David’s Eulogy

I prayed over this for several hours to distill my brother’s life down to fifteen minutes. People told me I did well, who knows, but when I read it I smile and it brings David back to my mind. I guess that’s how I know it works. Here it is, because I don’t want him to leave my mind:

“I apologize in advance if this takes a while. I want to tell you about who David was to me and what I learned about God from him. And that will involve more than a few stories.

When he was young, he was the cute, charming, and funny brother. Everyone’s little buddy. I was the hyperactive nerdy overachiever. We both had our own ways of making our marks on the world.

When we got older, David was athletic and popular. I was still a nerdy overachiever. David accumulated friends and relationships. I went for grades and accomplishments.

I thought dismissively at the time that David was popular, class president key player in the party crowd, because he was a big football player. But what I missed was one key thing about David’s natural wisdom.

There’s a semi-famous quote from this 90’s movie called “Blast from the Past” that said “a gentleman is someone who always tries to make sure the people around him are as comfortable as possible.” That was David. He wasn’t just popular just because he was a jock. He was popular because he had a knack for putting people around him at ease. He was always at their service. And rather than seeking to be admired, David sought to admire others. I missed that until we were much older.

And, he was a really good sport. He was a master at “going with the flow” and accompanying people in things that they, not necessarily he, liked. Sound familiar?

He let me drag him to all sorts of things out of his comfort zone. Like to eat Ethiopian food for instance. As long as he could find something that looked like basic bread and meat for himself, he was happy just to be with you and witness your enjoyment of whatever nasty thing you were eating.

I dragged him to a rave in the 90’s. In an abandoned bank, back before the revival, downtown Houston was still a little scary at night. That was quite an adventure. Afterwards we had breakfast at Denny’s and compared notes. I noted that, after having been to college, people on ecstasy are way more pleasant than drunk people. I also paid more attention to all the art and weird costumes. David, ever the DJ and youth minister, was doing research. He noted the sound system, layout, lighting, what vendors were selling and how they were set up, the varieties of glowing objects offered for sale, and observations about youth culture of the time. If David DJed for your event in the past few decades I can tell you that David put a lot of thought into what he did and how to make an event fun and exciting.

I dragged the whole family to a poetry reading down by the Menil on one of my birthdays. They were a captive audience. Let’s say that the poets there were quite colorful and of… variable quality. We decided that at least some of the poets were no better than we could do ourselves. And I pointed out that, well, they got up there and we did not.

David took that to heart and scheduled a special family poetry reading at his house a few weeks later. We all gathered and brought our favorite poetry to read. David wrote and performed two original, funny, clever, and kind of touching slam-style spoken word pieces using props. Banging loudly on an empty water cooler bottle and while walking on a treadmill. He was the highlight of the night. He could have been the highlight of that first poetry reading we went to if he had performed there.

But David started to win me over to his way of being when I went with him and started to help him do some of what he did. I started to witness and admire the deceptive genius of all that fun stuff he did with the kids.

I DJed a few events with him and for him. That was not just hard work –first to arrive and last to leave lugging heavy stuff solving logistics issues — but it required the ability to be in tune with and respond to the mood and flow of a crowd and this special party master presence and voice that is not as easy as David made it seem. Few things David did were as easy as David made them seem.

I got defensive of my little brother when “responsible adults” would dismiss what he did as not being real work. “You get paid to eat pizza and go to Astroworld? What a job!” I’ll tell you since I went with him once as a chaperone, being in charge of dozens of kids at a large amusement park, in the days before cell phones, was quite stressful and a lot of work. I spent a whole lot of time looking at a list and counting kids. David struck the balance of being the responsible adult, stern when he had to be, but still fun and friendly with the kids in his care.

He made a career out of being both Mary and Martha at the same time, doing a job that the responsible adult world didn’t take very seriously. But as I witnessed what he did and how he did it, I grew to admire David. And his way taught me some things about God.

We’ve all probably heard the quote attributed to St. Francis about preaching the gospel at all times and using words if necessary. David definitely preached the Gospel with his life.

David was a Man for Others, a Fool for Christ, and Completely Useless in the holiest of ways.

A Man for Others

David was a man for others. That’s a Jesuit phrase, but the title fits David very well.

David chose a 30+ year career of service to the Church. You don’t work for the Church for the money. You do it for the love.

David, with his wife Cindy, adopted three children — Victor, Bruno, and Fiona — and served his family with devotion. You don’t choose a vocation like that for glory or fame. You choose that for love.

David served our mom and dad with devotion too. He lived down the street from them and was always available when they needed him. He even changed jobs away from youth ministry in his last years so his work schedule would allow him to be there for our father in his last years.

