been touched or healed by a person who saw you so completely?
I believe that Jesus was fully engaged almost all of the time. He did not fear committing all he had. Many things were worthy of his complete attention including things that others did not value like lilies, lepers, or little children. But are you “all in” any of the time, in anything that you do? Is there anything in your life that you love so much, that you are so committed to that it takes all of your attention and may even take your breath away? Something you give yourself to not grudgingly or fearfully but thankfully and joyfully.
For physician and philosopher George Sheehan, his “all in” was running. He wrote: “When running becomes for me, as my poet friend put it, ‘a total entered experience.’ It becomes a religious experience. I give it my body. I give it my mind. I give it the yearnings of my heart, the further reaches of my soul. From the act of running – now an act of awareness, of love, of stretching myself – comes whatever wholeness, whatever certitude I possess then and for the rest of the day.” The Running Life, p. 274
Though I am not as fast or graceful or thoughtful or eloquent as George Sheehan was, I too am “all in” when I run. On these frigid winter mornings, I don’t need outside encouragement or motivation to slip on those layers of wicking clothing that make me look like a middle aged super hero. When I am running ten miles on the Cuyahoga Valley Towpath and my sweat is turning to frost on my hat and my nose is running, I may not look much to you. Despite my appearances, I am really something – I am a human being fully immersed in an activity that brings me deep joy and tremendous satisfaction – my heart and my soul and my mind and my body are all singing the same tune. I am a concert even if it is music that only God and I can hear and appreciate. These experiences heal my brokenness and keep me whole all day long.
Going “all in” is not a sacrifice or a risk, but it is a decision and a commitment. Going “all in” enables you to begin to see and then to become who you really are when all parts of you are working as one. Going “all in” restores you to wholeness and helps you discover your true self – that person that God intended you to be all along.
When are you “all in?” In what activities or experiences do you fully and gratefully invest all parts of yourself rather than hedging your bets and holding something back? When are you a beautiful concert in which every part of you is in harmony with the rest? What does that sound like, what does that feel like, to you?
Friday, January 13, 2012
"A Tooth's Got To Know It's Limitations"
We went to Sears last weekend to buy a new oven. They were having some kind of “after the holidays/ we need to make more money/ friends and family” sale. We’ve needed a new oven for a long time, but we kept putting it off. But we finally grew tired of cutting up wood and building a fire every time we wanted to make chocolate chip cookies. The thrill of Early American cooking was long gone. And we had a very generous gift card that our church had given us for Christmas so we knew that we had a good start on the cost.
Since it was a few weeks after Christmas, we didn’t have to battle that post-Christmas crowd, but instead we were competing with that New Year’s Resolution gang – you know, those people who were still hopeful and hadn’t quite given up on life change in the New Year. I passed by one woman who was carefully caressing a treadmill under the watchful eye of what looked like a 17 year old salesman. I am sure he has had many years of experience in the mechanized exercise machine industry. You could tell that the woman was asking herself: “Is this the one that I have been searching for? The one that will help lead me back to where I used to be and help me get me back into that dress? But am I ready to commit? My heart has been broken before.”
A few aisles over, I walked past a couple who were looking to get a better night’s sleep in 2012. They were listening to a slightly older (19?) sales guy drone on about the litany of benefits that this particular mattress would bring them. I am betting that he could get a good night’s sleep on a straw mattress thrown on the floor. What 19 year old ever has trouble sleeping? The woman was lying on the mattress while her husband stood a few feet away. “I can’t get up,” she shouted. I glanced over and she looked like a upside down turtle. She was rocking back and forth but she was stuck on her back. “I won’t help you,” her husband said. I didn’t slow down to see what would happen next, but the paper didn’t have any story about “Woman Trapped in Mattress Files for Divorce” so I am assuming someone helped her up.
I am not sure if all the Sears shoppers I saw that day will succeed in their resolutions, but I appreciate the new beginnings that a New Year offers. In a related sense, I am always thankful when we pass the Winter Solstice that guarantees that we’ll have a little bit more daylight every day until the end of June. It gives me a sense of hope.
Our church has begun the New Year with a worship series called “Walking the Twelve Steps with Jesus,” and we are examining the spiritual and Biblical aspects of the 12 Steps of AA. I wanted our church to start 2012 with an emphasis on hope and personal change. About twenty of us are participating in new small groups on this topic as well. I shared at the beginning of the series (the same day that we bought our new oven) that one thing that I am sure of is that Jesus wanted us to change, to be freed of our sins and addictions, and to follow him without excuse or restraint. Jesus wants our walk of faith to be more of a joyful dance than a death march.
The reason that many of us resist full commitment to the walk of faith is that we sense that this commitment will involve giving up part of ourselves. Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians that “if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” We don’t always want to lose the old, do we? It can feel like death. Most of us don’t rush towards death, do we? And this walk of faith does involve death – the dying of who we have come to be so that God can create something new in us, through us, and with us.
One of the dangers of getting older is that we can become cynical about new things and resistant to change. It is ok to be skeptical, to be wise about where we commit our heads and our hearts, but it is not healthy to become so suspicious and pessimistic that we never allow any new life to touch us and to move us to new places.
But change can be hard, can’t it, even if we are in a new year and are participating in a supportive small group? If we have any significant addictions or sins, we know that they can grip us and that they resist letting go of us without a battle. And in many cases we have mixed feelings because we once welcomed these addictions into our lives, didn’t we? We gave them a place to live and they don’t want to be evicted. Check out Luke 8:26-39 if you want to see a great Biblical example of this struggle.
