Today I set before you two choices: life and death--which will you choose?

As a result of this, many of his disciples
returned to their former way of life and no longer
accompanied him. Jesus then said to the Twelve:
Do you also want to leave?   --John 6: 66-67

How often does life come down to commitment? One question: are you committed or not? Are you all in or just dabbling?  Are we committed or not?  Or the alternative question might be: What are we committed to?  In the words of the old folk song, “Which side are you on?”

First, I will say that I am –I think—someone with commitment issues.  I am always (and much too easily) tempted to just blow things off; it’s kind of my go to reaction to almost any interruption or snag in my plans.

“Dad, we’re out of dental floss!” 

“Honey, cancel those airline tickets; looks like I’ll be heading to HEB this weekend.”

Thursday evening I was planning to go the hospital and volunteer, but by the time I got home from work, I was tired and looking for any excuse to “have to stay home.” This isn’t something I’m proud of, but it is something I live with. I don’t know how much of it is simple laziness and/or how much is a deep-seated psychological problem with commitment. Regardless, it is not always easy to get myself going. But it is always good for me when I do.

When I got to the hospital, I found that the chaplain had forgotten to leave me a list.  My first thought was that this must be a sign from God: Return thou to thy grilled cheese and Dr. Pepper and regular Thursday evening TV viewing habits.  But, something inside me said: probably not. SO,  I walked over to the business office and asked the cashier, showed her my badge, explained the situation and after a brief wait, she gave me a 6-page list of about 40 names (and room numbers). Of course, I couldn’t do them all, but I could do some. So I sat down and looked the list over to see if there were any names I recognized; people I know, or people I have visited before. Nada.  After whispering a prayer, I crossed myself and headed to the elevator. First stop, 3^rd floor; ICU.

Walking through the ICU, you see faces of exhaustion, fear, confusion, resignation; family and friends standing around the edges of a bed, watching a sleeping body, uncertain what to do. Hungering for a word of reassurance.  And in the beds the almost lifeless look of the sleeping patient with the tubes and cables strapped to them, blinking and flashing monitors hovering close by.  As they awaken you a kind of frightened emptiness fills their eyes; an emptiness that seeks only to be filled with comfort, consolation--hope. I have a lot of respect for ICU nurses.

The first two rooms I visit are empty. The beds have been cleared and remade and they await the next round of fear and hope and help.  But in the third, the patient is turned away from the door with her back to me.  She is motionless. Maybe asleep.  And then I notice a sign on the door asking visitors to speak to a nurse before entering.  Of course, this too could be a sign from God. So, I go find a nurse. Instead of telling me that I need to turn back and go home (that Dr. Pepper is still waiting for me…), she smiles and says: It’s okay. Go on in. 

In my heart I was still thinking: it is possible this woman is asleep.   At this rate I could get through all 40 names in less than an hour. Coming back to her door though, I found the patient had turned over and she was looking straight at me. Entering the room, I introduced myself and that was when I noticed the tube coming out of her throat.  Stopping at her bedside, I put my hands on the rail and spoke her name, intending to ask if there was anything I could do for her. But, before I could finish she had reached up and taken my hand in hers and held it so tight it hurt. Her nails digging into my palm, she clutched my hand and waved it slowly in small circles above her. I stood there, just gazing into her eyes, stunned by their fear, their desperation.  She clung to me and I let myself be clung to –there was nothing else I could give her.  We were like that for several minutes. Just staring at each other, holding onto each other; just being there—together—so that we weren’t alone.  And of course, that was when I knew –this is where I am supposed to be. This is exactly where I am supposed to be. Right here. Right now. With this frightened and lonely person, letting her cling to my hand and not saying a word. I was made for this.

As the intensity of her grasp subsided, I could see a calm fill her eyes and asked if she would like me to say a prayer.  In response, the circling became more intense and her head nodded slightly.  So, I did. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I asked the Lord to let His healing and His blessing be ever present through the hands and the words and the touch of the nurses and doctors and all who entered that room. And I asked that the Lord open our hearts to the grace of His love; His will. And then we prayed the Lord’s Prayer together. I saw her lips moving silently softly forming the words.  We were together maybe 20 minutes. I had never met her before, and will probably never see her again; and she never said a word –but she spoke to me like a prophet with her anguished eyes and that desperate grip and those fierce nails.