David was always looking for a way to help others in every situation. He was naturally in tune with those around him and put others’ comfort on par with or above his own. That was just who he was.

In fact, sometimes I think, to a fault.

One of our last conversations over dinner a couple weeks before he died, we talked about how he needed to take more time for himself. Take better care of himself. He agreed and said, “you know, maybe I need to get myself a hobby.” I agreed, wanting to encourage him, so I asked him, “okay so the last time you found yourself really in the zone, so wrapped up in what you were doing, that you forgot time and didn’t want to stop when it was time to stop, what were you doing?” He said, I was DJing a junior high school dance.

Of course that’s what he said. What he en-JOY-ed most, with the emphasis on JOY, was helping others have fun.

David’s example inspires me, and all of us, be “men and women for others” In that way I can honor what David did with his life.

A Fool for Christ

St. Paul wrote in 1 Cor 4:10 “We are fools for Christ’s sake, but yet are wise in Christ;”

David often played the “Holy Fool.” A great tradition in the Church (google it). By being the Fool, he was wise in Christ

All of us, especially the thousands of teens he served, are bombarded by pressures to act or look a certain way, stay within the lines

David tossed all those things out the window when it came to serving Christ. A Holy Fool uses unconventional behavior and challenges accepted norms to serve the Gospel. That describes David, doesn’t it?

With his signature bright colored tie-dye shirt, overalls. He would wear silly hats. Use silly props. Sing loud and silly songs. Do silly dances.

“High Five The Lord”

His example gave all of us permission to let go, relax, and let God move us.

He gave the hyperactive kids squirming in their seats a chance to get up and jump for Jesus. His example gave the shy quiet kids encouragement that it might be okay to raise their hands a little bit and give praise to God with everyone else.

He wasn’t afraid to make messes for Jesus. Epic messes that made “responsible adults” wince. Anyone remember Jello-rama? He made messes, sure, but with them he made fond memories people carried with them their whole lives.

He tossed nutrition out the window. He knew what kids wanted to eat. And he knew that he needed to feed them. He served well over 25,000 pizzas in his youth ministry career here at Epiphany alone.

After he fed them pizza and had them run around and play games, sing and dance, then he would settle them down to pray and praise God. But what they didn’t realize was that in the sharing pizza, games, dances, and songs, they already had been praying and praising God.

At what point did we unlearn how to pray like that? David never stopped trying to get people to pray like that.

David’s example inspires me to let my guard down, quit worrying so much about appearances, and be more of a “fool for Christ.” In that way I can honor what David said to us with his life.

Useless in the Holiest of Ways

Most importantly, David was a maestro, a natural genius, of Uselessness.

I suppose I should explain. St. John Henry Newman is one of my favorite theologians. He wrote in his “Idea of a University” that, while learning useful skills is important, they are important because they help us attain to higher things. David’s photo booth was use-ful because it helped people have fun, capture memories, and enjoy being together.

The most important things in life are use-less, like fun, fond memories, and being together. They don’t serve a higher end, they *are* the higher end.

David’s life’s work was devoted to use-less activities.

He knew and could do all sorts of useful things…

He could plan events for hundreds of people. He could teach the faith to a large crowd in a way that was fun and engaging. He could set up large sound systems and light displays. He could screen print tshirts. He could build things. Run a photo booth, a cotton candy machine, karaoke, all at the same time. He invented a way to make jello eggs solid balloons full of jello for his Jello-rama events. He was clever and resourceful in lots of use-ful ways.

David had all sorts of useful stuff. Lots of stuff. Everywhere.

I had the opportunity to start clearing out Dave’s office this last week here at Epiphany. I was expecting it to be a mournful chore, but it turned into a privileged witness to the dailiness of my brother. Every item pointed to a higher end. He had lots of tools, books of ministry resources, props for skits, sound cords and connectors, photo booth supplies. Almost everything was use-ful for some higher end and provided some means to serve others. Even the décor on his walls – the funny sayings, the nuns having fun – were use-ful in giving visitors an occasion to smile or laugh or reflect on their faith. David’s office, like David himself, was an icon of the use-ful in service to the highest use-less things in life.

As I was trying to establish some kind of order to all this stuff, I imagined Marie Kondo herself sitting down with Dave, holding up a pair of rubber hairy inflatable worms and asking, “Does this spark Joy?” And I imagined David responding, “Well, a little. But the important thing is that it can help me spark joy in others. That’s the question you should be asking. How does this serve God?”

