Knowing the Father

I didn’t know his father. Although we've been friends for years, somehow I never met his father. Still, when I received news of his father’s death, I knew I had to attend the funeral. In doing so, I learned something important.

When they spoke of his father’s wit, I couldn’t help but think of my friend’s humor. He’s the one who says something in just the right way, with exactly the right words, and sets the room ablaze with laughter. He isn’t the entertainer, just the observer of everything and everyone who offers a phrase that’s then quoted by us for years.

When they spoke of his father’s ingenuity as an investor, the way he liked to visit companies and watch them build their products rather than read a prospectus, I couldn’t help but think of my friend's entrepreneurial spirit. Not one for conventional work, he was made to imagine and create what has never been.

When they spoke of his father’s kindness and inability to judge others, I couldn’t help be think of the way my friend always refrains from talking about others when they are not in the room, how he always assumes there’s more to every story than what’s being said about another.

Leaving the funeral, I realized I did know his father. I knew him through his son.

The lesson soon shed light on my faith. Like never before, I saw what the Church meant when it says we will know the Father through the Son, but I also saw how the lesson spoke to my own life. Like my friend, is mine a life that teaches of another? Can someone know my father, mother, church, or the world of twelve step recovery because they knew me?

Such questions shine new light on the importance of our lives. Who do people know through us? If we are created in someone’s image, are our lives accurate reflections? If we come from a wonderful family, is there evidence beyond our DNA? If we were incapable of telling someone what we believe, or what matters to us most, would they be able to tell by watching?

In other words, when people leave our funeral, who will they say they knew because the knew us?

Finishing our Rounds

It could be said to be the longest round of golf ever, but any attempt to make light of what happened to the unexpected golfer, who was struck by a car on the 18th hole seven months ago, is not appreciated. When the drug-induced driver careened down the cart path and sent the golfer flying 30 feet, breaking his femur, both knee caps and damaging countless other pats of his body, a life-long challenge presented itself. First, there were the four surgeries, then months of physical therapy (which will continue for many more months), not to mention the lasting mental and spiritual trauma he continues to suffer. But the man returned to the 18th hole the other day, and, surrounded by friends, completed his round.

The story moved me on many levels. Obviously, it is a remarkable story of tragedy, recovery, and perseverance, but it also serves as a vivid reminder that we, too, are called to finish our rounds.

Examples of people living their lives only to have those lives disrupted are endless. Whether it’s the man who’s told to gather his things as he enters the place he’s worked for 23 years, the child whose seizure on the playground reveals the presence of a brain tumor, the student kicked out of college after what he thought was a harmless prank, or spouse who finds out his/her spouse has been unfaithful, life can hit us at the knees . . . and hips, shins, head and heart.

The question is, what will we do then? Rarely are we in such places by choice, but we can choose what we do from then on. Tragedies are chapters, not entire stories. We may let them define us, allow others to focus only on the one chapter, but there's more to us than any one moment. In fact, some of the most amazing moments in people’s lives come after tragedies. Like the golfer, recovery takes longer than we would like, costs more than we can afford, and often leaves scars that last a lifetime. But, in the end, we’re called to finish our rounds.

Tote Bags

Since when did making a gift involve receiving a tote bag?

Even though I began my working life as a fundraiser for public television, the group famous for offering people things for their support, the trend of gifts for gifts is troubling. The fault lies not only with those organizations that feel such tokens get people to give, rather than their noble purpose, but also with the donors who expect something more than the joy of giving to an organization doing good work.

Seeking something in return for gifts is nothing new. Non-profits have long had to create giving levels, exclusive events, and glossy publications so donors can be seen and recognized for their generosity. In some cases, the purpose of giving is recognition, not support, or, said another way, support has become a means to an end.

As I looked for something to watch on television recently, I came across a Christian evangelist who, refreshingly, was not asking viewers for financial support. His message about faith, however,  was laced with the same toxic quid pro quo theology: If you believe, God will do this . . . If you turn your life over to God, you will be blessed (aka things will go your way) . . . We’re offering a special today, and for prime real estate in heaven all you need do is . . . you get the point.

I’m not sure God gives tote bags. In fact, I think God believes faith, or the relationship that comes through faith, is the gift.

In a recent discussion group, we were asked to look at our motives. The conversation helped us see the ways we give, the things we do and say, and how, lurking somewhere out of sight, there's often something in it for us. As I looked at my life, I could see many examples of good actions and generous deeds which, when seen honestly, were as much about me as they were about others. Perhaps confronting our need for recognition, preferential seating, or tote bags, we may find a deeper, more satisfactory way to give.