And getting free of our addictions and sins is not painless either, is it? This letting go can create a space in our lives that aches to be filled.
As I write this, my tongue is poking into an empty space in my mouth that until yesterday was filled with one of my upper teeth. I had had that tooth in my mouth for a long, long time; we had enjoyed a lot of great meals together; but after experiencing some pain in it for weeks I had gone to see Carlo, my dentist. When he saw the condition of my tooth, Carlo channeled Charlie Brown and said, “Rats.” I have never heard any medical profession looking at me say “rats” before so I knew it was serious. In searching for the appropriate way to tell me, he paraphrased Dirty Harry, “A tooth’s got to know its limitations.”
So yesterday, he numbed my mouth and extracted that tooth. It didn’t come out in one quick yank like in the movies, but the removal required a number of twists and jerks and tugs before it was all out. That tooth did not give up easily even though it was diseased.. It liked its position in my mouth and in my life. When the procedure was over and he was bringing me back into an upright position, I asked to see the extracted tooth, my former companion on many a gastronomical journey. I saw the dark areas where it had died and caused me pain and I also noticed the three red roots that had kept it in place. No wonder it was so hard to remove.
I will miss that tooth for awhile. There literally is an empty space in my mouth. But like all good things that have gone bad, it was causing me more pain than joy. It had to go so that I could enjoy eating again. I lost something but I am moving on.
As we continue to live into this New Year, are there some things in your life that have to be extracted, some sins or addictions or habits that may once have been life-giving, but now cause you (and others) more pain than pleasure? Are you ready for some old thing in your life to be removed so that you can have a place for something new?
My wish for you my friends is that you still have hope for 2012 and that whether you are trying to get free of an addiction, seeking to improve your physical condition, or even just attempting to get out of bed without assistance that you will not give up on yourself. Remember, you might need to tug more than once. Bad habits can be difficult to remove.
Since it was a few weeks after Christmas, we didn’t have to battle that post-Christmas crowd, but instead we were competing with that New Year’s Resolution gang – you know, those people who were still hopeful and hadn’t quite given up on life change in the New Year. I passed by one woman who was carefully caressing a treadmill under the watchful eye of what looked like a 17 year old salesman. I am sure he has had many years of experience in the mechanized exercise machine industry. You could tell that the woman was asking herself: “Is this the one that I have been searching for? The one that will help lead me back to where I used to be and help me get me back into that dress? But am I ready to commit? My heart has been broken before.”
A few aisles over, I walked past a couple who were looking to get a better night’s sleep in 2012. They were listening to a slightly older (19?) sales guy drone on about the litany of benefits that this particular mattress would bring them. I am betting that he could get a good night’s sleep on a straw mattress thrown on the floor. What 19 year old ever has trouble sleeping? The woman was lying on the mattress while her husband stood a few feet away. “I can’t get up,” she shouted. I glanced over and she looked like a upside down turtle. She was rocking back and forth but she was stuck on her back. “I won’t help you,” her husband said. I didn’t slow down to see what would happen next, but the paper didn’t have any story about “Woman Trapped in Mattress Files for Divorce” so I am assuming someone helped her up.
I am not sure if all the Sears shoppers I saw that day will succeed in their resolutions, but I appreciate the new beginnings that a New Year offers. In a related sense, I am always thankful when we pass the Winter Solstice that guarantees that we’ll have a little bit more daylight every day until the end of June. It gives me a sense of hope.
Our church has begun the New Year with a worship series called “Walking the Twelve Steps with Jesus,” and we are examining the spiritual and Biblical aspects of the 12 Steps of AA. I wanted our church to start 2012 with an emphasis on hope and personal change. About twenty of us are participating in new small groups on this topic as well. I shared at the beginning of the series (the same day that we bought our new oven) that one thing that I am sure of is that Jesus wanted us to change, to be freed of our sins and addictions, and to follow him without excuse or restraint. Jesus wants our walk of faith to be more of a joyful dance than a death march.
The reason that many of us resist full commitment to the walk of faith is that we sense that this commitment will involve giving up part of ourselves. Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians that “if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” We don’t always want to lose the old, do we? It can feel like death. Most of us don’t rush towards death, do we? And this walk of faith does involve death – the dying of who we have come to be so that God can create something new in us, through us, and with us.
One of the dangers of getting older is that we can become cynical about new things and resistant to change. It is ok to be skeptical, to be wise about where we commit our heads and our hearts, but it is not healthy to become so suspicious and pessimistic that we never allow any new life to touch us and to move us to new places.
But change can be hard, can’t it, even if we are in a new year and are participating in a supportive small group? If we have any significant addictions or sins, we know that they can grip us and that they resist letting go of us without a battle. And in many cases we have mixed feelings because we once welcomed these addictions into our lives, didn’t we? We gave them a place to live and they don’t want to be evicted. Check out Luke 8:26-39 if you want to see a great Biblical example of this struggle.
And getting free of our addictions and sins is not painless either, is it? This letting go can create a space in our lives that aches to be filled.
As I write this, my tongue is poking into an empty space in my mouth that until yesterday was filled with one of my upper teeth. I had had that tooth in my mouth for a long, long time; we had enjoyed a lot of great meals together; but after experiencing some pain in it for weeks I had gone to see Carlo, my dentist. When he saw the condition of my tooth, Carlo channeled Charlie Brown and said, “Rats.” I have never heard any medical profession looking at me say “rats” before so I knew it was serious. In searching for the appropriate way to tell me, he paraphrased Dirty Harry, “A tooth’s got to know its limitations.”
