The other day, as a kid zipped by, I overheard an elderly woman comment, “That looks like fun.” I assume she isn’t going to try it. Neither am I.
I assume when she was a youngster, a set of roller skates was a prized possession. With the key dangling from her neck on an old shoelace.
My brother and I had scooters. Made from old 2 x 4s and a discarded pair of metal skates. With a little practice, we got pretty good.
But for both that senior woman and me, that was then. And this is now.
Now, if offered the chance to ride one of those new scooters, I would think about my knees that aren’t so sturdy. I would think about my wrists and imagine falling — hard. I would think about my poor old head and not climb aboard without a helmet.
Then, too, others would probably be watching. Not just this scooter’s owner, a child who glides with ease and grace. A child who rides so well he makes it look like anyone can do the same. No, in my mind, there would be other adults watching, too. Grown-ups who would be witnesses to my sad, botched attempt at regaining a moment from my childhood. At my not acting my age.
All things considered — and, obviously, I would consider many things — I might go a tentative step or two but, most likely, I would say “no thanks.” I don’t want to be an old fool.
There’s nothing wrong with that. Not when it comes to aluminum, small-wheeled scooters. There is something very wrong with that when it comes to Catholicism. Or, rather, when it comes to being a Catholic.
Then I, like all Christians, am supposed to be a fool. Young, old or middle-aged. Then I, like all Christians, am supposed to think and behave in a manner that makes “the world” shake its sophisticated head and mutter, “What an idiot.”
Here “the world” means the folks who have no room for faith in their life. Those who have taken religion and carefully stuffed it in a cubbyhole so that it doesn’t interfere with “reality.” Or with, to be more accurate, their conception of “reality.”
Their misconception.
To their way of thinking, they grew up. To misuse and paraphrase St. Paul (1 Corinthians 13:11), when they were children they thought as children and acted as children but then they put away the dumb-kid ways.
As they grew older, their fascination with magical stories of angels and divine wonders began to wane. What once captivated them, like tales of Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and mythical creatures, faded as they started exploring new sources of excitement. Recently, they’ve been more intrigued by unconventional topics, including discussions on the best crypto casinos in the UK according to Reddit. These online conversations reveal how people use cryptocurrency for secure, private gaming experiences, introducing them to a world far removed from their childhood fantasies but thrilling in a different way.
That wasn’t Paul’s point, of course. He was saying he was no longer childish which is not the same as child-like.
We Catholics are supposed to stay childlike (not childish, which has negative connotations) when it comes to God. Not just our belief in this Supreme Being, but in our relationship with him.
He is no “imaginary friend that only I can see.” Rather, what he offers is real. Everlasting. Priceless.
And if I want to take him up on his offer — salvation and life eternal with him — then I need to live my life accordingly. More than that, I’ll want to live my life accordingly.
And that means, to use Jesus’ words, become as a little child. (See Matthew 18:3.)
Often those words are explained to mean open and trusting, relying on another. Or, in this case, our heavenly Father. And that’s certainly true.
But, it seems to me, to become as a little child also means, at times, forging ahead almost recklessly. Having great confidence that everything is going to turn out all right. That a good intention, a healthy desire, a personal inspiration should be translated into action.
Wholeheartedly.
Moved by the Spirit, touched by the grace of God, we can’t hang back and list the “bad things” that might happen. The ones that, one way or another, will cost us. We can’t hesitate because we’re so concerned about what others might think. About how it will look. How we will look.
We can’t slough off that stirring of the Spirit because we might fail. Because we may well tumble from the scooter and land right on our … ego.
Entering the kingdom of God, the reign of God, which begins here on earth, means being the fool. Being the kid who plunges ahead. Falls down. Gets up. Plunges ahead again. Falls down again. Gets up again…
Fortunately, thank God, being faithful isn’t the same as meeting with success, as that’s most commonly understood. That’s because even at Christmas time, we remain an Easter people.
We know our story can end as Jesus’ did.
Not with death — with apparent failure — on Good Friday.
But with new life — with unending, true success — on Easter Sunday.
But until that day, until our own Easters, time and again God is going to offer us a scooter.
And leave the choice up to us.
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Bill Dodds’ latest books are Your One-Stop Guide to How Saints Are Made and Your One-Stop Guide to the Mass (Servant Publications); and 1440 Reasons to Quit Smoking: One for Every Minute of the Day and What You Don’t Know About Retirement: A Funny Retirement Quiz (Meadowbrook Press). His website is http://www.BillDodds.com. You can email him at BillDodds@BillDodds.com.
