WWJWD — What Would Jesus’ Wife Do

The single most popular post I’ve had in five years of blogging (based on number of clicks) was last week’s Top 10 Reasons Not to be Jesus’ Wife. I follwed it up with 10 (more) Reasons Not to be Jesus’ Wife. Well, being unable to leave it alone, I turned this idea into one of my syndicated In Good Faith columns. I do pare the list down to 15 reasons so that’s all the suspense you’ll get.

WWJWD — What Would Jesus’ Wife Do

Unless you’ve been hiding under a pulpit, you’ve likely heard about the latest faith-based kerfuffle: the notion that Jesus had a wife. The alleged evidence is based on a 4th century papyrus fragment of a Coptic text released by a Harvard professor in which Jesus refers to “my wife” and later says “she can be my disciple.” The fragment, written in the language of early Egyptian Christians, measures 1.5 inches by 3 inches and is owned by an anonymous “collector.”

After a major publicity blitz announcing the finding by Harvard Divinity School professor Dr. Karen King, the university is now backing off publishing the research pending the results of scientific dating research and the testimony of language experts.

In the meantime many scholars are now calling the fragment a modern forgery or a fake. To me, unless you’re The Da Vinci Code author Dan Brown, it all seems like much ado about nothing. The odds that Jesus had a wife are remote at best and ultimately it doesn’t change anything. Married or not, Jesus is still, for Christians throughout the world, the Savior.

Nonetheless, it’s fun to imagine what Mrs. Jesus would have had to endure. Thus, here are my top fifteen reasons not to be Jesus’ wife:

1. It’s hard to take the Lord’s name in vain when he’s standing in the kitchen.

2. When arguing, he always turns the other cheek. So aggravating!

3. Twelve guys always hanging around makes intimate moments impossible.

4. Having to endure people singing “Joy to the World” on his birthday gets old.

5. Being called “Mrs. Christ” is irritating. “How many times do I have to tell you, that’s not our last name!”

6. Awkward encounters with Pilate’s wife at the next pilates class.

7. Your mother-in-law is perfect. “Do you have any idea how much pressure that puts on me at Thanksgiving?”

8. 11. He insists on calling every grace he says before dinner “The Lord’s Prayer.”

9. The way he suavely whips out his lighter at cocktail parties when someone pulls out a cigarette and says, “The Light of Christ.”

10. “I came not to be served but to serve.” That’s all well and good but guess who’s still left to do the dishes?

11. He’s always saying “Let the little children come to me.” You try hearing that all the time while your own biological clock is ticking louder than Big Ben.

12. You think it’s easy getting someone to their annual physical who walks around saying, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor but the sick?”

13. Every time he forgets to stop by the grocery store on the way home he gives me the same thing: loaves and fish, loaves and fish.

14. “Pick up your cross and follow me.” That’s rich coming from someone who can’t even pick up his socks off the bedroom floor.

15. I never was able to cash in on that life insurance policy.

Even if it turns out that a small group of 4^th century Christians thought Jesus had a wife, it doesn’t mean he did. The written material of the time and the tradition of the church are weighted heavily against it. Though it is a lot of fun to imagine “what if.”

 

In Good Faith: Passing on the Gift

In my latest “In Good Faith” column I make a young parishioner famous in places like Dodge City, Kansas and Bastrop, Louisiana. I blogged about this recently but decided to milk this story for all it’s worth since it’s so awesome. Literally (see the picture).

Passing on the Gift

By the Rev. Tim Schenck

Sometimes our children are much better at being adults than, well, adults. Sure, they may have less on their minds – I can’t remember the last time a child had to pay the mortgage, worry about getting laid off, or do the taxes – and it’s not like they ever remember to feed the dog. But their passion surrounding issues of justice can be inspiring.

This summer, the children of St. John’s in Hingham participated in a program called “Animal Crackers,” sponsored by Heifer International to teach kids how animals can help eradicate global hunger. Each Sunday they learned about a different animal and how it could positively impact a family below the poverty line. Along the way they met some live animals including three chickens, a rabbit, and a goat. I think the llama was sick on its appointed day.

