Enough, Already!

I grew up in a pack. Dan and I were 20 months apart; three years later Bob joined us, and two years after that, Dave. The moderating influence of our sisters came later. Things would get pretty raucous in our little house, when four boys turned carbohydrates into sugar and sugar into movement and noise. One of us, chosen at random by the fates (no God could be so mischievous) would “start something” up in our room and pretty soon there was a cacophony of joyful energy swelling to a crescendo when the tiny woman from whom we had all somehow emerged would yell up the stairs, “Enough already!” All became quiet; we’d stop for awhile.

One day a co-worker came to my office with a little package and a big smile. “I made something for you,” she said. I self-consciously unwrapped the shiny, brightly colored paper as she stood smiling at me. “EEEENOUGH” the yarn spelled on the white plastic needlepoint screen, the screen not even hidden by other stitches, just serving to hold those essential letters, satisfied with its enoughness. I knew what she meant.

Fr. Jim Lohtse was our kind, humorous, and very hard working pastor. He had a little dog that was a visual mistake, a characteristic he used to his advantage on his walks, attracting the kids in the mostly Black neighborhood so they could receive the warm smile of the white priest. “What’s your dog’s name”, they’d ask. “His name is Jenkins” he’d reply.” “Jenkins?” they’d remark. “Yeah”, he’d say, smiling broadly, his eyes twinkling at them. “That was my first girlfriend’s name; isn’t he ugly?” They’d laugh, and he’d continue on his ministry in this neighborhood in his city, his city in which children were bereft of so much, but he and Jenkins could at least give them a smile. But Jim was never satisfied with his efforts. Time after time he’d do really good things, but every time I’d thank or congratulate him, he’d kind of look down, shake his head a little, and point to some inadequacy in the result. There was so much more he could have done. One night, his heart just stopped, there in his bed in the rectory in the neighborhood in the city where he and his perfectly ugly dog had just begun their work, and had so much more to do. I had told Kathleen that I thought Jim had bequeathed me the word “enough” because he never used it, and knew I ought to.

This week is called Holy because millions of Christians try to recall the pastor two thousand years ago who wept over his city, his work not nearly finished, his followers still not quite getting it, still thinking sometimes that it’s about status, and not service. And most of us will find our work week shorter by one day, God’s way (no fates would be so foolish) to try to slow us down, to quiet our cacophony, so we can think, reflect, or perhaps even weep over the fact that there is more work than we could ever possibly finish. Two thousand years later we still don’t get it, still thinking sometimes that it’s more about status, and not service.

But we do stop, for those three hours on Good Friday, and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

 FreeLemonadeStand by John J. Daniels is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.