Didn't Expect to Hear That

So last week I'm visiting my mother in her nursing home and she says to me, "Kevin, can you find my underwear?"

Dumbfounded but without missing a beat I replied, "Sure Mom, what in particular are you looking for? A bra?"

She replied, "Well I know I have a whole pile of bras and panties but the aid couldn't find them. Would you please look for them?"

This is what happens when a person's world shrinks after eight months of health setbacks. In little more than a year, my mother has gone from a woman living on her own in a two-bedroom condo packed with possessions gathered over a lifetime, to a woman in a hospital bed with a few family pictures on the window sill, some clothes hanging in a closet, a few books, some jewelry, toiletries, and, well that's about it. I could fit her possessions in a medium-sized suit case. And, unfortunately, there was no underwear anywhere to be found.

At my mother's insistance I telephoned my sister. A few months ago, when my mother could no longer stay in her little apartment after falling and breaking her back, my sister moved my mother's few furniture pieces into storage and is keeping most of her clothes. She explained to me that my mother didn't need additional underwear beyond what the hospital had provided. However, we agreed, that since she was asking, she'd bring some bras and panties to the facility.

Wow. It took nearly fifty years, but that was my first-ever conversation about women's underwear with my mother. Fortunately, when I visit we talk about other things as well. Many topics are new, like how she needs to keep working in physical therapy, that her family loves her and wants to see her up and about, and that if she can't find the strength to get out of bed, we may not have her around too much longer.

While I still believe my mother can recover somewhat and live independently again, there's no guaranty I'll see anything better than this. The years have taken a mighty toll and she's tired. I don't blame her for her condition, because she has been the wronged party in many relationships--from her overly strict parents to her philandering husband, my mother has endured a life where she didn't feel celebrated or wanted. She, however, did soldier on giving unselfishly (though imperfectly) to her family and succeeded in launching four children relatively unscathed into adulthood, which is a pretty amazing feat.

I don't know how to help my mother get better. I know I can be a better son, but I talk to her more frequently now than at anytime in my adult life. I consult with my siblings as we talk about how best to support her, and we've become closer as a result. I've even spoken to medical and legal professionals for advice. However, when I'm with her, there's not much to say beyond, "I pray for you Mom." "I want you to get better." "Your grandchildren would like to see you more." "You can do it!"

And, when I'm with her I'll do whatever she asks, even if it involves looking for errant panties.

Detour on the Path to the Fountain of Youth

The road to maturity is not a straight line. It zigs and zags and sometimes backtracks. Youth on the other hand is fleeting. Once it's gone, it's gone. Youth leaves strong memories that flash to the front of your mind through sights and sounds and feelings.

Baseball reminds me of my youth. So do popsicles and lazy summer days. Something about being outdoors and carefree reminds me of being young. I love summer and I love the memories of summers past.

My summer opened with a flourish this past weekend as I competed in my season's first triathlon. After my successful return to competition last year, I trained throughout the fall and winter with hopes of greater success this summer.

2011 was going to be my breakout triathlon season. Having fallen in with a few seasoned veterans who know how to train, I developed a training routine that got me faster and stronger. Also, because I turn 50 this year, this season I get to compete against older athletes. In fact, in many races this year, I'm going to be the youngest competitor in the 50 - 54 group.

My hopes for great success were dashed somewhat in January when I had my first ever operation--a bilateral hernia repair. That stopped my training for nearly two months. Then, in early April, just when I was getting back up to speed, my left shoulder became so sore, I could barely lift it.

But, I soldiered on, and continued training. Slowly I added more swimming laps, testing the shoulder. Then I started adding distance to my runs. I even took the bike out for a couple of spins. Ready or not, race season was here and it was time for me to get moving.

While competing in triathlons doesn't make me feel young, it does help me contend with aging. Training helps me keep my weight down, my joints flexible, and my spirits up. Since I have no choice but to turn 50 this year, I might as well be the strongest, fastest, meanest 50-year-old I can be. So I run, I bike, I swim, almost every day.

Youth is so attractive, which is why finding the fountain of youth is a never ending quest. While adventurers and explorers no longer drudge through malarial swamps in search of the fountain, hordes of middle aged strivers flock to physicians hoping to find a pill an injection or an operation that will give back at least the appearance of youth.

