Losing Life, Winning Joy

If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it.

Matt 10:39 (New Living Translation)

I'm pretty stubborn. I keep insisting that I know best. The evidence shows, however, that I am misguided in my opinion of myself and that God's plans for me hold much more purpose and promise.

In short, it's not about me.

I came home from Cursillo 103 in Jackson where, as a team member, I contributed to the spiritual renewal of nearly two dozen candidates. It was my third turn as a team volunteer and, paradoxically, the easiest and the most difficult.

Every step of the way was filled with conflict for me. When contacted by the rector last fall, my first reaction was to say "no." But the stirrings of the spirit moved me from the obstinate toward the affirmative.

Our team meetings began in January. I relinquished my cherished two-wheeled weekends for fellowship and planning in Davis. Daydreams of Saturday bike rides were replaced by songs, prayers and table craft activities in preparation for the three-day retreat.

Just a week before the planned event, it was cancelled by diocesan leaders in March. Six weeks of sacrificed cycling days went for naught.

By mid-summer, a new date had been set. The team was being reassembled. Energy was rising. Those who dropped out were replaced by newcomers.

My thoughts again turned to whether I should participate. Was I still on the team? I called the rector and hoped that he would release me from my commitment. He said I was still onboard and he looked forward to my participation. I endured a few weeks of indecision on whether to fulfill my assignment or to sneak away through a resignation letter.

If I were to drop out, I should do it right away, I was told by confidants. Otherwise, it would be improper and unfair. So I procrastinated some more. In the end, I was left with no choice. I had to stay on the team.

I really can't help myself. I obsess about my need for experiences and exercise. Resuming the planning sessions before the rescheduled weekend in October, I would drive to Davis on Saturday mornings, thinking of the other activities I would prefer to be doing.

I also realize, however, that hours spent in community, in song, prayer and fellowship can change a person. Self-imposed walls will fall, and selfishness turns to selflessness. It can be an amazing transformation, and it has happened many times for me. It's just not my default position.

What's in it for me? One can't predict how Cursillo will impact them. When I showed up to prepare for the start of the weekend, I was determined to shed my selfish self and embody a generous one. As Rick Warren, one of my favorite pastors, wrote, "if you think you're too big for a small task, you're too small for a big one."

It felt good to check my ego at the door for the weekend. My job was to serve and support, to share and to listen. Through God's grace, it came naturally for me, though it wasn't so simple.

I have to be intentional about giving up, or releasing myself, at least at first, until the momentum of my ways can help me along. God granted me a break from my daily activities, and filled me with faith, love and hope that I shared with my teammates and newfound friends.

I wouldn't have experienced the joy had I said "no" earlier. That would have been shortsighted. Fortunately, for this weekend, it wasn't about me.

Angels on the High Way

Miles from home and nearly alone on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada, I was in the middle of a difficult cycling climb. From the floor of the high desert near the Nevada border, I had followed my buddy, Marc, about halfway up Monitor Pass, California highway 89.

We had already spent several hours on the road. Riding up the western route from Markleeville, we stopped at the summit before heading down toward US 395, hitting speeds of more than 44 mph, and coping with vicious cross winds.

Marc and I have cycled together for more than a year, up and down foothill and mountain roads. Habitually, before we clip into our pedals, we ask for God's protection from inattentive or mean-spirited drivers, and for our own heightened awareness of people and vehicles we encounter. We also give thanks for our strong bodies and the wonderful creation that God has put before us to enjoy. We know that we're never alone on these rides.

About 4 miles up we encountered two couples parked on the side of the road.

Marc was ahead of me and stopped between their two cars. They offered him an ice cold Diet Coke, which he and I happily shared. We chatted about our day and difficult return leg; the Bay Area couples were headed to Bishop for the weekend and stopped along the road for a picnic. They were interested in our story, asking lots of questions, including why we were doing this ride and whether it was part of a longer trek.

Moments later, one of the women brought us some sliced walnut bread, which also hit the spot.

To me, they were like good samaritans, helping us strangers up the hill, and I said as much. As we shoved off up the remaining slope, the Diet Coke and its modest caffeine had a great effect as we both felt rejuvenated.

But it was more than that. I felt the presence of my late father, David+, and longtime friend/mentor, Peter+, were present in the form of those two men. It really buoyed me and we charged up the back side. The Diet Coke and bread kind of symbolized an impromptu eucharist of sorts.

