The Mystery of the Disappearing Keys

     I did not realize until I retired how many keys I had.

     As a priest, I had one key for the outer door of the offices, one for the inner door, one for my office, two or three keys for the church, plus a credit-card-sized electronic key that worked on some doors but not all.  I had the same heavy bundle of keys when I taught 6th Grade for thirty years.  Even before I began my teaching career, I always had a big bundle of keys in all of the minimum-wage jobs — jobs I appreciated because they paid the bills.  I remember even in high school I had a key for my car and another one for the trunk (Remember when those were two separate keys?) plus keys for my parent's house.

     It seems, however, I have arrived at a time in my life where I have only two keys on my ring:  My house key, and my mom's house key.  Even my mom's house key is going away soon since she is selling her house to stay in assisted living.  I no longer even have a car key because that is just a fob now on newer cars.  I do have a few more keys such as the one hanging in the hall for the back gate, but I rarely use it.  It is not worth carrying it on my key ring.

     I have begun to wonder if this mystery of the disappearing keys is a metaphor for what happens as you get older.

     There was a time when John the Baptist was all the rage in Jerusalem and its suburbs.  He was on Instagram, he was on Twitter, he was an influencer.  People were coming from everywhere to listen to that young firebrand preach and get baptized by him.

     But then there came a time when his cousin Jesus got a lot more popular.  And that really bugged John's disciples.  In the Gospel of John, chapter 3, they come to him complaining about this.  They say, "Hey, you baptized this guy, and now he's stealing all your thunder!  He's trending on everything!"

John heard them out, but then he replied with one of the most humble things recorded in Scripture.  He softly said, "He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30)

     His gentle response has always fascinated me.  It has always felt like the entire Christian life could be captured in these seven short words: "He must increase, but I must decrease."

     In one way, it felt kind of sad after I turned in all my Church keys.  Here I was, shrinking before my very eyes. There was a feeling of quiet panic at first.  Who was I if I didn't have all those keys and what they represent?  But in another way I have to admit, it was a kind of a relief.  I'm glad not to have to pack around so many keys.  I don't need that huge bundle in my right-hand pocket anymore that jabs me if I bump into a door jamb.  With so many keys, pens, ChapStick, contact lens drops, and a black leather billfold in my right-hand pocket, when I sat down, it would often trigger the alarm on my car or the trunk opener.  It got really irritating to have someone stop into my office a few times a day to say, "Did you know your trunk is open?"  I don't want to be the one who is responsible for opening doors for everyone else anymore.  If you are the guy with all the keys, you have to do things like show up on time and be responsible.  Everyone has expectations of you.  It feels kind of good to let those expectations go and just be myself.  I have had a huge key ring probably since I was around sixteen, but somehow, I just do not feel the need to carry such a burden anymore after forty-six years.

     In The Lord of the Rings, when Galadriel is offered the keys… I mean the ring of great power that she knew would eventually destroy who she was, she finds the inner strength to refuse it and says, "I pass the test. I will diminish and go into the West and remain Galadriel."

     Now, I am certainly not comparing a lifetime of gainful employment to the "One Ring to Rule Them All," but there is something to be said for knowing when it is time to bow out.  There is a grace in letting go.  There is a grace in diminishing.  There are always relationships and jobs from which you have to move on.  On my journey, I think I have learned that an important part of wisdom in life is the grace with which we let go of things.  It has also been my experience that whenever it is time to step away from one thing, it makes room for someone else to step up.

     Although I was a very good teacher and loved it more than I can say, I learned long ago there were many, many good teachers who were nothing like me.  In fact, at my school, if I had not chosen to take early retirement, a new teacher who had great promise would have been laid off.

     I will always be an Episcopal priest, but stepping away from my position at the Cathedral will give others a chance to minister, and I believe she or he will do as well or better than I.  Trinity Cathedral is set on the banks of the Truckee River.  I have always said, "There were good people worshiping beside this river long before I came, and there will be good people worshiping beside this river long after I am gone."  It may sound a little morbid, but it has always given me great comfort that I am not responsible for the whole world or the future, but only my small portion of it.  I'm just not that important in the grand sweep of things.

     Stepping away also has opened new doors for me.  I'm a cellist.  Two years ago, I began working on the Prelude of the Bach Cello Suite in D minor, a piece that is so exquisite I am convinced when it is played by a true master, like Jacqueline du Pré, the angels weep.  Although I had certainly learned all of the basics of the piece more than a year ago, I just could not get the piece to flow.  The reality was, I did not have enough time to practice.  Within just a few weeks of retirement, however, I am satisfied enough with my proficiency that I can set it aside for now and move on to another piece.  (You never finish learning Bach.  I will be working on it at least for the next ten years to bring it to performance level.)

     I have gotten to work on writing that is not under a deadline.  My reading has expanded.  I am able to read books that have nothing to do with a class I must prepare to teach or a retreat I will run.

     And so, I have decided it is okay to diminish.  It is okay for me to decrease.  In fact, it seems to be the natural culmination of the Christian life.  Although it may seem counterintuitive, more and more, it seems the disappearing keys have actually opened new doors for me.

What We Can Learn from Funfetti Cake

     I was never able to break my mom of the habit of buying food at discount dollar markets.  When you had to raise three kids on a small income, it taught her the thrill of the hunt — finding that one bargain others missed.  Now in her eighties, I mainly worried she would get expired food that would make her sick.

     Well, I was wrong; she never did. 

She has recently decided to stay in assisted living, so one chore we have started is going through her late-seventies olive green upright freezer out in the garage.  The door does not seal completely, so it is held closed by a worn red bungee cord looped around the handle and attached to metal shelving next to the freezer.  Sure enough, it was stuffed with bargain treasures like peppermint chocolate from some long-ago Christmas and meat frozen so long I was unsure of its cut.  But the shelf that captured my attention the most was filled with boxes of cake mix — white cake, Funfetti, chocolate, carrot.  She had mentioned these to me.

     “I’m sorry I have to leave my cake mixes behind,” she said on the phone as we talked about things that needed to be done.  There are not any ovens in her new digs.  “Be sure you take them if you want them.” She could not see me because we were on the phone, but I narrowed my eyes at this comment; I suspected she had hit the discount store.

     But, like the good son I am, I pulled them out one at a time to check them: Expiration date February 20, 2017; June 12, 2017, and a very faded expiration date of 04/06/16.  Not one of the many boxed cakes had expired less than three years ago.  Sigh… to be honest, given my weight, I was not so sure I needed a Funfetti cake anyway.

     The reality is life catches up to all of us at some point, and we have to leave things behind.  Sometimes it is because we age out of our homes and are forced to downsize; sometimes it is for more sudden reasons like a fire or a death.  In my case, if I had to suddenly leave things behind, my kids will probably find shocking amount of duplicate toiletries.  I always have an extra shaving cream waiting, and the minute I need it, I pick up the next one.  Sometimes it gets out of hand.  I get confused and end up buying stacks of extras.  I mean, does anyone really need four extra sticks of Gillette Arctic Ice Men's Deodorant or three spare 1.5-liter bottles of mouthwash?  (Yes, I just went into the bathroom and counted.)

     Part of this has made me want to do a little clearing out of my own house.  I have not cracked those German books from my college days in four decades, so it is a safe bet I could live without them.  I do not want my own kids to have to rummage through things and exclaim, “Why in the world did he keep this all those years?!”  Could I live with just one extra deodorant instead of four?  In my autumn years, I would like to walk a little more lightly on the earth.

     But there is another part of me that thinks about how my years have gone by quicker than I could ever have imagined.  Maybe the lesson is we should not wait so long to make that Funfetti cake.