On the other hand, old age can be repellant. As my mother's health continues to decline, I'm amazed at how uninviting are her nursing homes. Unlike my son's school that is filled with youth and virtually throbs with energy, my mother's nursing home feels cold and lethargic. Though smiling staff give a welcoming appearance, the residents are hunched, unsmiling and lifeless. I want to leave the minute I get there.

So in my quest to remain lively, if not exactly youthful, I've found triathlon training the right tonic for me. As I push myself I'm engaged, alert and alive. It's the best I can do right now.

After Sunday's race, I was satisfied with my results. Considering that I lost almost eight weeks of training this year while recovering from major surgery and injury, to finish 8th of 30 in my age group was not a bad result. My goal is still a top five finish sometime this summer, and I have several races ahead for me to achieve that goal.

Being young is easy. In the world's eyes, you are appealing simply because of your youth. As you get older, however, the world turns its gaze away ever so slightly as each day passes. By the time you're my age, you are interesting only if you've achieved something or can do something for others. As you connect with the world, to stay relevant you must give more and expect less in return. Just at the time when you have more to offer because of your wisdom and experience, the world looks to younger faces for fresh ideas and creative energy. I can't control that.

But I can shave some seconds off my quarter mile splits. I can improve my swimming stroke. And I can get a decent racing bike, finally! And I can crack the top five. Don't worry, you'll be the first to hear it. Haha.

The Power of Penance

King Nebuchadnezzar felt miserable when he should have been overjoyed. As the King of Babylon and head of an empire that dominated the known world he was certainly the richest and most powerful man in the world.

Yet, his sleep was troubled by dreams. Dreams that gnawed at his insides and invaded his waking hours. On top of the world yet during the darkest hours he saw brokenness and devastation.

"What do these dreams mean?" the King asked his trusted advisor Daniel. Daniel hesitated--because he loved the King and hated delivering bad news. "I wish this dream belonged to your enemy, not to you," he said.

"Tell me anyway," the King demanded. "Well," said Daniel, "you have not honored God for your accomplishments, therefore, all this will be taken away from you. Beg God for mercy and maybe this fate will pass."

The story jumps from Daniel's plea to a day in the future when Nebuchadnezzar was on top of his palace, surveying his magnicent city and empire. "What great works I have done," he said to himself with a satisfied smile. Clearly he had never begged God for mercy--and perhaps the dreams ceased to trouble him. In any event neither the dreams nor Daniel's pleas made a lasting impression.

At that moment, the King hears the voice of God who says, "Because you have not honored me, I am taking this all away from you."

The story then shifts to a first person narrative. Nebuchadnezzar speaks directly to the readers and tells of his ordeal--how at that moment he lost his mind and lived like a wild beast. However, after a year, he turned his face to heaven and as quickly as it was taken away, everything was returned to him: his sanity, his position and his wealth.

Apparently that singular act of looking to God was all the King needed to do to show the creator of the universe that he was truly humbled. At that moment he knew in his heart that the splendor of his life came as a result of God's favor, not simply because of the King's merit.

Sin is disobeying God either in the things we do, or the things we fail to do. In Nebuchadnezzar's case, his sin was one of omission, not one of commission. He had not committed any particularly evil act, on the contrary, Nebuchadnezzar's rule was reknowned for its wisdom, tolerance and mercy. No, the King's sin involved a failure to act. In his pride he refused to honor the true power behind his throne, the Lord God Jehovah. And, for failing to acknowledge God, the King was humbled.

Many of us consider ourselves "good" because we don't do a lot of "bad" things. We don't beat children. We don't post pictures of ourselves in our underwear on the internet. And we don't steal from the elderly (though wrong change we consider a "gift").

But how many acts of goodness do we do simply to honor God. Do we praise him for a beautiful day. When breaks seem to fall our way to we congratulate ourselves for our good fortune?

The lesson from the Scriptures is that humans are supposed to praise God not just when the mood strikes, or when we need something, but because from deep down in our hearts praises seem to well up, almost without conscious thought. Until we reach that place--where the love of God is something we feel without any special prompt or reason, we may find ourselves in Nebuchadnezzar's shoes. God's favor is not something we earn. It's not something we can manipulate. God's favor comes when our spirit finds union with the Creator. And sometimes achieving that union, if it comes at all, requires a long sojourn in the wilderness.

