c. 2007 Religion News Service
(UNDATED) “Paulie,” my friend Ray said on the other end of the phone. The pause came with an “Ahhh,” the type of pause that drops off and lets you know tough news will follow.
“T.K. died yesterday.”
“Sorry, Ray. I thought he was doing better,” I replied.
“Me too. Just up and died. Wife wasn’t even there.”
T.K. died of cancer. Ray, one of my closest friends, has beaten back cancer twice. It’s never far from his mind. I saw it change when he told me about his prostate cancer. A shift in spirit. A shift in priorities.
T.K. was an old buddy of Ray’s and a brief acquaintance of mine. While I can only listen, I know what’s happening. Another little piece of him breaks off with T.K.’s death. It’s personal, this battle.
When is the right time to shift spiritual gears? To gather faith? Is it when things are going bad? Or when things are smooth? Is it standing on top of the mountain? Or finding you’re alone when you get there?
Mostly I think it’s when you face mortality, by choice or by lot. It’s when cancer shows up and it’s just you and your thoughts. Or when you’re staring at the gun barrel, tears falling, that you realize you’ve been carrying the guilt of the faith of your childhood and it’s just not working anymore. It’s when you reach out for help.
A few years ago, I was on the golf course with Ray. Fifty-something, his eyes sparkle with mischief. He’s a player _ in life and in the world. That day he was worried. And afraid. He walked as if he’d stuffed the burden of his past in his golf bag.
“My numbers are up a little,” he tells me. Prostate cancer, it seems, is all about the numbers.
The recent death of his ex-wife, the mother of his girls, leaves him unsettled. He confides in me his regrets. “It could have been different. I should have treated her better.”
Men are concerned about maintaining their image. He asks me how you can change spiritually and still show the same skin to people. “If people knew,” he worried, “they’d think I was off the deep end.”
That simple uneasiness gets my attention. He confesses to being counseled, engaging a spiritual adviser and seeking higher consciousness. All things I do and struggle with. Most of the men in my life are or were busy being men. Faith and compassion often take a backseat to machismo.
I know how Ray feels about showing his faith. It’s a private thing. Not an in-your-face conversion that tells you all but one way is wrong. For him, it is absolutely right. Faith can’t be issued by a zealot. Or be taken away by a hater. It’s not Christian or Jew, Muslim or Hindu. It’s a personal connection with a spirit greater than himself. I’ve felt the same way.
Ray’s familiarized himself with “The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success,” “A Conversation With God” and “A Course in Miracles.” These books are blueprints for his renewed life. Ray shows me where his faith is taking him: charitable work, less time in the office, more time with family and friends. I think it’s great. I try to live my life with that spirit but often force myself, in order to be accepted by my peers, back down the manhole.
I attended an international Alcoholics Anonymous conference in Toronto. The essence of it was wrapped around the spiritual axiom that “I am responsible.” It has taken these conversations with Ray to realize this is my faith. I have a moral responsibility to reach out my hand when someone needs it. I believe that the God of my understanding doesn’t care how I practice my faith as long as I have faith. Compassion can be the key to unlocking the door for any buttoned-down dogmatist.
There comes a time, an imperceptible time, in each man’s life when he recalibrates. It’s a long look followed by a slight adjustment. Just enough to recognize that the other people matter, that love is available.
Too much change too fast smacks of religiosity and desperation, makes it too easy. Slow change is deliberate. Deliberate change is truth, thought out.
They buried T.K. the other day. Ray saw his doctor and got a clean bill of health. There once was a time when Ray or I would have been satisfied to figure it out, alone. Keep our faith to ourselves. But simple compassionate conversation between two friends makes this spiritual shift self-evident. And welcome.
(Paul Ehmann lives in Loudonville, N.Y., and writes about how men think. He can be reached at etrain(at)nycap.rr.com.)
KRE/PH END EHMANN
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