Trial Separation

“Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn.” ~Irvin S. Cobb, American author, humorist and columnist (1876-1944)

As I stepped under the barricade I felt the seam in the center of my dress pants separate. There was no tearing sound so the stitching must have simply given way I thought. I race walked to the Men’s Room to assess the damage. With less than twenty minutes to start time there was no possibility of repair and no time to turn back.

I twisted back and forth in front of the men’s room mirror like a teenage girl checking the length of her skirt. My purpose was similar – checking to see what you could see and what you couldn’t. Fortunately, my dress jacket seemed to be sufficiently masking my unexpected “wardrobe malfunction.” I washed my hands and headed back upstairs to the main floor in search of my wife.

Teresa was in the middle of a lively conversation. Interrupting, I hastily motioned her over and explained the situation. She too discreetly checked for telltale signs of undergarments and, finding none, pronounced me presentable. A moment later the heads-up call was given. We pulled our banner from its stand and proceeded up the side aisle to the back. Teresa tarried slightly behind, surreptitiously checking my derrière one last time for adequate coverage.

We were the last of four couples in the procession, each of us leading a group to the front. The opening procession began. I nervously watched each group pass by then turning to proceed down the aisle. Finally it was our turn. With a sigh of resignation, I hoisted the banner into the air and we headed down the center aisle of Our Lady of the Angels Cathedral with 3000 congregants looking on.

At first, I was concerned I was about to be irreparably embarrassed, but then I noticed people were smiling, nodding in our direction and some even waving. Cameras were being pointed toward us. This was turning out to be somewhat gratifying. On the other hand, why were we suddenly the center of attention?

Then it hit me. Glancing quickly over my shoulder, I realized the Archbishop was immediately behind us. He was the center of attention, not us. We reached the altar, wheeled to our left, and headed for our seats at the back of the seating area.

Three hours later, the Deaconate Ordination Mass ended. It was time to process out the way we had come in. I was again concerned that my clothing issue might be noticed. Again we were the last of the four banner bearers. Each of the three couples peeled off and headed up the aisle on cue until it was finally our turn. If they had not noticed my clothing “problem” on the way in, surely they would notice on the way out.

Then to my surprise, I realized the order of egress had changed slightly. Instead of the Archbishop following us out, this time, we were following him. There was no one behind us. With the congregants’ heads turning to follow the Archbishop, no one was focused on us. Together, Teresa and I gracefully processed up the aisle around the corner and out of sight.

Most of us want big miracles in our lives. We want seas parted or, at the very least, walked across; we want thousands fed by bread seemingly created from nothing and people miraculously healed or, better yet, returned from the dead. In short, we expect life’s great obstacles to be laid low just for us, like Jesus telling the Sea of Galilee to be still.

In First Corinthians 1: 22, the Apostle Paul chides his audience for exactly the same kind of thinking: “For indeed Jews ask for signs and Greeks search for wisdom.” Like the Corinthians, we crave demonstrations and explanations.

God, on the other hand, operates within the mundane world of the everyday and often with a sense of humor. He is constantly present to us. And, if we take the time to be both introspective and retrospective, we can find His subtle hand in everything we do.

The day my pants “parted” at the Cathedral, I had been looking forward to being in the opening procession with anticipation. It was a low-risk position, with high visibility. It was attention-laden, but with minimal responsibility. My pleasure at getting some attention however was quickly replaced by a desire for anonymity. In a moment I went from wishing to be noticed to hoping I wouldn’t be.

My prayers were quickly answered and with a subtle lesson attached. Quite simply, I was far better off not getting attention than being the center of it. Appropriately and even symbolically the attention went to a representative of our faith…the Archbishop.

Part of a disciple’s response is coming to the realization that God touches us in a thousand different ways every day. It is not God flattening mountains and filling in valleys to make our way level and straight which will make the difference in our lives. Rather it is our eyes being opened and our hearts being touched which will save us.

We no longer need to be the center of attention when God becomes the center of our attention.

Dear God: You are the center of my life.

“Self-importance requires that one spend most of one's life offended by something or someone.” ~Don Juan, legendary fictional character


© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.

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