May we all find that place of union and harmony with God, without encountering too much pain and suffering first!

Ratted Out at the Club

OK, maybe it was kind of a stretch.

The Detroit Athletic Club has a special membership category for clergy. My good friend has wanted me to join for years. "It will be way cheaper for you," he always said. Until recently I hesitated because I'm not really a joiner--I have a hard time getting all enthused about "exclusive" groups. I want to be known as a person with talents, skills, family, achievements, and a loving generous heart, not the person defined by his affiliations and involvements.

But, lately I've been missing the social side of work I lost when I left American Laser Centers. For nearly eight years I enjoyed the comradery of working with a group of high-powered, kind of crazy, always interesting men. As a "team of one" in my consulting business, it's just not the same.

So, for me DAC membership became interesting as a place where I could make some new friendships and enjoy the company of professional, athletically inclined men. And, since they offered a special price for clergy--and, as you know, I am a clergyman, I thought, why not? I spent many long years earning my clergy credentials and if the DAC wants to honor that, I'll gladly oblige.

When I first contacted the club about clergy membership, I was told there was a waiting list (only 125 members at a time can be in this category), but that I should put my membership application in anyway. "To be ready when a space opens," the cheerful club represenative told me.

So I submitted my membership application. My friend helped me gather required recommendations from exisitng members, and I waited.

In March, out of the blue, the club called and told me that a clergy spot had opened and they wondered whether I was still interesed in membership. I said, "sure" and the representative quickly scheduled me to meet with the club's Board of Directors. All prospective members must meet with Board representatives who then vote on all new club members.

Around noon on Wednesday the next week, I and several other potential club members visited with Board members. I even sat privately with a member who officially interviewed me. Later that day I was telephoned by the club representative who I had been talking to about membership all along. "Rev. Piecuch," she said, "I have wonderful news." "Really?" I replied." "Yes, the Board has approved your membership application." "Great," I responded. And my first thought was, "I wonder how much this is going to cost me?"

In the weeks since I was voted in, I have enjoyed using the club's facilities and eating in their wonderful dining rooms. I've even met a few other members. The decision to join has seemed so right . . . up until Friday.

That afternoon I was working at the Novi Expo Center representing my PhotoTheric business (that's another story), when my cell phone started ringing. Not recognizing the number I answered, "Kevin Piecuch."

"This is Mary from the DAC." Oh yes, the friendly club representative who weeks earlier sounded overjoyed in welcoming me first as a newly elected member. The voice sounded less chipper, but I was in a noisy place.

"Umm, we have a problem with your membership. There's been a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "It's come to our attention that you have a consulting business."

"Yes," I said, a little incredulous.

"Well clergy members of the club must spend all their time doing clergy work. Otherwise they do not qualify for that membership category," she explained, sounding more like my grade school principal than the person who encouraged me to submit my application as quickly as possible.

"I've been upfront with everyone about my work," I said. "I never hid from anyone that I was not serving a congregation at the moment."

"Well perhaps your sponsor didn't know that you did not fit the clergy membership criteria. And we're not suggesting that you tried to hide something. It's just that there are many other club members in your situation."

"There are?" I said even more incredulous.

"Oh yes, many of our members are deacons and active in their churches."

"But I'm a seminary trained ordained clergyman. A deacon is not the same thing."

"Well," she said, "there are attorneys in the club who are also ordained, and they are resident members."

"Really?" I responded, wondering who they were.

"Yes. So, what do you want to do now?"

"What do I want to do?" I asked. "What are my options?"

"Well to move to Resident Member status you'll have to make an additional entrance payment and your monthly dues will increase."

"Let me talk to my wife," I said. "I'll get back to you."

"Yes," she said rather clipped. "I'll send you the portion of the our Bylaws that talks about membership categories. It's all very clear in the Bylaws."

Later I received an email from Mary. Whereas all previous communications from her had been sent to "Rev. Piecuch," now in the greeting she wrote, "Dear Mr. Piecuch." I guess I'm no longer clergy in her mind.

