Faith Stories

Three Defining Moments

by Robert L. Veninga

There have been many defining moments in my spiritual journey.  Three, however, stand out.

The first was when I started teaching at the University of Minnesota at the height of the Vietnam war protests.  As I walked to one of my first classes, tear gas was in the air.  Then I saw police confronting protesters.  Then I viewed the gates in front of the Armory torn down.

As students came to class, many were wiping tears from their eyes, reddened from the gas.   I was about ten minutes into my lecture when a student said tersely:    “Nothing you say is relevant.”    Another commented:   “I don’t think you have a clue as to what is happening outside (with the protests).”  Students nodded in agreement.   Their criticism cut deeply.  My agenda was not theirs.  What a moment for a young teacher. 

After hearing the criticism, I felt like a failure.    And to be honest, the next few classes weren’t much better.  The students simply felt I was out of touch with their concerns.

As I approached my office, I found myself saying a little prayer:  “Give me the strength to do a better job – or help me figure out what I am suppose to do with my life.”

When I confided my misgivings to a wise friend, he had a suggestion:   “Be thankful for every student you teach.  Know each by name.  Say a prayer for courage when you feel you have nothing to say.”   I have followed that advice for over three decades and it has never let me down.  Especially the part about prayer.

The second defining moment came in the middle of my career.  After a professional conference in Santiago, Chile, my wife and I went to what has been called the most “remote region in the world” – Easter Island –  in the middle of the Pacific ocean.  Talk about feeling alone!  No one spoke English.  The hotel was primitive.   And for a person whose career is in Public Health, the fish market looked amazingly unappealing!   What to do?  We sought out a Catholic Church – the only church on the Island.

The congregation was mainly poor peasants.   The man seated next to me, probably a farmer, had rough, parched hands.   Underneath a crucifix of a Polynesian Christ we prayed in different languages.  

As the offering was about to be taken, I took out a couple of dollar bills.  The man next to me dug into a small purse and took out several coins.  I remember being shocked thinking that he was probably giving more of his income than I.  I dug deeper into my billfold and have tried to ever since.    More important – especially as I write these words after the Haitian earthquake – the hymn, “In Christ there is no East or West, in Him no North or South” has a much deeper meaning.   At the end of the service the man with the parched skin shook my hand with feeling. His language I did not understand.  But I understood his welcoming smile.  And I felt the warmth of his faith. 

The third defining moment came after I retired.  It was a Monday morning when normally I would be ratcheting up my energy to face inquisitive students.  There was nothing to do but pay bills.  What a downer!  But I turned to a book called, Receiving the Day:  Christian Practices for Opening the Gift of Time, in which the author had one big suggestion:  At the end of each day, ask where you have seen God.  As a matter of personal discipline, my wife, Karen, and I often ask that question:  Where did we see God today?  Almost always there is a definitive moment:  a smile from a neighbor, an unexpected phone call from a friend, the smile of a grandchild, a touching sermon at our church.

There are “defining moments” when our faith becomes more real, more personal and even more powerful.   For me, those wonderful moments often came in my career.   And for that I give thanks.