A Friend In A Friend

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountains to which Jesus had ordered them.  When they all saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted.  I do that all the time, the doubting part.  Why?  Then Jesus approached and said to them, “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me.  Go, therefore, and make disciples … teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.  And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.” Mt 28:16-20.  Always?  Does he really mean always, through the infinity of time?

  

I need constant reminders.  The most recent reading on Most Holy Trinity Sunday reminded me of Jesus’ promise lived in the lives of others.

During one summer while in college some time ago, our mission priest, a man ordained of late vocation, compromised in health, invited me to escort him through Europe.  At one point, we traveled through what was East Germany to Berlin, the cultural, innovative heart of Germany.  Following WWII, victors segregated a city reduced to rubble.  A short time later, almost instantaneously, the Eastern Bloc stunned the West by constructing a wall enclosing West Berlin.  Ironically, freedom existed inside the barriers. 

Arriving in Berlin, I climbed to a platform overlooking the wall.  Much to my surprise, the wall was two walls separated by interior landmines and guard dogs on running leashes.  Occasionally, fine trip wires rigged to trigger automatic weapons glistened in the sun.  Horizontal concrete cylinders capped thick vertical walls, making them impossible to climb without some aide.  Painted upon the interior West, graffiti memorialized those who lost their lives failing to escape.  But the math didn’t add up!  I expected far more memorials.  Records documented thousands of East Germans escaping to the West each year.  Surely there had to be many more killings during those attempts. 

Watch towers from the East overlooked (I don’t use the word ‘secured’ because records verified they were anything but secure) the walls’ perimeter.  I’d been told East Germany’s best marksmen manned the towers with precision weaponry.  

I’d planned to enter East Berlin through Checkpoint Charlie, a passage open to U.S., Canadian, and Australian citizens.  To visit the East, I must surrender my passport for a limited hourly visa and exchange twelve W. German marks for E. German currency.  Intimidated to pursue my visit, I entered the “escape museum” across the street from Checkpoint Charlie.  I examined crude tunnel models, swing glides used down cables fastened to tall buildings, hot air balloons constructed of bed-sheets, car side panels and artificial gas tanks constructed to hide children and small adults.  While browsing a book, I discovered a world-renowned photograph that had been enlarged into a poster mounted in the museum.  The photographer captured an East German guard escaping; helmet awry, gun and body suspended in air, frozen in a divine instant.

The author wrote the greatest sin is one’s failure to recognize a friend in a friend. (couldn’t find exact quote, but these words have stuck with me since that day) As I read, the author verified the wall was indeed manned by the East’s youngest and sharpest marksmen.  Citizens attempting to escape were carp in a barrel, easy targets.  Yet, on many occasions when marksmen fired, they often fired errantly avoiding those attempting to escape to the East.  (The math did add up!  Hidden variables!)  For those guards, punishment was severe.  The entire team received prison terms, lost educational opportunities and options to professional careers.  Their families received prison terms and the same lifetime hardships.  The marksmen’s sacrifices, largely unknown to the West, were inconceivable to me.

            I exchanged currency, surrendered my passport and camera, and navigated through Checkpoint Charlie.  I’d been told Western cigarettes and chocolate invited good company.  I quickly exhausted my supply.  Later at dusk, I retraced my steps surrendering my temporary visa to reclaim my passport and camera.  The last gate slammed closed behind me as I returned to the West. I’d been blessed.

The author got it right.  The greatest sin is my failure to recognize a friend in Jesus and others.  When I thought about it, I wasn’t any different than the West Berliners discrediting the Eastern guards.  When I fail to recognize Jesus’ presence to me, I stray.  I dismiss the sacrifices he made and the severe punishment he received costing him his life.  He’s never stopped absorbing.  I see it in the pain others suffer and he lives in them.   He lived in the guards.  Fortunately, he’s good to his promise. “I am with you always!” In my distress, doubts, losses, celebrations, Jesus is there.  He is in the forests and the fresh mountain streams.  He’s in the sun that graces each day.  He’s in my family, friends even in those whom I do not know who pass through my day nameless.  He’s in the air I breath.  He loves me unconditionally … and that’s a wonderful mystery to which I cling!

How do we spend quality time with our Lord and others?  How are we living the promise to be present to our spouses, children, friends?  Are we present to those in need who depend upon us?  How do we react to Jesus’ presence in our friendships, our relationships?  Do we recognize Jesus working in the lives of those we encounter?

Jesus must be incredibly patient when I stray.  I lose him, yet Jesus literally hangs in there with me (look above the altar.  He’s always there) He doesn’t bail on me even when I bail on him.  He’s always inviting, waiting. 

The guards’ sacrifices are well-documented.  Our Lord’s sacrifices surpass documentation, beyond imagination.  Jesus promised!  We are blessed!

Practicing Humility

O Father, give us the humility which realizes its ignorance,

Admits its mistakes, recognizes its need, welcomes advice,

Accepts rebuke. Help us always to praise rather than to criticize,

To sympathize rather than to discourage, to build rather than to destroy,

And to think of people at their best rather than at their worst.

