The famous Trappist monk Thomas Merton wrote that a monk wouldn’t know if he’d wasted his life until it was over. Growing up the son of a minister and attending seminary myself, I suspect the same can be said of many members of the clergy.
I thought of Merton’s comment when I received the news that my closest friend from seminary had passed away. Carl and I had much in common. We were both sons of ministers and both of Swedish heritage. Apparently we looked somewhat alike, as people sometimes confused us.
The path of my life was the academic one, leading me to become a professor. Carl’s path was always headed toward parish ministry, which surprised none who knew him.
I first met Carl on the basketball court. Carl used to say the court was his real office at the seminary, but Carl would say many things that were funny and self-deprecating.
Carl and I took most of our classes together, ate lunch with other classmates with whom we debated theology, and on many evenings, we’d be part of a group at a nearby restaurant, where, over a beer or two, we fought over theology even more.
It didn’t take long for any of us to realize that Carl was much more than he gave himself credit for. Even as a seminarian, Carl was already a shepherd of souls on a level the rest of us could only admire. I never knew anyone who didn’t feel the love of God from Carl. To put it as simply as I can, Carl enjoyed God.
What a gift it was when Carl came to pastor a church in Indiana. He became an avid Purdue fan, no matter what sport, immediately. I was honored when he asked me to speak at his installation service. It was a joy to share with his new congregation the gifts I knew Carl would bring to them.
Over the years, Carl shared with me the ups and downs of life in ministry.
There were times when Carl knew that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do. He had the ability to go from conducting a funeral to conducting a wedding hours later and to be truly present for both.
There were other times when Carl faced what all clergy must face, when a small percentage of the congregation feel it is their right and duty to publicly point out their minister’s or priest’s flaws. Those are the lonely moments in ministry.
Throughout it all, Carl kept his heart open. He held no grudges and was always ready to love where love was needed. When my own spiritual journey led me from the denomination we shared together to another, Carl remained a true friend. His continuing support meant more that he knew, but I believe he knows that now.
Carl reminded me in many ways of my dear father-in-law, Nils. Both were Swedes, both jokesters and pranksters, and both very loving men. After my father-in-law died, I had a vivid dream of him dancing with the monks of Gethsemani Abbey, Thomas Merton’s home.
Three weeks ago, when I heard the sad news that my dear friend, Carl, had passed away, the first image I had was of Carl now dancing with the monks as well.
I don’t know in his last moments if Carl wondered if he’d wasted his life. But of this I am sure — everyone who was blessed to know Carl would say that he lived a life that mattered, a life centered on God and neighbor.
And for Carl, everyone was neighbor.