Too often when life gets hard, or inconvenient, I retreat to safety, sink into the couch of routine: what I know and what makes me feel comfortable.  Too often, I turn away from the challenges and the difficulties; the places where Christ hopes to meet me.  That night I didn’t.  And thanks to that woman, and her wordless message, I hope to change not just my habits, but my heart.  I hope to…

Over the past couple of weeks the Church’s sex abuse scandal has returned to the news.  And now for two Sundays in a row I have waited for the priest to say something about it, and for two Sundays –nothing; instead we have heard bad jokes and spiritual platitudes… I understand that priests are human, and they get anxious and fearful and even lazy at times; much like me.  But, I think when there is a scandal of this magnitude, we --the people in the pews—are in a kind of ICU moment.  We are confused and frightened –like we are awakening from a nightmare—and we need someone to offer us a hand to hold, to offer us a word of comfort, to tell us that they too are confused by it and they too are frightened, but that they aren’t going to avoid it. They aren’t going to go back to their former life and their old ways and pretend like nothing happened.   As Pope Francis made clear, the best way to heal such a wound is not to cover it up but to open our hearts, our lives, our eyes and get it out into the open and let the sunlight and the Lord begin the healing.

For me, that is the real challenge in life –to face it, to open your heart, to open your eyes and to go forth and face the life God gives you, to receive and be nourished by the bread that God gives you to eat each day, and to find in it the Love of God.  Don’t turn away and go back to your former life; that road leads to the couch, and a kind of living death… 

As Peter said when Jesus asked the apostles if they planned to leave Him:

“Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:68)

We are called to be alive; not to be safe, not to be cautious, but to be alive. Yes, life can be hard, the times can be tough.  But a life worth living requires a little effort, and a lot of commitment. Get off the couch and go out into the world and be alive; be a living witness to the love of God.  Don’t hide.  Don’t take the easy way… Don’t play it safe. Each day we have set before us two choices: life and death, blessing and curse…  I say take a risk; make a commitment; choose life. (cf. Deuteronomy 30: 19)

To lay down your life… Being a father isn't for wimps

“This is my commandment: love one another, as I have loved you.

No one has greater love than this, to lay down his life for his friends.”

John 15: 12-13

What father doesn’t imagine the moment when he will be called to put himself between danger and his child? A speeding car, a threatening situation, an ominous stranger… I would imagine that most fathers have these daydreams.  We are preparing ourselves, playing it out, getting ready. Summoning up a ready store of courage for when the moment comes.  And always hoping that it won’t.  The fantasy –my fantasy—almost always involved a man with a gun, and me stepping between him and my daughter(s).  Though there was that time we got lost in Memorial Park and I began to consider the possibility of staring down a feral potbelly pig (the size of Okja)…

            But always there is the sense that a father will lay down his life for his child.  Becoming a father, means his life is not about him anymore; it is about protecting his child.  I know that the movies and comic books of my youth have had a lot of influence on this part of my fantasy life. I half imagine that somehow, when faced with a threat to my children I will, like the Hulk (or John Wayne), suddenly be filled with super human strength and be able to overpower whatever danger we encounter. Or, as fast as The Flash (or Bob Hayes), I will dart into the street, scoop up my child and leap out of the way of an oncoming car –or toss my daughter to safety just before the car sends me hurtling into the air.  Those are the fantasies of a father worried about protecting his children.  Hoping that when the time comes, he will lay down his life for his child; courageously, heroically, and without hesitation.

            And there is always the epilogue fantasy that involves something like a Hallmark Hall of Fame moment of the children in their maturity gathering together on the steps of the old wooden porch with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of cookies (a box of old photographs) remembering their selfless father –the one they never really appreciated… until it was too late. But, oh how they appreciate him now… break for commercial. Closing Credits. Reminder that the DVD of tonight’s movie: My Father, My Hero is available at your local Hallmark store.