 - William Barclay

My wife Karen and I are part of a ministry called Teams Of Our Lady, or TOOLS for short.  TOOLS is described on their website as "an international lay movement in the Catholic Church, designed to enrich marriage spirituality and make good marriages better. Teams provide a proven method of increasing and improving prayer life, which will help couples grow closer to God and each other.  At the same time, their family will reap the benefits as well."  It has been a true blessing in our marriage.

One of the things we are asked to do in TOOLS is develop and try to live out a 'Rule of Life' - a private, individual endeavor focused on moving one from the person they are to the person they want to be.  My Rule of Life for the past couple of years has been to grow in Humility (it feels kinda strange to write this, cause I'm not sure that revealing this is a very humble action - but I feel the Spirit moving me in this direction, so I'm following)

I have found Humility to be a difficult target to hit.  How does one grow in Humility?  Well, my mind goes to the question of how did I become adept and grow at any of the skills that I have honed in my life?  The answer to that is simple - by learning and then building proficiency in what I have learned through practice.  Growth is slow at first, but as experience and practice increases, real skill is developed.

So, learning - there are many sources of information on humility, but I have found the Saints and how they chose to live their lives as some of the best schools providing instruction on what it means to be humble.  And from my studies of various Saints, I think the prayer above does an extraordinarily good job of embodying their hearts when it comes to living out humility. 

But of course, I am no Saint - and therein lies the rub...

So how do I grow in Humility?  Maybe by recalling often the prayer above, and practicing the actions called out in it - realizing my ignorance (ouch), admitting my mistakes (oooh), recognizing my need (yuck), accepting rebuke (noooo).  Basically, by experiencing humiliation - and isn't that a word we all want to embrace!

 The key is to not be overwhelmed by that word.  I would venture to say that if you look, you can find small, almost imperceptible ways to manifest humility in your everyday life.  Let these small actions be your first practice field, where your initial exposure to humility can grow to habitual practice.  Once this seed is planted and has sprouted, God will lead you to ways to grow and mature that sapling.

Below I provide a few ideas that may help you feel a little humility.  Some may speak to your sense of humility, some may not.  My prayer is that you will find a few actions you can take daily to light or re-ignite the humble attitude we all need to be the children of the Almighty God.

 - If you enjoy a well manicured lawn, let your grass grow for a few weeks without mowing

 - Say a prayer of thanksgiving before a meal in a crowded restaurant with your buddies.  Extra points if you say your prayer out loud

 - If you enjoy a well put together outfit, wear mismatched clothes to work one day

 - When you run across a person driving slowly, get behind them and do not pass

 - The next time your spouse says something trivial that you know is wrong, do not correct them

 - Put a religious article on your desk at work, or hang your favorite prayer on the wall of your office/cubical

 - The next time you know you have hurt your spouses feelings, admit your part of the situation and ask for forgiveness


I'd love to hear your ideas on small things that can help build humility - please share them in the comments!

Your Will Be Done

March 18th, 10:05am. I’m sitting in a chair, overlooking the river on the final day of a silent retreat at the White House in the southern part of town. I get a text, “Hey can you talk.” I reply that I’m on retreat and that I’d call in a few hours. The reply, “Something’s come up.” I decide to step outside for a walk and call my friend. “What’s going on?” “I went to the hospital last night with intense chest pains. I thought I was having a heart attack. Good news is, no heart attack. Bad news is, they found a tumor the size of my fist in my chest.” “Wait, what?” “They think I have cancer.”

Mark has been like a little brother to me for the past 15 years. During the hardest crossroads of my life, he was the one who showed me that living out your faith was more about joy and abundance, than denial and hardship. We’ve travelled to more cities, and met with more people than I can count. I look back at so many adventures I’ve had, trying to build this business, and my life, and he’s been there through it all.

All I can think about is what my life would be like without him. How could I take care of his family - make sure his wife and kids were provided for? I usually am the one who has all the answers. I can sense that he is looking to me again to explain that everything will be fine, and that we will get through this, whatever it is. But I don’t feel that way. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I can’t muster the strength to provide hope that I don’t know is real.

Moments like this only happen a few times in your life. There are significant memories like a birth of a child, or a first kiss that you will never forget, but moments where you feel a real panic and fear that overwhelms you, are rare. Your breath starts to quicken, you begin to sweat, and your mind begins to race with all of the horrible possibilities in front of you. This raw state is where God can do his best work in us. When you are stripped of your pride, your plans, your defenses. When you are driven to your knees, you have nowhere to look but up.

Somewhere in that moment, I realize the true source of my fear. I am not in control. I do not have the answers. Regardless of all my plans, my resources, and my skills, I can’t keep “tumors” from showing up in my life, or the ones that I love. It’s here that I have to realize that the only way out of this anguish, is not by fighting against it, but by being obedient to it. My life is not my own. As a pilgrim, journeying though this world, my home is somewhere else. Knowing and believing that helps me not lose perspective when the blow of tragic news strikes.

I can feel the peace settle over me. I trust things will be ok. Maybe they won’t be what I want, or what I envisioned, but it will be ok. And it’s not up to me to have all the answers. I just need to sit with my friend and go through this with him. I had a dream of us teaching our grandkids to fish and camp, or going on some bucket list adventure when we are gray and wrinkled. Maybe that will happen, maybe it won’t. My prayer is for healing. Not just for what's in my friend's chest, but for what's in mine.