David was a master of the most use-less, holiest things, praise, play, fun, games, community, relationships, laughter, enjoyment, and rest

David showed me how much work it took to help others rest, play and refresh themselves in the Lord. He could be both Martha and Mary at once and not skip a beat.

One of my other favorite theologians, Thomas Merton, says we are all spoken “like words from the mouth of God containing a partial thought of himself.” When God created David, He spoke a unique combination of service, kindness, fun, laughter, play, and joy into our world. David showed us a special view of God’s love for us just by being David.”

File Manager Archaeology: a family toast

Going through the files on my laptop I cam across a toast I wrote for a family gathering. I can’t remember what gathering or whether I gave the toast or not. But it’s still true, and heartfelt.

“In the beginning, before the earth and the stars, before time itself,
There is a family — A lover who pours out his (or her) self as a gift just for the one he loves,
A beloved, who receives that gift and responds perfectly in kind,
And the love exchanged between them, from which everything is made.
This giving and receiving and giving again,
This pouring out and replenishing,
This intimate, mutual self-gift,
Takes on a life of its very own
And creates the world we know.
Kind of like how two wonderful people can become something astonishing
Once they place the word “and” between their names —
Dede and David, Don and Blanche, Heidi and Cody –
And they give their lives to that tiny, miraculous, terrifying word “and”
Two become one, while still being two. Living the “and.”
That “and” becomes an “us,” which changes
sportscars into minivans,
nightclubs into night feedings,
“tables for two” into “Tables for four, two kids menus, and a booster seat.”
I started my life as a beloved, completely unable to comprehend what I was receiving.
I simply cried and a big person who loved me was suddenly there.
I had no idea that they were sleeping, that they had an early work meeting,
that they grumbled all the way down the hall to my crib.
All I knew is that they were there.
And they were there. And they were there again. Over and over. That’s how we learn.
What fuels my hope for the world are all the marvelous ways we family are there for each other. And the beautiful things, the Neals, the Brads, the Hannahs, and for that matter the Addies and the Sarahs, that come to us from that original mutual gift of self,
And all the bright young people are poised on the brink of their stint in the world as lovers and givers of self, living the “and” that they learned from us. (God help us.)
And this long-winded toast is just to say that, with this family, I am in the presence of God himself.
You may not be pious or devout, but Jesus never cared much for that. But how you love, that was
everything to him. And, as far as I can see from this family, love is everything to you.
The tenderness of a father for his son, the way two fine sons honor and respect their mother, the flame
of passion that burns brighter between Husband and Wife because of the years between them, not in
spite of them. We might as well be in church.
This weekend Heidi and I feel like the beloved, receiving your gift of generosity and invitation. And we
respond with witness, gratitude, and heartfelt admiration.
My eyes are bright with praise of God for being amongst all of you. To me families like yours are the very Sacrament of his presence in the world. The very hope I have for the future.”

Holding up Moses’ Arms

In my men’s bible study today we were reading from Exodus 17 where Aaron and Hur had to help Moses hold up his arms so that the Israelites could fend off an attack from the Amalekites (yes, I had to look that up). I’ve read this reading dozens of times before and usually associated it with the “persistence in prayer” lesson of that particular week in the liturgical calendar.

But today it hit me harder. It’s probably where I am right now, but I was filled with compassion for Moses. Here is this great leader. He is in charge, poor guy, with the very lives of people depending on him and his strength. Then he’s in this situation where the very lives of people seem to depend on him holding up his arms. When he drops his arms, in the story, his people, his charges who depend on him, lose their lives.

It’s a hell of a thing to realize that your personal weakness – your inability to hold up your own damned arms — puts others in harm’s way. I’m not too proud to accept help when I am faced with an extraordinary task or problem, or if I know that what’s needed is not in my set of God-given gifts. But having someone to come help you do something so ordinary as holding up your own arms so that the people you are supposed to be taking care of aren’t hurt, that’s pretty humiliating.

So translate this story to the life of a parent, a spouse, etc. Some daily discipline, something personal, something that anybody could and should do on a daily basis, if neglected out of weakness, can put the people you have vowed to love and protect in harm’s way. This is one of the main motivators for starting a moderately successful diet this year — I realized that my bad food choices put my family in harm’s way. And I had to ask for help to hold up my damn arms. Turns out that’s not the only personal discipline area where my weakness puts my charges in harms way. So I need to be held up in many ways.

So God, not one to let me wallow in self-pity for too long, reminded me of this old poem, which I now have printed out and posted front and center.

