From Ashes to Cathedral

Our character develops less from our wins than losses.

My whole life, as yours too, has seen its share of both, but on the whole they made us what we are. Ashes presume a thing was burned. And so it was. That “thing” can include our fondest dreams, plans, and projects.

"Yet from the rubble amid smoking ashes we salvage bits and pieces of substances that fire could not consume. Searching about, we also collect new raw materials. And then, we begin anew on our cathedral of mastership."

As a student inn high school and college, I felt like a ship without a rudder. Yet the process of unfoldment was in the works, but on a broader scale than the puny sweep of my vision. So I regarded myself as a failure in the midst of success.

"Life’s experiences were busy, nonetheless, prompting me to accept small roles of leadership, then shed them for larger ones. Step-by-step I built on."

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To give service to others is the heart of service to God as a servant of life. But I never made such a connection with my first major role of service as a high school junior. The job? I was a dining-hall checker. Our school was on a government milk program. It received a certain amount of money for every student who ate a meal in the school’s cafeteria each month.

A checker’s job was to check in all students at every meal. Two doors led into the dining hall. Students with names from A to M charged through the one door, N to Z bolted through the other. Boy and young men from ages fourteen to nineteen abound in energy and impatience.

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A student was to give his five-digit number or name. a checker then put a check next to that entry. But hungry students did not stand on that ceremony. They were apt to stampede past the checker’s desk, throwing an inaudible number over their shoulder. The checker then gave a shout to stop. Sometimes the students would. Half the time, he galloped up to the serving line to fix hungry eye upon the food awaiting an impatient stomach.

It took a great deal of courage in this six-year seminary to approach an upperclassman and request his number. I dreaded that part. But in time, I leaned graceful ways to make the request and spare myself retaliation outside my realm of security in the dining hall. Leadership in the making.

Three years later, the dean of student made me chairman of the dining hall committee. It now was my responsibility to set the checkers’ work schedule, enforce student dress codes, and keep peace between the students, cooking staff, and the dean. All done among some five hundred students. It was like trying to herd a bunch of cats. Or so it seemed. Yet the leadership role was teaching me how to stand on principle – most of the time. Other occasions demand the wisdom to do nothing.

There was always a trade-off.

Once a group off eight classmates did not like the main dish at supper – macaroni and cheese. It was burned and tough. They made a dismal study of the burnt offering on their plates, then piled at eight serving in the heap on a big serving dish in the middle of the table.

This structure drew the admiration of students at neighboring table, and they came to see it and stayed to laugh. I shared in their disgust of the meal. Duty called, however. The place was on the verge of a riot. Heavy in heart, I approached the table. A quiet request to cease and desist, to my surprise, was met with an immediate compliance. My cousin and his friends, the school’s top athletes and scholars, carried their dishes to the disposal window, then left. No doubt it was to order pizza. I felt like a hypocrite.

I serve as the dining hall chairman for only half a year then gave my resignation to the dean.

It happened like this...

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One evening, another group of students would not stomach the food. They were top student, but underclassmen. A near-riot came out of the scene. I told Jim the ringleader, to come to my room at a certain time to discuss the matter. At the appointed hour, I returned to the dorm to find the hallway outside my room lined with Jim’s friend.

Outrage rose in their voices. How could the school feed garbage to people. I beckoned Jim to follow me into my room, half expecting his buddies to push in behind us. That would then have been a serious matter for the dean to handle, but to my wonder, they let the door shut them out.

Jim was a good guy who’d done a stupid thing. The food was good in general. Besides there was a variety of it. One had but to exercise choice. So he learned. I put him on table cleanup duty for a week after the evening meal, but he didn’t show up once. Wisdom said to leave the situation alone. He’d learn the lesson. Hence I did not pursue him to fulfill his duty, and neither him nor his friends ever made trouble in the dining hall again. Yet I felt a failure for not following up and insisting he do his full punishment.

Soon after, I made an appointment with the dean, who was as tough as tough itself. He listened to my request to resign.
“Why?” he asked.
My roommate had connections to a paying job to help our school in a major fund-raising drive. I was offered it. The dean nodded his approval. He knew better than I that my service as dining-hall chairman had been exemplary. He also saw that the new job was an avenue for a more personal growth.

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"So seeming failures of this kind weren’t failures at all. They were rater ashes from which to resume work on my cathedral mastership. You, too, are building a cathedral. Your wins and losses net out to spiritual gains. Stick with your dreams and drives for in them lie the latent potentials for your greatness."

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Many thanks.