The children also raised $740; enough to purchase a cow ($500), a goat ($120) and a pig ($120) to help families in need. In addition to soliciting funds from parishioners after church (how could anyone possibly say no to a young child holding a blue bucket in the shape of a fish?), some children got creative in their fundraising approaches. Three siblings set up a lemonade stand on a Sunday afternoon and raised $20 while one youngster, seven-year-old William Buckley, single-handedly raised $105 over the summer.

According to his mother, Mariclaire, William cleaned his grandparents’ houses for money, held a mini-yard sale, sifted the soil the family had dug up for a new patio in the backyard and sold it as “loam,” put on puppet shows with his younger brothers for a quarter (minimum eight shows!), and set up a pickle-aid stand to which nobody came.

I love this story for several reasons. First, I never even considered drinking a glass of pickle-aid – I’ll have to try some. Second, I get a kick out of any seven-year-old that knows the word “loam.” Not being much of a gardener, I’m not sure I could identify loam if I fell into a big pile of it.

But mostly, I love William’s creativity, diligence, and passion. His response to hearing stories of people in need translates into action. And shouldn’t that be the goal of every person of faith? In Matthew 25, the chapter that may well be Exhibit A for faith-based social justice, Jesus reminds us that “When you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.” He’s talking about welcoming the stranger, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and visiting the sick. In other words, all the things embodied in a child’s desire to help those less fortunate.

One of the hallmarks of Heifer International’s approach to ending world hunger is called “passing on the gift.” Once families receive a gift of livestock they agree to give one of its animal’s offspring to another family in need, thereby passing on the gift. That’s really what these children have done for me and our entire congregation these past few months. The cynicism so prevalent in adults doesn’t translate into the language of children. Maybe this is what the prophet Isaiah means when he says “A little child shall lead them.” But the reality is that through their passion and dedication, they have all done their part to “pass on the gift” of inspiration. We, along with several families, have been both blessed and enriched by their gift.

In Good Faith: September Tidal Wave

Tsunami? Hurricane? Tornado? Pick your own severe weather event meptaphor for the pre and post-Labor Day madness. I went with tidal wave in my latest “In Good Faith” column but I’m open to other possibilities.

September Tidal Wave

The September tidal wave has broken upon us. It used to feel more like a gentle wave; one you’d hop on to ride your boogie board onto the beach of the fall routine. The Post-Labor Day schedule may have been slightly jarring but it was manageable; all part of the rhythm of American life.

At some point, a simple late summer day at the beach morphed into a tsunami of epic, back-to-school proportions. Outside of December I encounter more frazzled people in early September than any other time of year. Kids are antsy with nervous anticipation of the impending academic year – of course they have been since mid-June when they first spied a “Back-to-School Sale” sign at Staples. Parents are mired in to-do lists and guilt about not having used the past few months to get everything done they’d previously put off until summer.

You’d be antsy too if you saw the back-to-school shopping list. Think Santa’s list but with fewer toys and more protractors. Perhaps my boys will actually use the colored pencils we bought as opposed to the unused boxes from last year. And the year before that. Of course we never can find those boxes until after we’ve bought the new ones and promptly lost the receipt. It used to be that you bought a Trapper Keeper, a few No. 2 pencils, a ream of lined paper, and you were ready to go.

This year I went to three stores in search of green index cards. Really? Green index cards? If I hadn’t finally found them at Office Max I was ready to invest in a can of green spray paint.

The days leading up to the start of school feel like a full moon has been permanently affixed to the sky. Children become emotional yo-yos and adults start drowning in everything that needs to be done; like driving around town in search of green index cards. These family stress balls even seem to infect innocent bystanders – seniors, singles, young couples – like a contagious virus. No one is immune.

There must be a better way. There has to be a better way. God isn’t the great Hamster Owner in the Sky who delights in watching us all run on self-built treadmills. We don’t have to buy into the stress or at least we can keep it in perspective. Life won’t end if we don’t find those little round paper reinforcements (with all the technological advances, you’d think these things would have already been rendered obsolete) and no matter how much we prepare our children for school they still have to find their own way and live their own lives. Taking a step back to breathe and reflect is essential.

