Balance

"Ok, so how do I do it?" asked another brave, but perhaps foolish soul.

"First thing?" I'd say, and my answer was always the same:  "Catch it when you fall!"

I don't know why I bothered.  The front and back ends were already torn wide open and the foam pad freely protruding and falling out.  I guess it was just the force of habit..

"What do you mean, 'WHEN' I fall?" they would always say.  And then they would always fall.  And they always seemed to protect their knees and elbows and faces before even thinking to save my unicycle's beat up seat.

Of course they fell, and of course the self-preservation instinct took precedence over uni-care.  "Aaaarrgh!"  I pretended to be so offended that my student again let my sadly padded seat bang against the hard cement floor in the long basement corridor of our high school.  Then I'd look around quick to see if any priests or otherwise grown up types heard the crash.  Always anxious that maybe Brother Fred would overcome his natural instinct to encourage our youthful exuberance and opt instead for fulfilling his obligation to protect and serve the building. Yet I was continually relieved that my little unicycle riding school was allowed to wreak whatever havoc it would on vinyl and tile.

"One more try for Jim", I might predict, depending on the zeal shown by this latest adventurer.  But with another guy, I might soon be begging him to give it back for a while, because he was persistent and brave and actually learned early to catch it when he fell.  Once that happened, I knew I had a convert and I knew what he would be asking his parents for for Christmas.  The newly acquired and quirky skill of unicycleing would soon be born in another family and neighborhood back home.

When my brother Pat left home to go to this same seminary boarding school, he came back a skilled unicyclist, so my sister and I soon picked it up.  I took Pat's new Christmas present back when I "followed the call", and I passed back the mastery I had gained over balance and precession, to any who would dare.

"Precession?" you say.  Have you noticed that when you are riding your bicycle, you only need concern yourself with balance when you are going very slowly?  The same force exerted through conservation of angular momentum that keeps a spinning top from toppling, and keeps the spinning wheels of a bike from dropping to either side: precession, works for the unicycle as well.  The fore and back balance, however, is accomplished through the peddler as he works to keep his one tire directly between himself and the center of the earth.

Simply being willing to move forward in life tells God that we will trust Him to keep us from falling over, and He does.  He provides the spiritual equivalent of precession.  But if life is like riding a unicycle (Don't forget to "Catch it when you fall!") then we are responsible for the pedalling.  We should move just fast enough or slow enough to keep our lives centered over His will.

No need to call me "Father Miller".  By the time four years of seminary had passed I was aware that I was more interested in being a Dad than a "Father".   And within a year or so of going to a public college, I finally heard the Gospel, and found my spiritual balance.  I would be saved by His Grace (the precession?), and pedal on to be married and raise a family!

MY FINAL TEARS

While waiting to die,

I live my life,

(I don't know why),

In wasted strife.

I'm called to serve,

But self I render,

too oft swerve;

Avoid surrender.

The day will come

And I'll be home,

Excuses dumb,

Before that tome.

Yes I'll be there

(Salvation's sure!),

For though not fair,

The cross; my cure.

Before His throne,

My life reviewed,

I'd be undone,

With so much spewed.

One thing I know:

But for His grace,

The tears that flow

Would stain my face..

No salted stripes

Will last or stay:

My Jesus wipes

Each tear away!

What WILL You Do With That Tree?

Let's say you were out hiking in the hinterlands of Whereveropolis. Nobody goes there, but you had found your way in through a narrow chink in the cliff and then somehow scrambled through a scratchy hedge and climbed up a wallish hill until your way finally opened onto a peaceful grass covered plateau. You expect to hear Sister Maria singing something about the hills being alive, when you turn around, and find yourself in the deep shade of a mighty money tree!

The trunk is wide and tall. You can tell that it has stood there forever, undaunted and solid. The sun behind can not possibly shine through the thick foliage because the branches and stems are myriad and overwhelmingly rich with leaf! As you are awestruck at first by the very proportion and abundance of this tree, you are not yet ready to recognize the 'leaves' for what they truly are, but the impossible begins to dawn and you see.

Now your neck is craning while you study and confirm that actual paper bills cover every branch! Yes there are bills of every U.S. denomination that you know, and some you've only seen in pictures, but there are also paper pesos, and rupees and shekels. Some you might recognize like pounds or euros or yen, but many more you've never heard of like cordobas and won and zlotych and riyals fill the branches. A light breeze comes up the hill and the paper currency flows toward you while the dangling coins of silver and gold hidden in the background suddenly fill the air with rich musical tones of affluencial delight.

You have discovered THE actual money tree. But now what will you do? Now that the shock is wearing away you can look closer at the trunk. Yes it is massive and solid, but you find a narrow way that you might follow, climbing directly into the lofty branches to reap the harvest of your dreams.

And yet, you hesitate. Somehow you begin to doubt your own senses, and start to apply old proverbial poultices to quell the vision before you: “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is,” comes to mind, and you keep hearing your Dad's voice saying “Money doesn't grow on trees you know!” But it's right there in front of you and more than a few of the single dollar bills are falling and lying on the ground at your feet. You pick them up indeed, but strangely, surprisingly, you start to back away, deciding to go and fend for yourself.

What is it about the possibility of all wealth, even all provision, actually in hand, that causes us to turn away? Why would we so often, rather “do it my way” than God's way? Why believe the self-help gurus who tell us we (even WE?) are divine instead of giving in to the real Divine? The Gospel is not hidden in the nether regions where only the few can claim its promises, but is widespread and offered freely to all. Whereas the money tree is attractive for its mythical wealth and dream fulfilling capacity, it represents the true lie whose leaves are more often poisonous. After all, money is merely a tangible transactional symbol of one's output. Looking for a money tree is like searching for an exercise tree. It is only as fruitful as it is fed.

Waiting and hoping for the money tree to pop up in one's yard only distracts from the necessary application of true wealth producing hard work, but there is another hazard, far worse. Ultimately we must all give up on the MT quest, and that frustration may lead us to forsake our even deeper desire to find, and pluck from, God's greater and very real gift; the Salvation Tree.

I hope that the seekers among us will keep their eyes wide open, as they look through cracking walls of societal consensus, crawl through brambles of scoffing and mockery, until they are even willing to climb past the treachery of disbelief and find their way to that bridging cross. That 'tree', where the ultimate provision has already been offered, and accepted, is waiting.