And there it was in black and white. In Section 7 of Article 1 of the DAC Bylaws, it says, "An unretired commissioned officer in full time active duty in the military service of the United States or a member of the clergy serving full time and exclusively as such . . . may be elected to membership in the manner prescribed." The article continues, "Such membership is to terminate upon the removal of said member from the aforesaid prescribed area, or whenever the Board is advised that the member is no longer serving full time and exclusively as a military or clergy person."

Then it hit me: somebody "advised the Board" that I was not working full time as clergy. How the Board didn't know that before I was elected as a member is mysterious to me. Every Board member I met the day I was elected I told that I was also an attorney who works with various clients. They didn't bat an eye--and in fact elected me as a clergy member. But, apparently somebody else in the club felt differently.

Perhaps one of those deacons saw my name on the new member list, or that mysterious attorney who also went to seminary, and ratted me out. Or, maybe some other member aware of my employment status, thought I was trying to "get one over" on the club and called the membership office.

I am guilty of not reading the Bylaws before joining the DAC. However, I am innocent of fraud. As a fully licensed minister of the Word and Sacrament, I believed (as did many others) that I qualified to join the club as a clergy member. Now, I'm told, I have to pay up or walk away.

While I typically don't like to join clubs, I like even less being thrown out of an establishment before I'm ready to leave. I was not ready to leave American Laser Centers the day I was told to pack up my office. I'm not ready to leave the DAC, not just yet.

However, as I think about this little snafu, I feel perplexed. I try to keep a low profile in life and I believe I'm well liked by those who know me. Every time I find out differently I get surprised. Somebody was bothered enough about my membership that he/she called the DAC office to "tell on me." Who would do that, especially since I was so open about my employment? And, really, who rats out a clergy man, even one like me who earns income outside the church?

The Right Gift

Who loves us more: the person who gives us what we ask for, or the person who gives us what we need? The former sounds like a friend--the later sounds like a parent.

"Like" relationships are purely discretionary. Those who amuse us, encourage us, inspire us, are people we choose to be around. However, if those same people become boring, offend us, or no longer raise our spirits, we may choose to end our relationship. Someone I know calls these relationships "flavors of the month." This happens to me all the time. I meet someone new, find some common ground, enjoy their company, and I believe I've just made a fantastic friend.

However, after a few meetings, I discover the person possesses certain annoying habits, may not be as smart as I thought, and becomes less interesting to me every day. And, since I'm not willing to make a special effort to continue our relationship, the person just drifts out of my life. I sometimes even forget their names.

Family members and true friendships, however, are built on more substantial ground. Years of interaction create a rich context for these relationships, a context that includes good times and bad, happy and sad. One bad day shouldn't doom a friendship. One day when we're "off our game" won't get us disowned from family. If our friendships and family relationships are healthy, they are about more than passing amusements. They involve building trust, mutual respect and growth. Our friends and close family give us what we need to be harmonious human beings. Watch an episode of Family Guy if you need a laugh. However, call a family member or friend if we need help with our lives.

Which leads me to the Book of Acts. (OK, my transition is a little abrupt today). In Chapter 3, Peter and John are on their way to pray in the temple. They run into a lame man who asks them for money. The apostles say they don't have money, but can give him something far better. Then, stretching out their hands, they take hold of the man, pull him up and all of a sudden, the man's ankles strenghten and he can walk. In fact Scripture said the man began "walking and leaping and praising God." Talk about lifting a man out of poverty. The apostles knew what the man really needed.

In ancient times the ability to do manual labor might be the only thing standing between life and starvation. Accordingly, physical disability was devastating. Especially as the person grew older and could not depend on the care of parents, life became precarious for the blind, the dumb, and the lame. While a few coins could ward off starvation for a day, what that man really needed was a miracle: strong legs and the ability to walk.

So, in response to the lame man's request, the apostles gave a far better gift.

I wonder, are we giving the right gifts to the people around us? When our children ask for XBox games, do we cave in, assuring ourselves that good parents take care of their children. Or, do we seek to give our children the tools they need to lead a happy and successful life--gifts such as faith, love and discipline--whether or not our children know to ask for them.

And, what are we asking of God? Do we ask for wealth, saying that freed of money worries we can pray more effectively or have additional resources to share with the needy. Do we ask for popularity, saying the more people who like us, the larger circle of influence we'll have to encourage godly behavior. Do we ask God for material goods so that we'll be better respected in the community? These thoughts were captured long ago by Janis Joplin who sang in a voice dripping with irony, "O Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz."

