Shining Spirit

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s Monday again. I used to live in a world of relative predictability. That world consisted of building a life: house, job, climb the ladder. You know the list. In that world, Monday followed Sunday and preceded Tuesday. I used to carry an appointment book and actually write in it with a pencil. Now I sync my appointments to my calendar by using the third app on the second page of my “smart phone.” If I misplace my “phone”, as I sometimes do, my life stops. I don’t know who I am or where I’m supposed to be. Fortunately, my wife has an app called “Find Me”…it’s a long story. These days, when I am required to fill out some endless form for some bureaucratic requirement, and I come to the little box labeled “Occupation,” I just write: What’s that? I live on the planet “Retirement.” Bingo tonight, by the way.

Is there a point to all this? Yes. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s Monday again. That means that later this morning, like every Monday, my wife and I will leave our apartment, go down to the clubhouse, mingle in the community, eat a donut and wash it down with corporate coffee. I’ll sit next to my friend, Oscar, and I’ll ask him about his weekend, and he’ll answer: “14”. And I’ll say: Forgot your hearing aids, didn’t you? And he’ll say: “Sometime in August.” We have amazing conversations. I’ll find a quiet corner, eat my donut and drink my facsimile coffee and just enjoy humming a persistent tune. My wife will walk by and say: Are you going to answer your phone?

Is there a point to all this? Yes. I’m getting there. I live among some of the most interesting, funniest, and wisest people on the planet. And a couple of oddballs. They are my friends. Isn’t it special to have friends who make the sun shine on a cloudy day, who wear mis-matched sox and do it on purpose? Isn’t it fine to feel grateful that today is another Monday. Doesn’t it feel good to feel grateful? Is there a point to all this? Yes, I just made it. Have a wonderful Monday. Enjoy your donut. Be grateful.

May the first words I speak today, and the last ones tonight, be: Thank you!

May I see beyond myself into the suffering of another, into the pain that could be mine but is no less severe because it isn’t.

May I accept the offer of forgiveness and then extend it to someone else.

May I discover one thing new, let go of one thing no longer needed, and feel good about both.

May I look ahead this morning, and back over the day tonight, and may I see the same scene from both directions: the two of us walking side by side. The Christ of my day; the Christ of my life. Let it be so. Amen.

What do these things have in common?
Chickens at home on the roost
Cows coming across the pasture toward home
A farmer reaping what he sowed.

Consequences.

Maybe if we sing the hymns louder
preach the sermons longer
form a new committee
commission a task force
hold a convention.

Maybe if we tried harder
prayed longer
I know! Let’s have a picnic
or a retreat or a rally.
We’ve got to do something!

Here’s an idea: Let’s read
Amos 5. Amos, the prophet?
Amos in the OId Testament?
That’s him! Obscure, grumpy
old Amos. Read it more than once.

Finally, come to grips with this
prophetic-biblical reality: It’s never
been about you or me. It has always
been about us. Social implications
ignored gets us to exactly where we are.

Sorry, Amos. We did it again.

The little red sports car calls my name! I’ve always wanted one, always dreamed of one, never owned one. The toy model I hold in my hand is as close as I will come. If only I could will myself to be smaller, even tiny so I could drive by her house, honk the horn and wave.

I weigh too much. I know it. It’s not something I can hide. In my middle years, my middle was different. O what I would give to be a 34″ waist again. If only I could will myself to be smaller, resurrect those pants folded in the cardboard box. I promise, I would never eat a donut again.

There’s a little voice that follows me around, not always welcome but always present. It doesn’t snicker or chide or accuse; it points out reality. It waits for one of my “if only…” moments, and then says: “This is now. Live it.” The voice is right. Wishing doesn’t make things happen.

And then, in a particularly thoughtful moment, I remembered times when I contradicted the voice, times when I succeeded in making myself smaller, less than I am: that time I knowingly settled for the easy way when it meant violating values. I became a smaller man. Or, that time when I ignored my neighbor’s plea for help; looked the other way. I became a smaller man. Or, that time when I knowingly worked against justice or mercy or kindness; sought revenge; demanded retribution. And I became a smaller man.

I have the hardest time remembering to live by a deeper nature; beyond self into servant; in this moment instead of the barren land of “if only…” I am me. I am now. I will not be a smaller man.