The church doesn’t always help in this regard. After Labor Day, everything cranks back up in parishes right along with everything else. We have “Homecoming” Sundays and “Welcome Back” Sundays and “Rally” Sundays (which always make me think of NASCAR). All of which are really meant to remind people that those who took the summer off from church) should really get their fannies back into the pews now.

But it’s okay; I just noticed the Halloween displays are up. And God always welcomes us back with open arms; especially in the midst of the annual fall tidal wave.

“Honk if You Love Jesus”

My latest “In Good Faith” column is a special mid-August bonus edition. Yes, my monthly column has gone bi-monthly (at least this time). If it sounds vaguely familiar, it’s because I used a recent blog post (Bumper Sticker Theology) as the basis. Enjoy.

“Honk if You Love Jesus”

By the Rev. Tim Schenck

Sitting in summer vacation traffic has me reflecting on bumper stickers; specifically Christian-themed bumper stickers. I’ve always wondered what general impression of Christianity these four and five word pronouncements offer to non-churchgoers. I don’t think it’s very positive.

Most of these stickers are vaguely self-righteous, like “Keep Christ in Christmas.” I don’t disagree with the sentiment; in fact, I’ve essentially dedicated my life to it. But the underlying theme is “You’re doing this all wrong; I know best; and anything you do is not enough.” Which is not exactly the most endearing, welcoming message during the “Most wonderful time of the year.” Anyway, I’ve always thought about making a sticker that proclaims “Keep Mass in Christmas” just to see if anyone notices – that is, after all, the derivation of the word. On the evening of December 24th Christians throughout the world celebrate the “Christ-Mass.”

Bumper stickers are really about self-identity. They’re a way of telling the world that you’re smart (“I went to an Ivy League school!”) or your kids are smart (“She’s on the honor roll!”) or that you have certain political leanings (“Obama!” or “Mitt!” or if you never got around to scraping it off, “Dukakis!”) or that your identity is wrapped up in your favorite sports team (“Go Orioles!”).

Religious bumper stickers are no different in that sense. We all crave an identity and stickers are a way of driving an identifying stake into the ground. So when you see stickers like “Christians Aren’t Perfect, Just Forgiven,” it’s a way of claiming that tenet for the individual’s own life. Again, it can also be read as saying, “You – the guy in the next lane – is neither perfect, nor forgiven.”

Then there’s the fish symbol. I remember being in high school and being mortified when my mother put one on her gray 1985 Honda Accord. I thought it was some sort of Jesus freak thing that only hand-waving followers of televangelists put on their cars (she thankfully didn’t fit into this category). It wasn’t until years later that I learned the true story of this ancient symbol of Christianity.

Back during the early days of the church when the persecution of Christians was running rampant, they needed secret code to identify one another. The fish had a double meaning: it evoked Jesus (the call to the disciples to drop their nets and follow Jesus; the miracle of the Feeding of the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish; the post-Resurrection appearance when Jesus eats a broiled fish on the beach to prove he wasn’t merely a vision) and it was also an acronym. The Greek word for fish, icthus, served as an acronym comprising the first letters in Greek of “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior.” Not surprisingly, this symbol was often found in the catacombs of ancient Rome. In other words, it served as something akin to a bumper sticker.

For the record, I’ve never put an Episcopal Church sticker on my car (let alone a fish) not because I’m embarrassed to be an Episcopalian but because with the way I drive I don’t want my cutting someone off in traffic to be someone’s lone impression of my denomination. I did learn to drive in Brooklyn, after all.

10 Things That Annoy Me (the column)

In my latest monthly column for GateHouse Media I discuss the rationale for starting my new blog “10 Things That Annoy Me.” If you haven’t yet contributed a list, you can do so here. And if this little exercise has made your own list of annoyances, fear not. My vacation will be over soon enough.

10 Things That Annoy Me

In preparation for a little vacation time, I decided to start a new blog. You know, I wouldn’t want to be bored or anything. So on a whim I created a site called “10 Things That Annoy Me.” It’s not that I’m particularly negative – a touch sarcastic perhaps – but certainly not Eeyore-esque. I just thought it would be fun and cathartic to list (some of) the things that annoy me and encourage others to do likewise.

