For the first time ever this year, Lisa and I participated in the hysteria that is commonly called "Black Friday." As rookies, we had no idea what to expect, and we were only making one purchase, so we set our alarms and made our way through the dark night to seize our treasure.
Goal: a new TV
Potential Savings: $150
Location: Sears, Westmoreland Mall
Doors Open: 4 am
Wake-up: 3 am
As we arrived at the mall, the main entrance to Sears had a long line of a few hundred people stretching down the sidewalk. So we pulled around back to find only a couple dozen souls standing around that entrance. We got out and joined the crowd, wondering if anyone else shared our sentiment that what we were all doing was somewhere between stupid and crazy.
As 4 am approached, the Sears employees trotted out to their "action positions" as Lisa called it, ready to withstand the trampling that would surely ensue. When they were finally given the go ahead to open the doors, no trampling occurred (I was slightly disappointed, mostly pleased). In fact, people filed in relatively calmly, almost as if everyone was afraid that too much eagerness would reveal them as "that guy." There was no sprinting, no pushing and shoving, but there was much power-walking and light-jogging. We made our way to the escalator, briskly climbing them with the rest as we all made our dash to the electronics department -- where at least 85% of the crowd was going.
Lisa found a salesperson, where she was hastily told to get in a line if she wanted any chance at getting the TV we came for. We waited in line for about a half hour, which allowed us time to take in the sights and sounds around us. There were people grabbing stuff left and right, calling out to companions, impatiently but calmly pressing in around trapped cashiers, and generally ignoring whatever directives were being given by Sears employees. It was organized chaos -- people seemed too bleary-eyed to be outright rude.
Finally, we were the next in line. A seemingly nice couple in front of us was buying a few things, one of which was a GPS. Problem is, they weren't totally certain which one was the one they wanted. They'd forgotten to bring the ad, and they were getting confused with all the intricate product numbers. It was taking a long time. As they continued mucking up the line with their confusion, I thought to myself, "If I don't get my TV because you are taking too long, I am going to be so mad that I wasted my middle of the night driving a half hour out here."
Normally, I'm a pretty patient person in stores. I don't mind waiting in line behind someone who's taking awhile to check out, because I've been on both sides of the register in such situations. It's better to take a couple extra minutes and make sure everything is right, for the sake of the cashier and the customer. But on Friday morning, I felt myself getting impatient and nervous, because I really didn't want anyone getting in the way of me getting what I want. Almost as soon as I had my selfish thought, I had a sinking feeling. I had succumbed to the worst byproduct of capitalism: greed. I felt like I needed to atone for thinking about my TV above someone else's GPS, my happiness over the happiness of someone else. It felt so dirty that when we got home, I considered taking a shower to rinse off the capitalist greed I was covered in.
After purchasing our TV, we pulled the car up to merchandise pick-up, loaded our booty into the car, and were back home in bed by 5:30. We are happy we got such a great deal on a TV, but not happy about what we had to endure to do so. And I hate what Black Friday turned me into. I can't say I'll never go shopping on Black Friday ever again, but I hope to avoid it at all costs. For one thing, I don't ever want to let something as silly as a good deal on a TV consume me enough to turn me into a selfish person. I don't want to see other people as nothing more than obstacles to my own happiness. I don't want to be "that guy" who doesn't care about other people. One thing is certain: now, when I set up that new TV, I will pray for forgiveness for my own selfishness, and I will remember that my happiness should never come at the expense of someone else's.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Anam Cara: Part 2 of Several
An Anam Cara is a soul friend. Join me as I share experiences of soul friends that have walked with me in my continuing journey of faith.
My name is Erik, I’m a pastor, I enjoy reading, cooking, going to ball games, and long, slow, reaffirmation of baptismal covenant services on the beach.
The first time I attended such a service, I was in St. Lucia on a mission trip with my youth group. Our last night there, we headed to the beach for some evening relaxation and closing worship. One of the pastors at our church, Rev. Eric Park, led the service, which was centered on reaffirmation of our baptismal covenants and the celebration of Holy Communion. I will never forget that service, particularly because of the way the sacrament of communion was served.
Imagine the sight of 80 senior high youth and adult leaders, worshipping on a Caribbean beach. Now imagine Eric, a bowling ball of a man, leading the service while standing knee deep in the ocean, holding the elements of bread and wine in his outstretched arms and inviting us to the Lord’s Supper. Imagine further that Eric is wearing athletic shorts, a Scooby Doo cut-off t-shirt, and a bandana on his head. This is the scene of one of the most memorable and comical experiences of communion in my life.
Before then, I had received communion countless times. But until that night, I had never seen it administered by someone wearing sleeveless Scooby Doo vestments. Then again, Eric is the type of guy who, as an adult, still reads comic books and watches cartoons, so none of us were in any way surprised at his attire.