So yesterday, he numbed my mouth and extracted that tooth. It didn’t come out in one quick yank like in the movies, but the removal required a number of twists and jerks and tugs before it was all out. That tooth did not give up easily even though it was diseased.. It liked its position in my mouth and in my life. When the procedure was over and he was bringing me back into an upright position, I asked to see the extracted tooth, my former companion on many a gastronomical journey. I saw the dark areas where it had died and caused me pain and I also noticed the three red roots that had kept it in place. No wonder it was so hard to remove.
I will miss that tooth for awhile. There literally is an empty space in my mouth. But like all good things that have gone bad, it was causing me more pain than joy. It had to go so that I could enjoy eating again. I lost something but I am moving on.
As we continue to live into this New Year, are there some things in your life that have to be extracted, some sins or addictions or habits that may once have been life-giving, but now cause you (and others) more pain than pleasure? Are you ready for some old thing in your life to be removed so that you can have a place for something new?
My wish for you my friends is that you still have hope for 2012 and that whether you are trying to get free of an addiction, seeking to improve your physical condition, or even just attempting to get out of bed without assistance that you will not give up on yourself. Remember, you might need to tug more than once. Bad habits can be difficult to remove.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
"Senior Discount"
They were just three little words, but they struck my face like an icy snowball when the ticket salesman at Cinemark directed them to me a few days ago. “Senior Discount, Sir?” he asked almost hopefully. Then after a brief pause, “Or Bargain Matinee?” I had hoped that some member of Tom Brokaw’s Greatest Generation was standing behind me, but no such luck. He had aimed those words at me.
Now, I realize that this unintended insult doesn’t quite have the gravity of the “When are you due” question being asked of a woman who is not, in fact, carrying a child in her womb. But it still disheartened me.
Doesn’t this guy gripping the lowest rung of the entertainment industry ladder know just how great I look for my age? I am only 55 and I run five days a week. I ran a ½ marathon just the weekend before and finished ahead of many people years younger than me. Sure, I’m bald, but I had on a baseball cap. Sure, I’m on the cusp of prostate issues, but he couldn’t detect that inside his glass booth could he? Was I fidgeting?
And to make it worse, he was no young teenage whippersnapper. I am guessing that FDR was President when he was born. It’s a shame really that he has to work at all at his age. Even with his thick corrective lenses, he probably couldn’t pass the eye test at the license bureau. Maybe he was distracted by all the oldsters in the theater that day. After all, it was “Senior Monday.” Let’s face it: he barely looked up from his “Modern Senior Living” magazine. It was an overcast day and the sun was in his eyes.
Don’t get me wrong. I love and admire the Greatest Generation. That was a group that understood sacrifice. They made fantastic contributions to America and to the world. But I am smack in the middle of another age bracket - that self-indulgent group called Baby Boomers. We never wanted to act or look our age. When we were in our late teens, we wanted to look older, and in later years we wanted the respect and privileges that we had not yet earned. We know (or at least hope) that retirement and Social Security checks will one day be in our future, but not yet, Lord, not yet.
A friend of mine whose birthday is the same month and year as mine got his frozen snowball in the face a few weeks before mine when a pharmacist asked him if he should bill Medicare for his flu shot. My friend was so stunned that a medical professional overestimated his age by ten years that he went home and studied his face in the mirror. He then shaved off the grey moustache he had had most of his life. I saw him the day before he shaved off the mustache and the day after. The difference was incredible. He looked at least a week younger.
You can run, you can shave, but you cannot hide from your age.
How do you know when you are old and what can you do about it?
Another friend of mine told me that she knew she was old when she stepped into an elevator one day and no man turned to check her out. She was invisible to them. She said that she felt relieved rather than sad.
I am ok with being 55. In fact, I think 55 is a great age. I’ve seen a lot, but I haven’t seen it all. I don’t feel like I have to prove anything to anyone, and I still feel like I’ve got adventures in my future. It is a good place to be.
Last weekend I heard about man somewhat younger than me – only 47 – who made a drastic life change. He quit his job, sold his house, and is currently floating down the Ganges River on a motorcycle powered raft. He is a cancer survivor and decided that he needed to shake up his life. He is embracing life and I admire him for it.
I don’t think I’ll be building a raft anytime soon, but I’m not ready to pack it in either.
As I reflect on my age and come to terms with how old I must look to others, I find a significant amount of wisdom in Reinhold Neibuhr’s Serenity Prayer:
God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.
Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.
I also am thankful for the late philosopher athlete Satchel Page who is quoted as asking: “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?”
My daughter-in-law Heather was working with an elderly patient at a nursing home when the woman asked her: “How old am I?” Heather responded: “How old do you think you are?” The woman answered: “25.” Heather then said: “You’re right.”
That is some great wisdom about aging from two women of very different generations.
Now, I realize that this unintended insult doesn’t quite have the gravity of the “When are you due” question being asked of a woman who is not, in fact, carrying a child in her womb. But it still disheartened me.
Doesn’t this guy gripping the lowest rung of the entertainment industry ladder know just how great I look for my age? I am only 55 and I run five days a week. I ran a ½ marathon just the weekend before and finished ahead of many people years younger than me. Sure, I’m bald, but I had on a baseball cap. Sure, I’m on the cusp of prostate issues, but he couldn’t detect that inside his glass booth could he? Was I fidgeting?