I’ve been surprised by how many people have submitted their lists to me, which I subsequently post on the website 10thingsthatannoyme.wordpress.com. I’ve seen everything from wearing a name tag to air quotes to soggy French fries to ferns. There is no dearth of annoyances and pet peeves lurking in people’s lives, many of which are as unexpected as they are amusing.

Some of my own include the Housewives of New Jersey, Orange County, etc; white zinfandel; prying my kids off the Xbox; stems on blueberries; trick candles; and attempting to fold fitted sheets.

One thing that happens in naming your annoyances is you start to reflect on those things that delight you. This little exercise helps remind us that there is always a need for balance in our daily emotions. When you’ve had it up to your neck with annoyances, it always helps to think about those things that delight you and engage them. For me, this would mean skipping rocks with my boys or sitting in my stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore or drinking a mug of freshly roasted and ground coffee. Making equal time, or at least some time, for the things that delight us is an important spiritual discipline.

Still, I don’t plan to start a website asking people to send me the 10 things that delight them.  Frankly, they’re not nearly as entertaining as the annoyances.

Some might say “Shouldn’t a priest focus on more positive things rather than dwelling on the negative?” To which I would respond, “If it weren’t for the goodness of God’s creation, coupled with the brokenness of humanity, I’d never have anything to say!” And anyway, I’m sure the human side of Jesus could have named at least 10 things that annoyed him during his earthly ministry. Things like walking on cold water or the disciples failure to understand his teachings or the crowds that wouldn’t leave him alone for a few quiet moments of prayer.

So I invite you to participate in and have fun with this interactive project. Just kindly take it in the spirit in which I intend — a humorous look at the foibles of the human condition. If we can’t laugh at ourselves what’s the point?

I’m sure you can name (at least) ten things that annoy you and I’d love to hear about them and put them on the website. The guidelines are simple: e-mail your list of ten things to me at frtim1@gmail.com, include a photo, and a one to two sentence bio. Then take a step back and let the catharsis begin!

In Good Faith: Everybody Loves a Parade!

Yes, my latest “In Good Faith” column is seasonally appropriate. Happy Fourth of July everyone!

Everybody Loves a Parade

“Everybody loves a parade!” Isn’t that the conventional wisdom? If that’s the case there must be a lot of happy people on the Fourth of July since thousands of parades take place all over the country. From sea to shining sea they’re striking up the marching bands, turning over the ignitions on antique cars and hoping their old uniforms still fit. The local politicians and this year’s Little League champs are in their glory.

Everybody loves a parade! Well, almost everybody. Check out the comments from this gentleman sitting in a lawn chair along the parade route. I asked him if he, like everybody else, “loved a parade”:

“Sure I do. Well, I mean it is pretty hot out and I think I’m getting a sunburn on my bald spot. Is anyone else feeling a bit dehydrated? Ouch! That clown (literally, a clown wearing a red nose, not just an annoying guy) just hit me in the head with a Tootsie Roll. Oh, great. Now that toddler sitting next to me is totally melting down because her Popsicle fell on my left shoe. I hate a parade!”

Let’s face it; ideals don’t always mesh with reality. Most of us love parades, but there are still some aggravating things to deal with like parking and over-stimulated children and diesel fumes. Fourth of July parades are wonderful celebrations of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We rejoice in the ideals that make this country great and we revel in the shroud of national pride. All while eating cotton candy, waving flags and cheering for Uncle Sam walking on stilts.

This doesn’t mean, however, that we have fulfilled all the ideals set forth in the Declaration of Independence. We can’t put up a giant banner proclaiming “Mission Accomplished!” as long as injustice and prejudice still exist in this country. Yet this is precisely why they’re called “ideals” – we continue to aim for them even if we haven’t fully attained them. Until everyone is fully able to participate in the American dream, the Founders’ vision has not yet been completely realized.

