Laugh at the Funny Man
May 1, 2018
Rabanal del Camino to Cacabelos
After the punishment of yesterday’s climb through
the mountains, today was a sharp contrast.
The trail today was all on small and delightfully level country roads
and stretches through vineyards. These
provided a steeply-hilly lusciously spring green foreground to breathtaking
mountain beauty in the background. On occasion the trail needled through very
small country villages. It was in one such as these that God used my “me-being-me”
experiences to launch me into an emotional contemplation today.
It was just shortly after noon when the trail
skirted an ancient country church. “Oh, yes! time for a brief stop and perhaps a
noon pilgrim mass.” I wanted to stop in for prayers for those who entrusted me
with the burden prayers, and if luck, mass.
I also had some things to get off my chest with Our Father.
I slipped into the small chapel only to see that the
service had already begun. I tried, oh
so hard, to be inconspicuous. That’s not easy with walking sticks and a 19
pound backpack. Unlike every church I’ve attended on the Camino, attending locals
did not seem welcoming. How peculiar?! In fact, after I ever-so-quietly slipped
in the last pew behind the pray ers, I was getting disgusted looks and
unwelcome glances. This is soooooo odd. After settling in, I noticed how
beautiful the altar looked. It was made of an exquisite wood grain. Ok. Altars can be adorned with whatever. Also odd, a lady was speaking, and at length,
from the pulpit. Again, this is not a customary occurrence in a Catholic
service. After her speech, the priest walked down from behind this gorgeous wood
altar to sprinkle holy water. I’m thinking, “Yes, a pilgrim blessing! I
certainly need one.”
It was a classic “Willie being Willie.” I had
honorable intentions for being there, but didn’t pay attention to the details
or how others might perceive my actions.
It was also the personal struggle I was bearing because of some of my
actions of which I was not proud. I put my head down and trudged ahead.
My conversation with our Lord took on my self-shaming
for not paying attention to what was happening around me. I was gushing with my, “I’m sorry, Lord.” I
went on beating myself up for this tendency, even though I never deliberately
intend to offend, I just miss the details sometimes. I poured through my litany
of apologies and confession for being “an idiot” sometimes.
This is when I sensed Our Father speaking to my
heart. “Willie. Enough. I understand your regret. I’ve heard your sorrow.”
Then I returned with, “Yes, Lord, but I tend to miss
things. I sometimes don’t hear things.”
Our conversation returned. “Willie. Stop. Stop. Stop.
Look toward me. It’s not about you. It’s about me. I made you. I understand
you. You’re mine. Your mine, Willie.”
That prayer conversation derailed my self-shaming
thinking. I had a spirit nudge. “You’re
taking yourself too seriously. Laugh at yourself.”
This struck me hard. I do tend to take myself way too seriously. The thought was the launch point into a
precious memory of two holy and dear people I’ve known, my parents in-laws. A flashback memory of them was not only a
dear illustration of laughing at myself, but also about being loved and even
lovable when I’ve messed up.
Roaring into my memory were two people- Robert Moses
Amore and his wife, Mary. Known famously for his nickname, Big Mo, I was gifted
with the memory of Big Mo lying down on his stomach, raised on his elbows,
staring intently into one of the grandbabies siting there. This day, the precious
little boy was about 8 months old, sitting proudly “all by myself” and broadly
grinning with constant drool rolling over his adorable little chin. He sat staring back at Big Mo, with his baby
chuckles and wide grinned display of two bottom teeth. His little Buddha belly
and his peach fuzz hairdo made this Gerber baby all too adorable.
The precious image of this was the memory of Big Mo,
propped up on elbows beaming into this little boy’s face and repeating, “Laugh
at the funny man. Come on. Laugh at the funny man.” This not only entertained
all who witnessed it, but it displayed a love beyond measure between man and
child. And if Grandpa’s antics were not enough entertainment, Grandma’s mastery
of swaddling would calm any fussing. Her comfort was not unlike the imagination
of Jesus in Mother Mary’s arms.
I pondered this memory in light of my new, “Laugh at
yourself, Willie. You’ve asked and been forgiven. Remember, it’s not about you.”
Desperate insight I needed for a pilgrim physically and emotionally trail weary.
Yet, there was more.
The contemplation got even more intimate. My imagination led me to consider myself
lying before the Christ child. He was sitting there so precious, so adorable,
so intently in love with me with His gaze riveted on me. It felt as if He was saying to me, “Laugh at
the funny man.” That is, “Laugh at yourself. I already love you; I know your
heart.”
This brought a sense of comfort and deep peace to me
today. And it took these stages in my
prayer time to give me this insight. First, I had to own, that is man up, for
what I’d done. Then I needed to ask forgiveness. And finally, accept forgiveness
without heaping shame upon myself.
I recall the teaching of respected teacher, Fr. Mike
Schmitz, on YouTube Ascension Presents.
1st. God knows me more than I know
myself.
2nd, God loves me more than I love
myself.
And if I may add, God forgives me more than I
forgive myself.
The Camino reflection snaked through a range of
emotions today. It “hit the refresh button” on who I am and, more importantly,
whose I am.
Once I’ve done my part of owning my fault, I can let
it go. If it echoes back, I can hear His encouragement, “Laugh at the funny
man.” Well, I guess I might be a comedian some day!
Perhaps you’re in a stuck spot. Do your part and then laugh at yourself. It is
liberating!
Fondly, Deacon Willie
Great story! Grammie had me laughing telling me to "laugh at the funny man!" Thanks for the prayers for me and all my cousins. We love you- LAW
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