And to make it worse, he was no young teenage whippersnapper. I am guessing that FDR was President when he was born. It’s a shame really that he has to work at all at his age. Even with his thick corrective lenses, he probably couldn’t pass the eye test at the license bureau. Maybe he was distracted by all the oldsters in the theater that day. After all, it was “Senior Monday.” Let’s face it: he barely looked up from his “Modern Senior Living” magazine. It was an overcast day and the sun was in his eyes.
Don’t get me wrong. I love and admire the Greatest Generation. That was a group that understood sacrifice. They made fantastic contributions to America and to the world. But I am smack in the middle of another age bracket - that self-indulgent group called Baby Boomers. We never wanted to act or look our age. When we were in our late teens, we wanted to look older, and in later years we wanted the respect and privileges that we had not yet earned. We know (or at least hope) that retirement and Social Security checks will one day be in our future, but not yet, Lord, not yet.
A friend of mine whose birthday is the same month and year as mine got his frozen snowball in the face a few weeks before mine when a pharmacist asked him if he should bill Medicare for his flu shot. My friend was so stunned that a medical professional overestimated his age by ten years that he went home and studied his face in the mirror. He then shaved off the grey moustache he had had most of his life. I saw him the day before he shaved off the mustache and the day after. The difference was incredible. He looked at least a week younger.
You can run, you can shave, but you cannot hide from your age.
How do you know when you are old and what can you do about it?
Another friend of mine told me that she knew she was old when she stepped into an elevator one day and no man turned to check her out. She was invisible to them. She said that she felt relieved rather than sad.
I am ok with being 55. In fact, I think 55 is a great age. I’ve seen a lot, but I haven’t seen it all. I don’t feel like I have to prove anything to anyone, and I still feel like I’ve got adventures in my future. It is a good place to be.
Last weekend I heard about man somewhat younger than me – only 47 – who made a drastic life change. He quit his job, sold his house, and is currently floating down the Ganges River on a motorcycle powered raft. He is a cancer survivor and decided that he needed to shake up his life. He is embracing life and I admire him for it.
I don’t think I’ll be building a raft anytime soon, but I’m not ready to pack it in either.
As I reflect on my age and come to terms with how old I must look to others, I find a significant amount of wisdom in Reinhold Neibuhr’s Serenity Prayer:
God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.
Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.
I also am thankful for the late philosopher athlete Satchel Page who is quoted as asking: “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?”
My daughter-in-law Heather was working with an elderly patient at a nursing home when the woman asked her: “How old am I?” Heather responded: “How old do you think you are?” The woman answered: “25.” Heather then said: “You’re right.”
That is some great wisdom about aging from two women of very different generations.
Friday, September 30, 2011
26.2
26.2
Last weekend I ran the Akron Marathon. I wasn’t fast, but I wasn’t last. And even if I had been last, I would have been OK with that if I had finished under the allotted six hour time limit. I don’t know what happens at six hours – maybe lions are released to devour those last runners or perhaps cars are encouraged to run them over – but I am guessing that some runners might choose those options over continuing to run.
Those who have completed marathons have been known to make some fantastic claims:
“And now I’m finishing a 26-mile race. Damn! This is better than winning an Emmy.” Oprah Winfrey
“It’s like tacking PhD at the end of your name, getting married, having a baby. Your life will never again be quite the same, and regardless of what the future brings, you can look back and say, ‘I finished a marathon.’” Hal Higdon
“If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience another life, run a marathon.” Emil Zatopek
“I’ve learned that finishing a marathon…isn’t just an athletic achievement. It’s a state of mind; a state of mind that says anything is possible.” John Hanc
If you have run a marathon, you can decide whether or not those quotes reflect your own experience. I am still processing how I feel about it all but I know I can relate to this quote:
“I have run a marathon. Okay, so it’s been done before. But not by me.” Cliff Temple
I don’t think a 26.2 tattoo is in my future, although I wondered about the young woman with “13.1” tattooed on the back of each leg. Was I supposed to add those up and get “26.2” which would identify her as a marathoner or was she saying she was a half-marathoner? It wasn’t the first time I have been confused by a tattoo.
I have mixed feelings about buying one of those 26.2 stickers for the back of my car. You know those kinds of stickers, don’t you? Some say MB (Myrtle Beach) or OBX (Outer Banks) or HH (Hilton Head). Those bumper stickers tell the world that the driver likes those places – that they have vacationed there and would like to go back again. But if I put a 26.2 sticker on my car, would I be saying “I ran a marathon one time” or would I be saying “I run marathons all the time.” I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.
Like most people who have run a marathon, I said to myself during the last few miles: “Never again.” I knew I wasn’t going to quit, but I am not sure whether or not I’ll ever do it again. But doesn’t the Maui Marathon sound great? What about the Big Sur Marathon? Or Napa to Sonoma? That kind of scenery just might be worth it.
One thing I learned last weekend: 26.2 is a long distance. It seemed longer than I imagined it would be. And running 20 miles in training seemed a lot less to me than running 26.2 miles in the race. All I knew is that I had to keep moving ahead. I could not stop.