A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER’S PRAYER
Author Unknown,
(Attributed to a battle weary C.S.A soldier near the end of the war)

I asked God for strength, that I might achieve;
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health, that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.
I asked for riches, that I might be happy;
I was given poverty, that I might be wise.
I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men;
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life;
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among all men most richly blessed.

Words to live by. I’ll never read Exodus 17 the way I used to again.

Poem: The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

— Wendell Berry
Wendell Berry is one of my all-time favorite poets. This is a little gem of his I just now discovered. As it happens, this applies to where I am at work right now. Kind of at a crossroads between projects. Just when I am feeling a little lost Poetry comes to the rescue.

Poem: Who Burns for the Perfection of Paper

I love this poem, any poem, which moves me to introspection about the connectedness evident in the daily objects and detritus of life.

At sixteen, I worked after high school hours
at a printing plant
that manufactured legal pads:
Yellow paper
stacked seven feet high
and leaning
as I slipped cardboard
between the pages,
then brushed red glue
up and down the stack.
No gloves: fingertips required
for the perfection of paper,
smoothing the exact rectangle.
Sluggish by 9 PM, the hands
would slide along suddenly sharp paper,
and gather slits thinner than the crevices
of the skin, hidden.
The glue would sting,
hands oozing
till both palms burned
at the punch clock.

Ten years later, in law school,
I knew that every legal pad
was glued with the sting of hidden cuts,
that every open law book
was a pair of hands
upturned and burning.

by Martín Espada, via Poetry 180

Praying for Nothing

What if we were unable to be offended? What if we all refused to be righteously outraged?

What if the trolls of the world, desperate for our attention, any attention, received none? What if they jumped up and down, shouted vile words, burned piles of sacred cows, and potty-danced upon our hallowed monuments… and we did nothing?

Maybe just smile and go about our business. Yawn. What if we refused to feed the fire that many want, nay greedily need, to spread?

This weekend, especially this Saturday, I pray for the Power Of Nothing Happens.

Jesus spoke of this kind of thing. That “turn the other cheek” stuff was not about wimpy assignation, but of a NEW POWER and a NEW WORLD he wants us to see and complete with him. A NEW WORLD, a kingdom, you might say, that is created by the NEW POWER Jesus gives us to not get sucked in. To rise above our own self-righteousness and love in the face of hate.

Yeah, I know Jesus himself is popular, but his Gospel (accurately preached) rarely is. But I am praying that we supposed Christians will summon this New Power. The Power of Nothing Happens. If you see it, see through it and don’t feed it. Better yet don’t watch it. Don’t comment on its blog or click on its YouTube channel.

Deny all hate the oxygen that it needs to breathe. I think I wish to take a media fast this Saturday. That’s my response.

Aside from relaying this great poem:

The Power of Nothing Happens
What scares them most is
That NOTHING HAPPENS!
They are ready
For DISTURBANCES.
They have machine guns
And soldiers,
But this SMILING SILENCE
Is uncanny.
The business men
Don’t understand
That sort of weapon . . .
It is your SMILE
That is UPSETTING
Their reliance
On Artillery, brother!
It is the garbage wagons
That go along the street
Marked “EXEMPT
by STRIKE COMMITTEE.”
It is the milk stations
That are getting better daily,
and the three hundred
WAR Veterans of Labor
Handling the crowds
WITHOUT GUNS,
For these things speak
Of a NEW POWER
and a NEW WORLD
That they do not feel
At HOME in.

— Anise

Blessed and Idle

Seems like I have been spending a lot of time fiddling with gadgets lately. Game devices, mp3 players, laptops, all the info- and enter-tainment infrastructure of our household. There is much negotiation and wrangling over the newly-minted currency of who gets access to what screens in our family. These negotiations are complicated by the gadgets’ various states of operation and disrepair. Lots of fidgeting with cords, chargers, controllers, and other detritus which must be wrangled like wayward sheep. Every little gadget commands a debt of time and mental energy to keep it working and in or out of the proper hands at the proper time.

Fantasies of “unplugging” have been coming to me fairly frequently lately. Getting rid of cable TV. Mothballing some of my gadgets. Drastically reducing my footprint on social sites like Facebook, etc.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Luddite. I feel the lure of the latest unobtanium too. When the iPad came out I was all “Ooooohh, Shiny!” on the inside. And I have a fleeting bout of SmartPhone Envy about every other day.

But really I enjoyed Peter Bregman’s confession in Harvard Business Review — Why I Returned My iPad — and admired his honesty in front of what has to be the most plugged-in audiences in the world. I concur, Peter. I’m glad I did not get an iPhone or iPad or iAnything for my recent birthday. My life is such that I have very few “idle and blessed” moments too. The last thing I need is another gadget to fill the idle moments I do have. Even though I admit it is teh cool and sports mesmerizing blinkenlights.