I think I understand this lesson. Jesus promised us, "Ask and it shall be given to you." What Jesus didn't do, however, is define "it". "It" may not be what we asked for--it might just be what we need. So go ahead and ask God for whatever you want. Ask for that flat screen TV. Ask for a better job. Just be sure you understand why you're asking for that particular gift. Perhaps there's a deeper need that God is looking to fill. And, be prepared. What God gives us in response to our asking might just blow our minds . . . and cause us to "walk, leap and praise."

Now God, about that new job . . . .

Jonah Changed His Mind

Talk about feeling regrets at just the right moment, consider the biblical character Jonah.

You know the story. God asked Jonah to do a task he did not want to do--which was to share a word of warning to the people of Nineveh, the hated enemies of Israel. Jonah refused the task and decided he could outrun God.

Bad idea. Instead of outrunning the Lord, Jonah found himself in the middle of a raging storm, which was about to engulf his ship and drown all his fellow passengers. Jonah, knowing the storm was God's way of saying, "You can't run from me" told the sailors to throw him overboard and their lives would be saved. At first they refused, but when Jonah explained he had defied Almighty God, they agreed and heaved him into the raging seas.

The storm stopped and Jonah was swallowed immediately by an enormous fish.

As the fish was descending into the depths of the ocean, Jonah said he felt his life ebbing. He said he also remembered how much he loved God and that how thankful he was that God gave him an opportunity for service.

Isn't that just like us? We have the opportunity to do right when it is convenient, when saying "yes" means simply doing what stands before us. But no, how often do we act like Jonah and go to great lengths to refuse service. How often to we spurn performing acts of kindness and compassion when the need before us is clear. Why? Simply because we would rather do wrong than obey. God tells us to give food to the hungry man and we choose to go a different route. God tells us to help our wife and we stay longer at work. God tells us to pick up the telephone and call our parents, but we keep watching the game.

Then later, when we're far away, we remember the hungry person, our family members, and our responsibility to show love not just receive love, and we change our minds. But, perhaps the moment is lost.

In Jonah's case, God spared his life and he was given a second opportunity to take the message to Ninevah.

How many second chances do we have to do right? Wouldn't it be simpler just to obey at the outset, than to think we can outrun God. What was Jonah thinking, really? What am I thinking, really?

St. Paul Sings!

Biblical scholars agree that the letters of St. Paul include some very early Christian hymns. It's the best way to explain why his writings sometimes include bursts of poetry, right at the end of some complicated point of doctrine. It's as if that hard boiled saint, at the end of writing something really profound, just felt the need to belt out a song.

I know how the man felt because I too am often moved to sing at random times of the day. I have no idea how others react to this--and I'm not sure how many folks outside my family circle have actually witnessed my song and dance act. But, it's a frequent event. My life is a musical comedy--songs just appear for sometimes no apparent reason.

In today's lectionary reading from Paul's letter the Romans, our saint explained in passionate detail that despite their rejection of Jesus, God has not rejected his people Israel. After all, says Paul, "the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable." Being the beneficiary of God's gifts is like buying items at a going out of business sale--you can never take them back. Once bought, the sale is final.

Paul is so moved by God's remarkable goodness--giving gifts to people who don't deserve them, and then never wanting them back--he finds himself bursting into song. Read Romans 11:33-36. "Oh the depths of the riches, the wisdom and knowledge of God. How unsearchable are his judgments and inscrutable his ways." I actually have a tune for that hymn burned into my memory from days long ago at the Mulford Evangelical Free Church in Muscatine, Iowa. This passage was set to music and sung by our church choir on numerous occassions. The tune sounded like a football fight song and the choir sang it with zest.

God loves humanity completely and without regard to our behavior. Our failures, rejections, infatuations with other gods notwithstanding, God loves us, accepts us, and calls in into fellowship. This love is far different than the love we share. While our love is fickle and often depends on the object of our love acting a certain way, God's love is without condition. While our love is narrow in focus, rarely extending beyond those closest to us, God's love crosses all boundaries. Finally, while our love sometimes fades with time, God's love grows stronger by the day.

When faced with such boundless, perfect love, it's enough to make a person burst into song . . . just like St. Paul.