Some of the things that helped me keep moving ahead were the cheering crowds and the volunteers who handed out water and GU. It would be hard for me to overestimate their importance. A few (like my wife and some church folks) knew me, but most had no idea who I was. But they were there to bear witness to the fact that on a Saturday in September I was attempting to do something very, very hard. Some called out my name (it was on my shirt), while others shouted: “You can do it.” Their belief helped me to believe. And those volunteers handing out water seemed to be living out that parable of Jesus about those who gave food to the hungry and water to the thirsty. By the time I came around, the real athletes were long gone, and I was clearly among “the least of these.” But the volunteers and the crowds welcomed me as if I really counted. That was very powerful.
How have you been supported in those rough times of your life – those times that seemed like they would not end – those times that seemed even tougher than you had imagined they could be? Even though it may have been your burden alone to carry, were there people along the way who offered you what you needed when you needed it – encouragement, support, prayers, cheers, food, water, belief? Did strangers as well as friends assist you? How have others helped you get to a better place?
Don’t underestimate how significant your support can be to someone experiencing a challenging time. That time of testing might be self-imposed or it may have fallen on the person like an avalanche of bad circumstances. The person might be someone you know very well or they may be a virtual stranger to you. But they can use your support. You can’t always bear their load for them (no one could run 26.2 miles for me), but they need to know that they are not alone, that someone is bearing witness to their struggles. You can let them know that they count and that they will get through it. Your belief can help them to believe. You can help them keep moving ahead.
The day after the marathon, a young man named Kevin worshipped with our church. He was from Midland, Michigan and was in Akron to run the marathon. I am guessing that most out of town runners were doing something else rather than being in church the day after running those 26.2 miles. But not Kevin. When he shared his story, I knew why. He told me that the shirt he wore during the marathon was covered with signatures that people from his home church had signed the week before. Those signatures were their way of being present with Kevin as he ran his race far away from home. When he saw those names, he knew that they were praying for him and rooting for him. Those names helped him keep moving ahead. He knew he was not alone on that 26.2 mile course.
Last weekend I ran the Akron Marathon. I wasn’t fast, but I wasn’t last. And even if I had been last, I would have been OK with that if I had finished under the allotted six hour time limit. I don’t know what happens at six hours – maybe lions are released to devour those last runners or perhaps cars are encouraged to run them over – but I am guessing that some runners might choose those options over continuing to run.
Those who have completed marathons have been known to make some fantastic claims:
“And now I’m finishing a 26-mile race. Damn! This is better than winning an Emmy.” Oprah Winfrey
“It’s like tacking PhD at the end of your name, getting married, having a baby. Your life will never again be quite the same, and regardless of what the future brings, you can look back and say, ‘I finished a marathon.’” Hal Higdon
“If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience another life, run a marathon.” Emil Zatopek
“I’ve learned that finishing a marathon…isn’t just an athletic achievement. It’s a state of mind; a state of mind that says anything is possible.” John Hanc
If you have run a marathon, you can decide whether or not those quotes reflect your own experience. I am still processing how I feel about it all but I know I can relate to this quote:
“I have run a marathon. Okay, so it’s been done before. But not by me.” Cliff Temple
I don’t think a 26.2 tattoo is in my future, although I wondered about the young woman with “13.1” tattooed on the back of each leg. Was I supposed to add those up and get “26.2” which would identify her as a marathoner or was she saying she was a half-marathoner? It wasn’t the first time I have been confused by a tattoo.
I have mixed feelings about buying one of those 26.2 stickers for the back of my car. You know those kinds of stickers, don’t you? Some say MB (Myrtle Beach) or OBX (Outer Banks) or HH (Hilton Head). Those bumper stickers tell the world that the driver likes those places – that they have vacationed there and would like to go back again. But if I put a 26.2 sticker on my car, would I be saying “I ran a marathon one time” or would I be saying “I run marathons all the time.” I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.
Like most people who have run a marathon, I said to myself during the last few miles: “Never again.” I knew I wasn’t going to quit, but I am not sure whether or not I’ll ever do it again. But doesn’t the Maui Marathon sound great? What about the Big Sur Marathon? Or Napa to Sonoma? That kind of scenery just might be worth it.
One thing I learned last weekend: 26.2 is a long distance. It seemed longer than I imagined it would be. And running 20 miles in training seemed a lot less to me than running 26.2 miles in the race. All I knew is that I had to keep moving ahead. I could not stop.
Some of the things that helped me keep moving ahead were the cheering crowds and the volunteers who handed out water and GU. It would be hard for me to overestimate their importance. A few (like my wife and some church folks) knew me, but most had no idea who I was. But they were there to bear witness to the fact that on a Saturday in September I was attempting to do something very, very hard. Some called out my name (it was on my shirt), while others shouted: “You can do it.” Their belief helped me to believe. And those volunteers handing out water seemed to be living out that parable of Jesus about those who gave food to the hungry and water to the thirsty. By the time I came around, the real athletes were long gone, and I was clearly among “the least of these.” But the volunteers and the crowds welcomed me as if I really counted. That was very powerful.
How have you been supported in those rough times of your life – those times that seemed like they would not end – those times that seemed even tougher than you had imagined they could be? Even though it may have been your burden alone to carry, were there people along the way who offered you what you needed when you needed it – encouragement, support, prayers, cheers, food, water, belief? Did strangers as well as friends assist you? How have others helped you get to a better place?