On this exposed mountainside, under a bright sun and swirling winds, a chance meeting among six people can be taken for granted, or it can be cherished for something far sweeter: God's angels met us on the road to lift our spirits.

A friend shared this with me: Black Elk, the 19th century Lakota holy man, became a Christian in his old age. One day a Methodist and an RC were arguing a point in the Gospels. Black Elk strolled up and said, "What are you arguing about? Even if it didn't happen, it's still true."

My maiden voyage

Originally posted Sept. 25, 2002

Whether it's painting a house, pole vaulting, or, as I would find out, sailing, it's never as easy as it looks.

My cousin recently "gave" me a 13' Chrysler sailboat, a two-man boat, with a main sail that is said to be a fun craft to sail. Having learned the basics of sailing on a similar Laser boat with my brother about 30 summers ago at the posh Monterey Yacht Club, I set out to renew my experience with things nautical. What could be finer, I dreamed, than an afternoon sail and teaching the basics and thrills of sailing to my 11-year-old son.

Well, after the first day, root canal comes to mind. I have about as much business being on the water as Adam Sandler has playing Shakespeare.

Made my maiden voyage at Folsom Lake Saturday. I think the Titanic had a more successful debut. I made about every mistake possible...twice. First of all, you really need two people to rig the thing. I finally get the mast up, and the line for the sail is so high up there I had to take it down in order to fetch it. That happened several times.

Backing up with the trailer is no cinch, either. Took me forever to get down the ramp. Once in the water, the boat, with the sail now attached, starts to take off with a gust of wind. I thought the jalopy would slam into one of the nice power boats, but narrowly missed it. But it capsized in the marina. No problem, as I capably righted the craft.

OK. Now I'm on the water, and the boat is starting to move pretty well. This is fun, I was hollering. But the traveler lines are tangled and I can't move the tiller. Can anything else go *&^$% wrong here??

Sun is setting so I better get back. But can I? I maneuver toward the marina and slowly make way toward home but the wind and current blow me 50 yards east of my target. Should have tacked well west, I guess, then drifted into position. I was so frustrated that after I got beached, I just walked the dumb boat around to the marina. It is now 10 minutes past dusk.

Oh no. Now I must get the trailer in position in the water to fetch the now-stinking vessel. After a 25-point reversal, the trailer is in position...diagonally. Oh well. I stumbled around in the dark to bring the boat to the trailer and fumble with the ropes to secure it. An experienced boatsman loses patience watching this comedy of errors: "Hey dude, how about taking care of that out of the water. You're taking up two spaces." "Right," I respond, muttering apologies about my first time.

I got home around 9:30 p.m. to a warm welcome from my family, who was growing concerned about my whereabouts. But I had persevered. I struggled through adversity and completed a solo sail on Folsom Lake.

THE most wonderful time of the year

Weeks of anticipation finally came to an end. An evening spent in song at church set the stage for what would be a great day. The Easter Vigil service announced Resurrection Day is here.

For the first time in my life, I feel as excited about Easter as I have about Christmas. A Lenten season of study and introspection was as challenging as trying to avoid the commercial come-ons during the, um, holiday shopping season.

So what's different this time? Something personal. A deeper understanding of Christ's sacrifice for me. You can't get to the tomb without first going to the cross. The journey won't always be easy. Learn to be patient.

The six weeks of Lent was not spent in self-denial. Opportunities for recreation were abundant. There were setbacks, too, with illness. But quality time was spent with others pondering our unfortunate brothers and sisters around the world who battle disease, poverty and other hardships. Readings and discussion groups took us deeper than we've been before. Once there, we could see through the eyes of Jesus Christ for the first time.

I can feel Jesus' pain and disappointment over the cruel fates endured by the poor and destitute and the indifference shown by many who can make a difference. My Lenten experience brought me into his presence during his trials after entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.

I could relate to the events of his Last Supper, betrayal, and execution like no time in the past. There was dread, even though I know the story. The weight of our corporate guilt was heavy.

But Saturday night, during the vigil service, the stone was rolled away from our hearts. The lights came on and the tomb was empty. My heart rejoiced. He is risen, indeed.

There was no holiday tinsel or colored lights this time. Just the greatest gift. My Lord lives. Alleluia.