None of this diminishes the celebration; it simply puts it into context. Our collective work as a nation is not finished and hopefully our parades inspire us to return to the hard work of implementing our national ideals (after the barbecue, of course). In the same way, we worship God week after week and celebrate the ideals of the Christian faith. We’re not finished products, of course, and the church as a whole remains a human institution in all its fallibility. As individuals we spend our entire lives trying to live into our baptismal vows and as a church we spend our entirely lives trying to model divine realities to the world. This doesn’t diminish the ideal of Jesus’ mission and ministry – it simply puts our role into context. There is more work to be done.

In the meantime, go ahead and fire up the grill, put on your well-worn red, white and blue floppy hat, light those sparklers and enjoy the celebration of this great nation. Everybody loves a parade!

In Good Faith: Music Man

Zack at the 5th Grade Concert

In my June “In Good Faith” column I discuss annoying songs that get stuck in our heads and why it’s great to have a clarinet-playing 11-year-old in the house.

Music Man

I can’t get the Pink Panther theme music out of my head. This isn’t too bad as far as songs stuck in your head go. It could be much worse and it usually is – think soul killers like “Achy Breaky Heart” or “Who let the Dogs Out.” Or like the time we took our boys to Disney World and got stuck for twenty minutes inside the “It’s a Small World” ride when it experienced mechanical failure. Being trapped I could deal with; unfortunately there was no corresponding problem with the soundtrack which continued incessantly.

I’ve been humming the Pink Panther music ever since my 11-year-old son Zack started playing it on the clarinet. He’s been taking lessons for a year-and-a half and is actually very good. He must be a natural because we never had that hideous squeaking noise typically associated with beginning clarinet players. You know, the one that sounds like a chipmunk being run over by a Prius.

Why the clarinet? Well, there are two theories here. If you ask Zack he’ll tell you he chose it because that’s the instrument played by Squidward in SpongeBob Square Pants. But I’d also like to think he was drawn to it because it was my late father’s first instrument before he went on to a career as a Grammy Award-winning symphony orchestra conductor.

My boys never knew their grandfather – he died of cancer at 52 the year after I graduated from college. They have, however, heard many stories and have listed to CDs of his recorded music. When Zack first took up the clarinet – he had to pick something to play in the school band – he told me he wanted to “follow in Grandpa Andrew’s footsteps.” That’s the kind of thing that, no matter how much your kid might drive you crazy at times, melts your heart.

I’m just glad to see that one of my kids picked up the music gene. My father’s talent was not nearly as hereditary as I might have liked. Which is just a fancy way of saying that I quit many instruments growing up. From the violin to the piano to the French horn, nothing stuck. I was too busy working on my future career as the Baltimore Orioles’ shortstop to bother practicing.

There’s something wonderful about watching your children embrace a family trait or tradition or simply a shared passion. It might be a sport or woodworking or dancing or reading – the possibilities are limitless. The most important thing we can pass along, of course, is our faith. We can do this with words but it’s often the example that makes the greatest impact on our kids: how we live our lives, our priorities, the ways in which we treat other people, our demonstrated commitment to God. If you want your child to be a person of integrity and faith, wouldn’t you spend at least as much time modeling such behavior as you would educating him how to change the oil on your beloved roadster or teaching her how to use a lacrosse stick?

So I’ve been gladly putting up with the Pink Panther theme song. I know Zack won’t be playing it forever and if I could freeze this moment in time I would.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

In my latest “In Good Faith” column I talk about neighbors — good, bad, and annoying. We’re lucky here in Hingham. In New York? Not so much.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Unlike Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, we don’t get to choose our neighbors. Most of us fall in love with a new house or condo, move in, and only then think about the folks who live nearby. We hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and usually settle for something in between.

Like most people, my wife and I have had a variety of experiences with neighbors over the years. Some have been surly, some virtually invisible, some nosy, and some have become life-long friends.

The most dramatic difference occurred when we moved from a Baltimore row house to suburban Westchester County, New York. Living in a row house, you can’t exactly avoid your neighbors. Some mornings I’d have a better chance of running into a neighbor while drinking coffee on our tiny front porch than I would my own wife drinking coffee in the kitchen. In a very real way, your neighbors define your living experience when you live in a row house or an apartment. You simply can’t avoid social contact whether you’re in the mood for it or not. Having a disagreement with your spouse? The postage stamp-sized backyard is not the place to work things out unless you want that old lady peeking from behind the curtains in the house across the alley to know that your wife disapproved of your recent purchase of a foosball table.