Don’t underestimate how significant your support can be to someone experiencing a challenging time. That time of testing might be self-imposed or it may have fallen on the person like an avalanche of bad circumstances. The person might be someone you know very well or they may be a virtual stranger to you. But they can use your support. You can’t always bear their load for them (no one could run 26.2 miles for me), but they need to know that they are not alone, that someone is bearing witness to their struggles. You can let them know that they count and that they will get through it. Your belief can help them to believe. You can help them keep moving ahead.
The day after the marathon, a young man named Kevin worshipped with our church. He was from Midland, Michigan and was in Akron to run the marathon. I am guessing that most out of town runners were doing something else rather than being in church the day after running those 26.2 miles. But not Kevin. When he shared his story, I knew why. He told me that the shirt he wore during the marathon was covered with signatures that people from his home church had signed the week before. Those signatures were their way of being present with Kevin as he ran his race far away from home. When he saw those names, he knew that they were praying for him and rooting for him. Those names helped him keep moving ahead. He knew he was not alone on that 26.2 mile course.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Trapped in Indiana
I was trapped in Indiana. I couldn’t go forward or backward or even sidewise. It was 10:37 pm, and I had been driving for six hours. Following my workshop at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, I had left Iowa City heading east; I had driven through Iowa, Illinois, and almost all of Indiana. My goal: my bed in Northeast Ohio – a lot of miles and a lot of hours away. I was not on a time schedule, but I knew that I only had so much energy left. The last Starbucks I had passed had been closed for the night (just when I so desperately needed caffeine – what is wrong with these people?), and I needed to keep moving.
But I wasn’t moving. I was stuck. I was jammed between a gate in front of me and a car behind me. All I wanted to do was pay my toll, have the bar rise up, and be released. Before that night, I had often wondered why so many states still used human beings to hand out cards when that task could so easily have been done by machines. Well, apparently my thoughts had resonated with the operators of the Indiana East-West Toll Road (What a great title for the directionally and financially challenged: “What direction does it go? Does it cost money? Hey, the answer is in the name. Wow.”) This road is no longer operated by the State of Indiana but by a private company whose parent companies are in Spain and Australia. In 2006, this company paid Indiana $3.8 billion for the rights to collect fees on the road for the next 75 years. Part of the plan to recoup that $3.8 billion must have been to replace human workers with automated toll booths.
Machines are great, aren’t they? They always show up to work on time. They don’t get sick. They don’t take lunch breaks. They don’t ask for raises. They are always there smoothly humming along 24/7/365. Just replace the Spacely Sprockets and Cogswell Cogs every six months, and these automated toll booths are just like Las Vegas slot machines only better. They keep taking in your money but never pay off.
I’ll be honest. I often prefer dealing with a computer or automated unit rather than trying to communicate with a human being. Amazon’s website was designed with me in mind. I would buy a lot fewer books if I had to drive to a bookstore or actually talk to someone. If I only have a few items, I prefer the unmanned check-out lanes at the grocery store. Pump my own gas? No problem. Online banking and ATM’s make me smile.
I was buying two coffees, a breakfast sandwich, and a pecan roll a few weeks ago, and the human being working the cash resister punched a few buttons, and my total bill appeared on the screen: $12,000. At least, he knew he made a mistake and corrected it. Some clerks would have held out their hands expecting me to produce 120 crisp hundred dollar bills. Let’s be honest. Human customer service is often lacking. That’s why I often prefer the computer. It usually has less of an attitude problem.
And it isn’t that I dislike people. I like Tiffany who sits behind the glass at the drive thru bank window. She is friendly enough, but she knows her place (behind the glass) and I know mine (in the car). So I am not anthropophobic. At least I have never had it diagnosed.
But that night on the Indiana border, the machine failed me. The automated unit into which I had fed my credit card to pay my $7.50 toll grabbed my card and refused to give it back. And it wouldn’t open the gate either. I am sure the driver of the car behind me was having choice words for me and was probably reaching for a weapon under his seat when I pushed the button that said “Need Help?” The voice that answered was every bit as clear as someone talking to me through a tin can connected to my speaker with a wire.
“Can I help you?” (An irritated voice that might have been human or machine.)
“Yes, my card is stuck and the gate won’t open.” (I didn’t swear or say how I really felt.)
“Did you put the card in the cash slot?” (An accusation.)
“No.” (I hoped that I was telling the truth.)
Then those threatening words: “Well, I’ll have to find a supervisor.”
It sounded like she had to issue an All Points Bulletin and launch a search covering the entire State of Indiana and parts of Northwest Ohio to find that elusive supervisor. I got the sense that she was not happy actually having to deliver on the “Need Help” invitation. A typical customer service response by a human being. But perhaps she had a right to her irritation. This kind of thing had probably never happened before. Maybe she would be summoned to appear before an emergency meeting of the Board of Directors in Australia to investigate this surely unprecedented incident:
“One of our machines failed in Indiana? Nonsense. Let’s arrest that Ohio driver and torture him by withholding Starbucks until he tells us what really happened.”
In a minute, the voice returned saying ominously: “The supervisor will be there soon.”
I had second thoughts about asking for human help. I tried to look at my surroundings with unemotional Zen like concentration. Maybe I would sense a new option. But the gate was still down in front of me blocking my way, the car was still behind me likely filled with terrorists armed with WMD’s, and my card was still stuck in the machine. I wasn’t sure if I could even open my car door wide enough to run away. And if I managed to get out and run, they would always find me. I couldn’t outrun them forever. I’ve seen those movies. I just hoped that if I sacrificed my own life, they would spare the lives of my family. Those human customer service supervisors just make me nervous.
