Irony

Wednesday morning I was to give a reflection at St. Catherine's morning chapel service. It was a little talk about love, and how -- in order to love -- we need to get off of our to- do lists, forget our agendas, and make ourselves present.

Well, then Wednesday morning happened. I just needed to print the thing. I was running five minutes late when I got to St. Stephen's. I loaded the document and hit print. I walked to the copier room. Nothing. I walked briskly back to my office.

I hit print again, just in case that was the problem. I took a light jog to the copier room. Nothing. I ran back to my office.

I hit print again because I didn't know what else to do. I sprinted to the copier room, my shoes clicking and clacking. Turning into the hallway, I saw a woman -- who had been vacuuming -- plastered against the wall. She'd heard me coming. "Oh my," she exclaimed, "We're in a hurry this morning!"

Yes, I was. In the copier room, I stood looking at the print status: "Waiting." I challenged it to change.  The copier needed to warm up. I didn't have time for it to warm up. I stared at the thing so hard. I twitched a little bit.

Print!

PRINT!

I was suddenly struck by my hypocrisy and by the humor of the situation. I saw myself, laughed a little, and walked away from the copier.

Without my carefully prepared script, I gave a different talk, one about a youth minister who rushes around, wildly preparing to preach on the importance of slowing down and being present. And it went well, not because of anything I'd done, but because God had given me a gift more powerful than preparation. Presence.