As a high school student, I had already begun to sense a call to ordained ministry. However, I was a teenager, so I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I needed guidance on the matter. Though my parents were pastors themselves, our conversations on the subject seemed guarded. It was almost as if my parents wanted to support my potential call to ministry, but maintain enough distance that I didn’t feel any added pressure to follow in their footsteps. So Eric began to be a person I turned to for guidance.
Occasionally, I would swing by the church after school to chat with Eric. He shared his passions for Star Trek and comic books with me, and I shared my passion for baseball with him. We found (and still find) common ground with Duke basketball, Steelers football, Seinfeld, and a desire to follow Jesus Christ. And sometimes, we would discuss my call to ministry. Eric gave me a lot of great advice, some of which I remember and some of which I’m sure I have long forgotten. Over the years, Eric has remained somewhat of a mentor for me, particularly now that I have begun to fulfill my calling back here in Western PA as one of his colleagues.
Of the many things Eric has taught me, one very important lesson came on that warm summer night on the beach in St. Lucia. That night, as a high school senior, I learned that to be a pastor does not mean one must sacrifice his or her identity. Eric surely knows when wearing the image of a cartoon dog is acceptable, and when a clergy robe is more appropriate for administration of sacraments. But he did teach me that sometimes, we pastors need to let our personalities shine through. Just because I am now a pastor does not mean I must sacrifice who I am, hobbies and wardrobe included. This I know because of a pastor willing to adorn a cut-off t-shirt while administering communion.
On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for many anam caras, but I am especially thankful for Eric and the important lessons he continues to teach me. How he spells his name may clearly be inferior to the way I spell mine, but I am thankful to have a colleague and a brother in Christ like Eric Park.
My name is Erik, I’m a pastor, I enjoy reading, cooking, going to ball games, and long, slow, reaffirmation of baptismal covenant services on the beach.
The first time I attended such a service, I was in St. Lucia on a mission trip with my youth group. Our last night there, we headed to the beach for some evening relaxation and closing worship. One of the pastors at our church, Rev. Eric Park, led the service, which was centered on reaffirmation of our baptismal covenants and the celebration of Holy Communion. I will never forget that service, particularly because of the way the sacrament of communion was served.
Imagine the sight of 80 senior high youth and adult leaders, worshipping on a Caribbean beach. Now imagine Eric, a bowling ball of a man, leading the service while standing knee deep in the ocean, holding the elements of bread and wine in his outstretched arms and inviting us to the Lord’s Supper. Imagine further that Eric is wearing athletic shorts, a Scooby Doo cut-off t-shirt, and a bandana on his head. This is the scene of one of the most memorable and comical experiences of communion in my life.
Before then, I had received communion countless times. But until that night, I had never seen it administered by someone wearing sleeveless Scooby Doo vestments. Then again, Eric is the type of guy who, as an adult, still reads comic books and watches cartoons, so none of us were in any way surprised at his attire.
As a high school student, I had already begun to sense a call to ordained ministry. However, I was a teenager, so I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I needed guidance on the matter. Though my parents were pastors themselves, our conversations on the subject seemed guarded. It was almost as if my parents wanted to support my potential call to ministry, but maintain enough distance that I didn’t feel any added pressure to follow in their footsteps. So Eric began to be a person I turned to for guidance.
Occasionally, I would swing by the church after school to chat with Eric. He shared his passions for Star Trek and comic books with me, and I shared my passion for baseball with him. We found (and still find) common ground with Duke basketball, Steelers football, Seinfeld, and a desire to follow Jesus Christ. And sometimes, we would discuss my call to ministry. Eric gave me a lot of great advice, some of which I remember and some of which I’m sure I have long forgotten. Over the years, Eric has remained somewhat of a mentor for me, particularly now that I have begun to fulfill my calling back here in Western PA as one of his colleagues.
Of the many things Eric has taught me, one very important lesson came on that warm summer night on the beach in St. Lucia. That night, as a high school senior, I learned that to be a pastor does not mean one must sacrifice his or her identity. Eric surely knows when wearing the image of a cartoon dog is acceptable, and when a clergy robe is more appropriate for administration of sacraments. But he did teach me that sometimes, we pastors need to let our personalities shine through. Just because I am now a pastor does not mean I must sacrifice who I am, hobbies and wardrobe included. This I know because of a pastor willing to adorn a cut-off t-shirt while administering communion.
On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for many anam caras, but I am especially thankful for Eric and the important lessons he continues to teach me. How he spells his name may clearly be inferior to the way I spell mine, but I am thankful to have a colleague and a brother in Christ like Eric Park.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)