About five minutes later, a car pulled up. I held my breath and knew it might be my last. I was shocked when a woman bounded out and skipped towards me. She seemed almost giddy. Instead of yelling at me or accusing me of hurting her machine she said:
“Hey, I’ve got the keys. I’ll help you. Machine ate your card, huh?” She inserted a key into the side, pulled out a panel, extracted my card, and handed it to me. “This happens sometimes. Try it again. But just let it pull in your card. Don’t push it.”
What, no accusation? No charges of machine abuse? I did as she instructed. The unit accepted my plastic offering, did whatever mysterious things it does with credit cards, and then shoved my card back at me. Feeling like I had won a prize by being allowed to pay $7.50, I took my card and receipt. But amazingly enough, that toll booth machine wasn’t done just yet. It casually raised up that bar that had been blocking my way as if it did that kind of thing all the time.
I was no longer trapped. The cell door had been opened. I was free to go wherever I wanted to go as long as it was in an eastward direction and away from Indiana.
Before I pulled away, the supervisor said: “Have a great night, sir.” And I think she meant it.
I was speechless. I had been saved by a human being, a friendly human being who acted like she was happy to help me, like it was her job to assist me. She didn’t yell at me or try to make me feel unworthy. A human being had actually been superior to a machine in customer service. I drove away into the night seeking Starbucks and the Ohio border. I had a lot to think about.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Unanswered Questions
I am heading west tomorrow for the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. I have my MapQuest directions all printed out. The directions read like this: “Take a left out of your driveway, jump on the Ohio Turnpike a few minutes later (also heading west), and keep driving on Rt. 80 for about 560 miles.” If all goes as planned, I will travel a straight line from Hudson, Ohio to Iowa City, Iowa. Nothing out of the ordinary will happen, and nothing will go wrong – just like life. It all sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?
The workshop I’ll be attending is called “Writing and Publishing the Personal Essay,” and participants have been asked to bring ideas for essays we’ll be developing while we’re there as well as actual magazines which might publish these essays.
So, I’ve been looking at magazines and examining their policies about submitting articles. Of course I am looking for those magazines with editors who have been waiting all of their lives for the essay that I will send them. “Stop the presses, change the cover, I don’t care about the expense, we’ve got an article written by Jim Bane here. I couldn’t put it down, I laughed, I wept, I was inspired, and I’ll never look at life the same again.” I haven’t quite found that publication yet.
I have identified two solid prospects, but I am puzzling over a third. A friend suggested a well-known religious publication, and I checked their submission guidelines. After a quick read, I doubt if my writing would fit their standards. A few quotes from their webpage: “Dramatize the situation, conflicts, and struggles, and then tell how the person was changed for the better or the problem was solved.” I would have no trouble dramatizing an event – I’m a preacher, I do that every Sunday in sermons when I am not on sabbatical (thank you New Horizons Christian Church). But unfortunately, in the world in which I live people are not always changed for the better and problems are not always solved – at least not in the length of a small article in a monthly religious periodical. Some problems just don’t seem to get solved to our complete satisfaction, do they? And some people do change for the better for awhile but later revert to their former lousy lifestyles. That doesn’t stop me from lifting up these people and situations in sermons because I think that most folks in our local church community have experienced life in a similar way. Life is rarely as simple and straightforward as those MapQuest directions from Ohio to Iowa.
Another admonition from the submission guidelines of that same magazine: “Don’t leave unanswered questions.” I don’t know about you, but I live with unanswered questions every day of my life. I don’t believe that I will ever have all the answers to all the questions I have – at least they won’t be answered on this side of the grave. Even the walk of faith involves questions and doubts. Richard Rohr writes in Falling Upward:
"I worry about 'true believers' who cannot carry any doubt or anxiety at all, as Thomas the Apostle and Mother Teresa learned to do. People who are so certain always seem like Hamlet’s queen 'protesting too much' and trying too hard. To hold the full mystery of life is always to endure its other half, which is the equal mystery of death and doubt. To know anything fully is always to hold that part of it which is still mysterious and unknowable."
The prodigal son found in the Gospel of Luke is one of the most provocative and well known parables of Jesus. A story that would almost fit the submission guidelines of that magazine. A son demands his share of the inheritance and in essence declares that his father is dead to him. The father complies, and the son leaves town and stays away until all the money is spent. While sweating with the swine, he realizes that life would be better back home and heads back. You know the rest – the father seeing him, running to him, embracing him, loving him, accepting him, and throwing a welcome home party for him. “My son has come back. He was dead but is alive.” I am a father and this story always, always pulls at my heart. No matter how many times I hear it.
And the parable would be so much simpler if it ended at that party – life changed, situation resolved, no loose ends, and no questions unanswered. But Jesus just won’t leave it alone, will he? Because there is that second son working out in that field – the “good and faithful” son who didn’t run away, who didn’t waste the money, who had to pick up the slack when his younger brother hit the road. He hears the noise from the house, hears that a feast is underway for that lazy brother of his, and not surprisingly, he gets angry. He is resentful. He doesn’t want to join the celebration and pretend that it’s all copacetic. The father leaves the party and goes out into the field to encourage this son to join the other.
And the parable ends there. Will the older son show respect for his father and come to the house? Will be realize how much he missed his little brother and with tears in his eyes give him a big hug? Will he grab him by the neck the next morning and say: “It’s your turn to work. I am taking the day off.” Who knows what happens next? The story ends before everything is resolved leaving us to speculate about what happens next.