We were pretty lucky in Baltimore – to our right we had an understanding family with two boys in the kindergarten/elementary school age range. At the time Ben was a toddler and Zack was an infant which meant that advice, consolation, and great hand-me-downs were in close proximity. On the left lived a single, young professional male we almost never saw or heard from. The only reason we even knew his name was the occasional errant mail delivery.

After a couple of years, this was contrasted with our experience in New York where the houses were all on two to three acre lots. On one side we never even met our neighbors after living there for seven years. On the other side, we met the husband after a few years. He showed up at our door one day apologizing for the fact that a truck he hired had knocked over our mailbox. After paying for a new one and countless offers to invite us over sometime, we never saw him again.

Some of the best neighbors we ever had lived in the graveyard adjacent to the apartment we lived in when we were first married. They were respectful, excellent listeners, and I never had to call the cops to shut down one of their raucous parties. If it wasn’t for the occasional graveside seven gun salute that used to scare me out of my wits, they would have been the perfect neighbors.

In the gospel of Luke, a young man asks Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” prompting Jesus to launch into the Parable of the Good Samaritan. One important point of this well-known parable is that Jesus broadens the definition of what it means to be a neighbor. Of course it also speaks of how to treat our neighbors but first it defines the concept of neighbor. Through it, Jesus expands the entire notion of neighborliness – it isn’t just our friends or our family or those who live nearby. There are no boundaries or limits to being a neighbor just as there are no boundaries or limits to God’s love for us. Our neighbors are our fellow children of God and we have an obligation to everyone. We don’t pick and choose whom to love; we love all because God loves all of us.

We hit the jackpot with our neighbors here in Hingham – and not just because we live next door to the church. We have great neighbors next to the rectory and across the street. We socialize with them, our kids play together, and we’ve been warmly welcomed since we first arrived nearly three years ago. And while Jesus redefines for all of us what it means to be a neighbor, it’s still nice having ones we like living next door.

The Thrill of the Hunt

In my latest “In Good Faith” column I talk about why I love Easter Egg hunts and lament that I’m no longer allowed to “compete” against four and five-year-olds.

A blessed Easter to everyone!

The Thrill of the Hunt

I like Easter egg hunts and I play to win. Actually, I haven’t been allowed to participate in one for quite a number of years, which is clearly a form of age discrimination. Just imagine the number of plastic eggs I could amass competing against a bunch of four and five-year-olds. I would dominate like LeBron James playing hoops against the local High School Junior Varsity team.

Most kids can’t imagine Easter Day without an Easter egg hunt. Whether it’s in the backyard organized by the older cousins or in a neighborhood park set up by parents, the reward is sweet. I used to love the adrenaline-pumping thrill of the hunt. And that was just last year. Actually we do hold an annual Easter egg hunt at my church following Easter services and while I’ve always thought its start resembled the Running of the Bulls at Pamplona, to my knowledge there have never been any egg-related injuries.

A few parents organize the hunt on the front lawn of the church with help from some eager teens – which means I occasionally stumble upon unfound eggs in mid-August. There’s no better reminder of the resurrection than encountering a gooey four-month old melted mixture of chocolate bunny and purple jelly beans inside a plastic egg.

I know that in some religious circles Easter egg hunts are anathema – something about being pagan in origin. And, yes, the egg as a symbol of rebirth and new life pre-dates Christianity. But I like Easter egg hunts and not just because free jelly beans are the best kind. I love watching a young child’s face light up with the thrill of discovery – nothing beats it.

And that thrill of discovery was precisely what took place on that first Easter morning. No, I’m not comparing Jesus’ resurrection to an Easter egg hunt but there is something wonderfully exhilarating about the moment of discovery. The disciples experienced it when they came upon the empty tomb and children experience it when they find an egg. The hope is that kids will find that same feeling of faithful discovery as they mature and move ever deeper into relationship with God.