I’ve talked about the useful, instructive nature of boredom before. And my kids roll their eyes when I tell them that boredom is good. I know it’s good to be unprogrammed and unplugged for a healthy dose each day. But I find, especially lately, that I am not taking my own prescriptions.

Poetry, reading, art, and useless idle writing (like the kind I’ve been doing a lot less lately on this site) are the casualties of my latest case of gadgetalia fixation. My feeling that I might be “missing something” if I unplug for even a day tempts me to profane the sacred idle moments my soul needs.

The antidote, for me, is Mary Oliver’s poetry and maybe a chance to be “blessed and idle” in adoration tonight.

From the Summers Day by Mary Oliver
“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

So here’s wishing you (and me) a very healthy dose of boredom real soon.

Poetry is a little goat that followed me

Last day of National Poetry Month. I’ve been neglectful of it this year, especially considering how much I owe to it, how much my soul needs it.

I don’t exactly remember how I came to love poetry, how I decided to give it another try after it left me cold in school. Somehow I just wanted to like poetry. What I remember is going to the library and pulling down as many poetry books as my arms could carry, pretty much based on the spine of the book and a few names I could recognize. Then I’d sit down and filter through them, keeping the ten or twelve that caught my fancy and taking them home. Next visit I’d get ten or twelve more, including a few repeats. And so on.

And that’s how I came to know Cummings, Lorca, Oliver, Bukowski, Berry, Ciardi, Stevens, Simic, and a host of other new friends.

I knew I liked a poem by the feeling I had after I read it, not so much by what it said. One of my favorite poets is James Tate, precisely because he can leave me with a bemused smile after his poems even though I am not sure what I just read or what it meant. He lays out his playful absurdism in plain language and leaves me thinking “What the heck was that?!” but chuckling, gleefully disoriented. Don’t ask me to explain it to you. Just read.

It Happens Like This
by James Tate

I was outside St. Cecelia’s Rectory
smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me.
It was mostly black and white, with a little reddish
brown here and there. When I started to walk away,
it followed. I was amused and delighted, but wondered
what the laws were on this kind of thing. There’s
a leash law for dogs, but what about goats? People
smiled at me and admired the goat. “It’s not my goat,”
I explained. “It’s the town’s goat. I’m just taking
my turn caring for it.” “I didn’t know we had a goat,”
one of them said. “I wonder when my turn is.” “Soon,”
I said. “Be patient. Your time is coming.” The goat
stayed by my side. It stopped when I stopped. It looked
up at me and I stared into its eyes. I felt he knew
everything essential about me. We walked on. A police-
man on his beat looked us over. “That’s a mighty
fine goat you got there,” he said, stopping to admire.
“It’s the town’s goat,” I said. “His family goes back
three-hundred years with us,” I said, “from the beginning.”
The officer leaned forward to touch him, then stopped
and looked up at me. “Mind if I pat him?” he asked.
“Touching this goat will change your life,” I said.
“It’s your decision.” He thought real hard for a minute,
and then stood up and said, “What’s his name?” “He’s
called the Prince of Peace,” I said. “God! This town
is like a fairy tale. Everywhere you turn there’s mystery
and wonder. And I’m just a child playing cops and robbers
forever. Please forgive me if I cry.” “We forgive you,
Officer,” I said. “And we understand why you, more than
anybody, should never touch the Prince.” The goat and
I walked on. It was getting dark and we were beginning
to wonder where we would spend the night.

Only poetry can do that — reach beyond the literalness of words and combine them to take you to an emotional place completely unexpected, even when you don’t understand.

Wobbles. But Doesn't Fall Down.

Any Gen-Xer like myself will recognize that phrase. That’s how I feel about this blog. And I do quite resemble a Weeble.

I’ll go into a several month “wobble” with no posts. Whole years will have a scant dozen original posts. But I’ve been doing this blog since the word “blog” was coined and I just cannot let Overflow fall down.

I recently lost my mojo. I was walking past my office upstairs, worried about some jejune client work matter, when I caught a glimpse of my poetry books out of the corner of my eye. I realized that I had no poetry in my life at the moment.

And that’s when I further realized — I’ve lost my mojo. No poetry, no art, no contemplation, no reading, and pretty damned minimal with the prayer life as well.

No wonder I’ve lost my blogging juju. I have no inner life left to articulate.

So I’m feeling around in the dark for my bootstraps so I can give them a yank. Maybe this weeble’s wobbling back upwards? We’ll see.