I don’t believe for a second that the writer of Luke misplaced the neat and happy ending that Jesus had originally intended. Jesus wanted us to deal with the tension and confusion and conflicts and doubts in this parable. He wanted us to wrestle with the enormity of God’s love for us even when we have strayed as well as our own personal challenges in trying to forgive others. Jesus wanted us to wonder about just which role we play in that parable.
Jesus wanted this parable to reflect real life – your life and my life. Real life which so often resists neat and clean and straightforward answers. Jesus invites us to resist easy answers to the difficult questions that we have; he invites us to struggle – but not to struggle alone but alongside him. “Come to me all who are weak and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, for you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30.
Tomorrow I head to Iowa. Will the trip be as uncomplicated as MapQuest suggests? I doubt it. But the uncertainty won’t stop me from opening the door and leaving home.
The workshop I’ll be attending is called “Writing and Publishing the Personal Essay,” and participants have been asked to bring ideas for essays we’ll be developing while we’re there as well as actual magazines which might publish these essays.
So, I’ve been looking at magazines and examining their policies about submitting articles. Of course I am looking for those magazines with editors who have been waiting all of their lives for the essay that I will send them. “Stop the presses, change the cover, I don’t care about the expense, we’ve got an article written by Jim Bane here. I couldn’t put it down, I laughed, I wept, I was inspired, and I’ll never look at life the same again.” I haven’t quite found that publication yet.
I have identified two solid prospects, but I am puzzling over a third. A friend suggested a well-known religious publication, and I checked their submission guidelines. After a quick read, I doubt if my writing would fit their standards. A few quotes from their webpage: “Dramatize the situation, conflicts, and struggles, and then tell how the person was changed for the better or the problem was solved.” I would have no trouble dramatizing an event – I’m a preacher, I do that every Sunday in sermons when I am not on sabbatical (thank you New Horizons Christian Church). But unfortunately, in the world in which I live people are not always changed for the better and problems are not always solved – at least not in the length of a small article in a monthly religious periodical. Some problems just don’t seem to get solved to our complete satisfaction, do they? And some people do change for the better for awhile but later revert to their former lousy lifestyles. That doesn’t stop me from lifting up these people and situations in sermons because I think that most folks in our local church community have experienced life in a similar way. Life is rarely as simple and straightforward as those MapQuest directions from Ohio to Iowa.
Another admonition from the submission guidelines of that same magazine: “Don’t leave unanswered questions.” I don’t know about you, but I live with unanswered questions every day of my life. I don’t believe that I will ever have all the answers to all the questions I have – at least they won’t be answered on this side of the grave. Even the walk of faith involves questions and doubts. Richard Rohr writes in Falling Upward:
"I worry about 'true believers' who cannot carry any doubt or anxiety at all, as Thomas the Apostle and Mother Teresa learned to do. People who are so certain always seem like Hamlet’s queen 'protesting too much' and trying too hard. To hold the full mystery of life is always to endure its other half, which is the equal mystery of death and doubt. To know anything fully is always to hold that part of it which is still mysterious and unknowable."
The prodigal son found in the Gospel of Luke is one of the most provocative and well known parables of Jesus. A story that would almost fit the submission guidelines of that magazine. A son demands his share of the inheritance and in essence declares that his father is dead to him. The father complies, and the son leaves town and stays away until all the money is spent. While sweating with the swine, he realizes that life would be better back home and heads back. You know the rest – the father seeing him, running to him, embracing him, loving him, accepting him, and throwing a welcome home party for him. “My son has come back. He was dead but is alive.” I am a father and this story always, always pulls at my heart. No matter how many times I hear it.
And the parable would be so much simpler if it ended at that party – life changed, situation resolved, no loose ends, and no questions unanswered. But Jesus just won’t leave it alone, will he? Because there is that second son working out in that field – the “good and faithful” son who didn’t run away, who didn’t waste the money, who had to pick up the slack when his younger brother hit the road. He hears the noise from the house, hears that a feast is underway for that lazy brother of his, and not surprisingly, he gets angry. He is resentful. He doesn’t want to join the celebration and pretend that it’s all copacetic. The father leaves the party and goes out into the field to encourage this son to join the other.
And the parable ends there. Will the older son show respect for his father and come to the house? Will be realize how much he missed his little brother and with tears in his eyes give him a big hug? Will he grab him by the neck the next morning and say: “It’s your turn to work. I am taking the day off.” Who knows what happens next? The story ends before everything is resolved leaving us to speculate about what happens next.
I don’t believe for a second that the writer of Luke misplaced the neat and happy ending that Jesus had originally intended. Jesus wanted us to deal with the tension and confusion and conflicts and doubts in this parable. He wanted us to wrestle with the enormity of God’s love for us even when we have strayed as well as our own personal challenges in trying to forgive others. Jesus wanted us to wonder about just which role we play in that parable.
Jesus wanted this parable to reflect real life – your life and my life. Real life which so often resists neat and clean and straightforward answers. Jesus invites us to resist easy answers to the difficult questions that we have; he invites us to struggle – but not to struggle alone but alongside him. “Come to me all who are weak and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, for you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30.
Tomorrow I head to Iowa. Will the trip be as uncomplicated as MapQuest suggests? I doubt it. But the uncertainty won’t stop me from opening the door and leaving home.
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