The original “Aha moment” that took place over 2,000 years ago forever changed the world by proving that hope and faith and life conquer sin and death and the grave. We discover that out of darkness is light, out of pain is joy, out of death is life. This is the miracle of Easter; the reason we even bother with egg hunts and fancy hats and celebratory feasts and Peeps.

You could say that the disciples’ discovery of the empty tomb is inversely proportional to the disappointment of biting into an empty chocolate egg. Okay, that’s a dreadful analogy as one leads to new life while the other simply brings a return trip to the Easter basket. But this year I encourage you to think about the thrill of discovery on that first Easter morning. I guarantee that placing your celebration into a more spiritual context will make that Cadbury egg taste even sweeter.

Embracing the (mid-life) Crisis

With all the excitement over at Lent Madness, I’ve been unfaithful to my blog. There haven’t exactly been protests outside my office but nonetheless I’ve called in the riot police to quell any potential rioting. In my latest “In Good Faith” column I discuss Bryna’s “alleged” mid-life crisis. I’m doing the alleging and she’s doing the denying.

Embracing the (mid-life) Crisis

My wife is having a mid-life crisis. It’s not such a bad thing, actually. She’s training for her first half-marathon, dancing to the same pop songs our kids love (at their cranked-up volume!), doing hot yoga, hosting more parties, and loving her new job working as a case coordinator with families in crisis.

At first she wouldn’t admit it was a mid-life crisis but with her 40th birthday looming in May, there’s just no way around it. Okay, it’s not as if she was ever a stereotypical stick-in-the-mud church lady. Bryna has always had a zest for life but something is different and it’s a sight to behold.

I like to think I headed my own crisis off at the pass by running my first marathon when I was 38. Of course it also got kicked into the gutter by said wife when I announced a few years ago that I wanted a Vespa. How cool would it be for a priest to whip around town on a black scooter with a white stripe down the front, a Bible and communion kit in the saddle bags, while sipping an espresso? Bryna wasn’t convinced and told me I’d just get squashed like a bug by a mom on a cell phone driving a Cadillac Escalade. But I’m not bitter even though I went out and furtively aced the written test to get my motorcycle license which has long since expired. (Note to self: next time talk Harley and settle for a scooter).

Bryna tends to consider her “crisis” more of a new lease on life. You see last winter – on 1/11/11 – she broke both of her wrists while ice-skating with one of our boys. I’ve taken to referring to this as the Winter of our Discontent. For two months she literally couldn’t do anything by herself. I became single parent, home health aid, and groomer (I’m evidently horrible at styling women’s hair). Everything except the cook. People in the parish rallied in an amazing way and while I joked about “death by chicken casserole” no one went hungry.

After two months in casts and lots of ensuing physical therapy, Bryna’s wrists are basically back to normal. She doesn’t have and likely will never have complete range of motion in her right wrist (she broke that one in three places and, naturally, she’s right handed). But the rest of her seems to have embraced her inner bionic woman. She’s stronger physically and mentally. Really the only thing she still has trouble with is opening jars but, since, I’m not allowed to get a Vespa, at least I have this to show off my manliness around the kitchen.

While I’d never wish such an experience on anyone, Bryna’s approach is not a bad spiritual model. You’ve heard the expression “Dance as if no one is watching?” I’d say, “Live your life as if you’ve recovered from two broken wrists.” It is so easy to take life for granted and most of us are experts at this. I know I don’t give a fleeting thought to lifting a coffee mug to my lips (Bryna did not think it was romantic when I’d grab my own straw to share her morning coffee) or opening a door (she once locked herself in the bedroom after shutting the door with her foot then realized she couldn’t get it open again).

Everyone goes through various crises in life – whether at mid-life or otherwise. The trick is how we handle them both in the midst of the trauma and in its aftermath. If the life of faith teaches us anything it’s that God is in the middle of all our respective crises whether physical, emotional, or spiritual. Even in life’s darkest moments, there are rays of hope and snippets of grace. For us these were manifested as small acts of kindness from friends and neighbors and finding humor in every situation. Sometimes these moments are most visible only in retrospect but the living God watches over us night and day, in crisis and calm. Sometimes it’s hard to notice but at others it’s as obvious and easy as the flick of the wrist.