Aloha Friday Message – August 28, 2009 – The Saint Next Door
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This post was omitted in 2009 but properly posted
Tuesday, February 16, 2021
Happy Aloha Friday, Beloved! Today I am thinking about saints, the citizens of Heaven. I want to be one someday, to take my place in Eternity with the rest of the saints, and I think all of us aspire to end up there. I don’t imagine I will exit this life as a Saint in the category of Sts. Francis, or Augustine, or Pio, or Damien. I might be able to live, however, in such a way that just living is a 24/7 prayer. I could be capable of letting my faith, discernment, humility, patience, and perseverance work together in such a way that I am transformed into the saint God intended me to be. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, eh? Yep. It’s a struggle just to get to square 1, much less anything beyond it. Maybe, just maybe, I could be like Carl. Here’s a story that circulates on the ‘net from time to time. See if you know someone like Carl.
Carl was a quiet man. He didn’t talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.
Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lonely sight of him walking down the street often worried us.
He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in W.W.II. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived W.W.II, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity. When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister’s residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, “Would you like a drink from the hose?”The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, “Yeah, sure,” with a malevolent little smile.
As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl’s arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl’s assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.
Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it. “Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?” the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.
Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. “Just some punk kids. I hope they’ll wise-up someday.” His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.
Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, “Carl, what are you doing?
“I’ve got to finish my watering. It’s been very dry lately,” came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.
This time they didn’t rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth-giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering.
The summer was quickly fading into fall and Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.
As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.
“Don’t worry old man, I’m not gonna hurt you this time.” The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.
“What’s this?” Carl asked.
“It’s your stuff,” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.”
“I don’t understand,” Carl said. “Why would you help me now?”
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. “I learned something from you,” he said. “I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.” He stopped for a moment.
“I couldn’t sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.” He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say. “That bag’s my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess.” And with that, he walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.
In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn’t know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.
The minister spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, “Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”
The following spring another flyer went up. It read: “Person needed to care for Carl’s garden.”The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister’s office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. “I believe this is my job, if you’ll have me,” the young man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl’s kindness had turned this man’s life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, “Yes, go take care of Carl’s garden and honor him.”The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done.
In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl’s memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it. One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn’t care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, “My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she’s bringing him home on Saturday.”
“Well, congratulations!” said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. “That’s wonderful! What’s the baby’s name?” “Carl,” he replied.
Attributed to the world famous writer Anonymous Author
Carl’s story is a living example of the Gospel.
GOOD FRIENDS ARE LIKE ANGELS; YOU DON’T HAVE TO SEE THEM TO BELIEVE IN THEM. YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE TO HAVE YOUR WHOLE LIFE CHANGED BECAUSE OF THEIR PRESENCE. All you have to do is let them do what God sent them to do in your life. Thank you so much for letting me be part of YOUR life!
Carl had the personal conviction to stick to what he knew was right. Winston Churchill addressed that issue one by saying, ““Never give in, never give in, never; never; never; never – in nothing, great or small, large or petty – never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.” Carl gave in only to honor and good sense. The unnamed young man learned that from Carl and carried it on in his own life. We used to ask our kids, “What do you want to do?” They were taught to always answer, “The right thing.” All of us sometimes forget that answer. Maybe if you remember Carl you can remember the answer because you will remember it was the way he lived his life. Wouldn’t you like to be the unnamed character in this story whether male or female?
What is the secret of living like a saint? “Do what you’re doing.” And do it because it is right. Be just and merciful, live righteously, and walk humbly before God and community. When we live like this moment by moment, in the moment and not for the moment, it will stretch into Eternity. “We’ve only just begun…” And that is the secret, I think. Always be at the beginning and there will never be an end.
Age Quod Ages — Do what you’re doing
Whatever, whenever, wherever, whoever, however, if ever, forever —
at your service.
A young, new preacher was walking with an older, more seasoned preacher in the garden one day and feeling a bit insecure about what God had for him to do. He asked the older preacher what was his purpose. The older preacher walked up to a rosebush and handed the young preacher a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals. The young preacher looked in disbelief at the older preacher and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the WILL OF GOD for his life and for his ministry. Because of his high respect for the older preacher, he proceeded to TRY to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact.
