Eyes on the road

It’s a running joke in my family that while driving I am incapable of looking away and remaining in my lane. In the days of children in car seats, it was a real risk for me to turn and assist a disgruntled child. Today, looking at something off to the side or behind me is to beckon the familiar rumble from strips designed to awaken drivers who have veered off course.

Recently, after illustrating this weakness once again, my daughter smiled, shook her head, and kindly suggested: “You know, you could just keep your eyes on the road.”

Of course, she was right. Her advice, though simple and full of common sense, seems to speak about more than driving.

If I look honestly at my life, I can see how I struggle in the same way. There have been and continues to be distractions on my left and right, just as there are countless reasons to look behind me at things past. Whether it’s an unkind remark or action that causes me to look away, I sometimes respond with ones of my own. When focused with great excitement on what could be, I am reminded of mistakes in the past and lose all enthusiasm.

In other words, each time I look away I veer off course. It is hard enough to navigate when looking straight ahead, but looking away makes it almost impossible. Just like when driving, I am incapable of looking away and remaining in my lane. My daughter’s simple advice seems to speak once again: “You know, you could just keep your eyes on the road.”

How difficult and true is such advice for us all. 

Grace

Wiffle Ball was a daily occurrence in my backyard growing up, and players arrived before 4:00 regardless of what school they attended. Skill levels varied, but no one was superior to Grace. She moved to the neighborhood from California mid way through her fourth grade year and established herself as a superstar within a week. There was not a pitcher who could get a ball past her, nor fielder who could catch the missiles she launched. More than all of that, she was the nicest person I’d ever met.

I remember one particularly ferocious game when our team was enormously grateful to have Grace on our team. It was a Sunday afternoon, which meant the winners had the much sought after bragging rights for Monday morning homeroom. The score was tied as the evening light faded and threat of being called in for dinner grew.  Because of a fielding error, we were able to get a player on base. The next two batters did not fare as well, to which one team member responded: “Don’t worry, Grace bats last.”

Just the words provided comfort to us all. Knowing no matter what we were or were not able to achieve Grace would bat last provided a sense that all would be well. She did not seem to mind the pressure. In fact, when she heard the comment she spread her arms wide, tilted her head back and closed her eyes and smiled as if to say: “Bring it on!”

I didn’t know it at the time, but we were all being given a profound theological lesson that day. More than any sermon or well-designed Sunday school class, waiting for Grace to bat taught us all we needed to know. Yes, we were a part of a team. Yes, we would each have to stand at the plate, take our turn, and do the best we could. More important than all of that, however, was the fact that Grace was going to bat last. She would take whatever we were able to achieve (or not) and make it all right. It was remarkable to be sure, but what was even more impressive was the fact that she did so with no thought of herself. It was just who she was, it was just what she did, and we were all the better for it.

I often think of Grace. To know she was behind me, ready, able and willing to hit “clean up” would make all the difference as I approached the home plates of today. Sometimes I wish she was still on my team. Maybe she is.

(Written with apologies and/or gratitude to Annie Lamont)

High Performers

“What do you mean you were invited to the High Performers Celebration?” his wife asked incredulously. Earlier in the week, they argued over their most recent family financial crisis. The fact that he was considered a high performer made no sense to her, nor to him. While his sales had been respectable, they were nothing remarkable.

Arriving at the event, he was interested to find others who were equally confused by being invited. Still, no mistakes were made. All high performers were there, and the company wanted to celebrate their work.

As I listened to him describe the event, and his bewilderment over being invited, I couldn’t help but compare it to the way Jesus made people feel in his day. Like today, he lived at a time when people strove to achieve much and be seen as leaders in their communities. As a result, when he spoke of a banquet to which people were invited, a job for which people were hired, or a gate through which people were to enter, many listeners assumed they would likely to make the invitation list. So, too, others felt as if they were in the social bleachers, looking on at the impressive lives of others.

What fascinates me most about Jesus is who is on his invitation list. Like so many, I measure people by who they are and what they have achieved, which I am embarrassed to admit is usually determined by the financial success they have enjoyed. These “high performers” would clearly receive invitations to any celebration, but this is where Jesus surprises us all. Instead of the leader of the synagogue, or members of the most prominent families, Jesus invites people not even recognized by society. Like my friend who found himself at the High Performers Celebration, I believe many invited to Christ’s celebration will have no idea why they were invited. 

“I didn’t sell all that many houses this year, but I remember waving my fee for the widow who couldn’t afford the cost.”

“I left prominent position at the church to start a camp for kids which struggles to make ends meet.”

“I lost my job and have simply volunteered at the food pantry until I find another one.”

These are today’s widows with two copper coins. These are the men and women who beat their chests while confessing their shortcomings rather than touting their worthiness. These are the ones who stopped to help the one in the gutter. In other words, these are the unlikely ones who perform highly.

To look at it another way, what if Jesus came and threw a party for today's high performers? I have no doubt such news would cause some of our local pastors and rabbis to hurry home and shine their shoes and iron their vestments. Those on the wealthiest-among-us list would clear their calendars. And yet, invitations to such an event arrive in unlikely mailboxes. My hope is that we will one day look around the room and give thanks that someone greater than we was in charge of the invitation list.