            But, with my youngest daughter graduating from high school, and my middle daughter about to move to another state for graduate school, and my oldest time traveling back to the Little House on the Prairie… I am reassessing that Hollywood hero-mode fantasy.  Opportunities for jumping in front of a speeding train or under a falling piano are getting fewer and farther between. 

            Which brings me back to the reading from the Gospel of John.  Whenever I hear this reading, hear Jesus speak these words to His apostles, His friends, I always think immediately of the cross.  And for the most part that makes sense. In the context of the Gospel, they are spoken during the last supper and therefore point directly to His cross. But when I think of how they apply to me, I have to wonder: When and where will Jesus ask me to lay down my life?  So far, nothing too dramatic –and I kind of like it that way.     I have never been in a position where I needed to step in front of a speeding bus, throw myself on a landmine, or climb the Eiffel tower to rescue an untethered dirigible filled with school children.  So, if God is asking me to lay down my life, then how? Where? When?

           Hmmm. How many times have I been in a situation where what I wanted, what I perhaps even needed, was somehow at odds with what someone else (my wife, for instance) needed or wanted?  And how many times have I been faced with the opportunity to lay down my want, my need, for the sake of another (my wife for instance)?  And how many times have I done it?  I can assure you, and so can many others (my wife for instance) –not nearly enough. 

            It is easy and even a bit thrilling to fantasize laying down your life for a friend when it means you will die heroically and be remembered lovingly, with a halo of glory surrounding your sacrifice.  But how hard is it to lay down your life when no one will notice, perhaps not even the person you do it for?  Where no one will remember?  How hard is it to lay down your life (your hopes, your dreams, your wants and even your needs) for the sake of a friend who has her (or his) own needs and wants and hopes and dreams?  How hard is it to lay down your life, one little piece of it, every day, just a little at a time?  Coming from someone who can get grouchy over spaghetti for dinner when he wanted tacos, I’m here to tell you –it can be plenty hard.

            But, perhaps this is how God is asking me to lay down my life.  A little bit at a time.  One cup of coffee or one piece of toast or one pot of spaghetti at a time.  Die to my wants, my desires, my self –just a little bit more each day.  How does it work? What does it really look like?

  Perhaps you take that moment you were planning to spend reading Hemingway on the back porch and instead offer to rub someone’s neck or their sore back –without being asked.  Or maybe you sit down with your daughter and say: I just read something interesting. I’d like to know what you think about it. And you really listen to what they have to say. You set aside your own thoughts, your own ideas, and you listen to the other. Give them an opportunity to be heard, to feel valued.  Maybe your martyrdom is measured not in blood and glory but in shared moments on the couch watching a Purple dinosaur sing and dance.  Or in cleaning up your child’s dinner dishes so she can finish her homework or get some sleep.  Maybe you lay down your life every time you set your complaints about work aside and offer to sit and share a cup of tea (or a quiet moment holding hands), or each morning when you offer your spouse the first cup of coffee fresh from the pot. 

Every time we turn from self (our plans, our needs, our concerns) and ask another person: May I help you with that? Would you like to go for a walk? You look like you could use a friend; is everything okay? Do you need to talk?  –don’t we lay down our life, at least just a little? We’re giving ourselves away, letting go… literally giving up part of our life (whether it is ten minutes or the next 30 years) for the sake of another. 

Thought about in that way, well… it makes you think.

            And it makes me think that most of my life I’ve looked at things wrong way round; dreaming of some big sacrifice that makes everyone see me as a hero… But what if the big sacrifice I was asked to make was really just a series of little sacrifices, little acts of kindness and selflessness each and every day that will mostly go unnoticed? What if the heroic part wasn’t the action, but the willingness to do it for the sake of another --without resentment, without bitterness, without letting my heart grow hard?  I doubt the Vatican will build a statue in my honor, or the Houston Chronicle even notice that I existed.  And maybe that’s part of it too. Lay down your life for another…

So, how do we know whether we’re really doing it? How can I know when I succeed? Or when I fail?  Who do we ask?  God, of course… and maybe someone who knows you really really well, someone who won’t hesitate to tell the truth (good and bad). Your spouse (for instance) or your children. I’m sure they will have a lot to say; and when they do, I recommend you just listen.