I have competed well; I have finished the race;
I have kept the faith.

2 Timothy 4:7

In the fading afternoon light, the cacophony of starlings caught my ear and then the flock caught my eye. I watched as the flock jumped into the air in unison and moved in mass with singular purpose – a miraculous spectacle known as a murmuration. The migration of the starlings and blackbirds and sandhill cranes mark this moment in time, this distinct change in seasons. It’s difficult not to be swept up in the moodiness of the fall shadows and cloudy breeze backdropped by the great movements of these birds. Watching them move across the sky is to witness the season changing before our eyes, like a mirror to the inexorable shifting within our own lives.

I recently spoke about my entrepreneurial and faith journey to a room of Catholic leaders. Afterward, a number of attendees approached me with comments and questions, all very kind and generous. One in particular caught me off guard. “Thank you for being vulnerable.” I thought to myself, vulnerable? I smiled and awkwardly said “thank you.” I really wasn’t sure how to respond other than to acknowledge what I recognized as an expression of support and appreciation.

What is it to be vulnerable? Exposed? Weak? Less? To be vulnerable is to be at risk, physical or emotional. Had I exposed myself? Did I go too far? Reflecting on the comment later, I realized that it struck me strangely because I did not see myself as being vulnerable in my presentation. Honest. Forthright. Direct. Yes. I shared stories of failure and success, discovery and disappointment, pride and humility. But they were part of the story and I didn’t see any of it as lessening me or elevating me. The highs and lows were just part of the story – shared in the hope that they might enlighten or entertain in some fashion.

Admitting that I’m not perfect and that I’ve made mistakes does not make me vulnerable, it just makes me honest. Acknowledging errors along the way merely affirms my humanity. We are all works in progress. If there was no failure, there would be little to learn. If there was no struggle, progress would mean less and any degree of “success” would be hollow. Yes, I put “success” in quotes – we are all moving along our own path of discovery and growth, a big part of which is figuring out what success really means. A topic for another day.

The crucible of discovery is a gift. My “vulnerability” was actually a witness to discovery. This was the struggle and here is what I found in it and past it. I see that as strength. Those lessons learned cost me something. I paid for them in time, suffering, and skinned knees – all of which I view as gifts. And seeing them as gifts is also a gift.

Millions of Catholics will hear 2 Timothy Chapter 4 proclaimed in Mass today as part of our Sunday readings. Reflecting on this scripture this morning, I was taken back to 2010 and the movie, The Book of Eli. It is the story of a man in a post-apocalyptic America. The land has been burned in a nuclear holocaust and humanity is broken and scattered. The central theme is Eli’s book, the last remaining bible, and his uncertain mission in carrying and protecting it. The tension of the story stems from the book being sought by the boss of a town who believes it will give him the words to control the masses.

The movie is dark, violent, and, ultimately, hopeful. We watch as Eli navigates a dangerous world of motorcycle gangs and ambushes, and we learn how he is special as he engages with this world and what is drawing him on. The culmination of the movie is the hero’s arrival, ironically at Alcatraz, where he delivers his special charge to a community that is trying to salvage civilization by finding and re-printing the great books. The final scene of the movie has Eli, played by Denzel Washington, reciting his prayer, a moving testament to his journey and the entire point of the movie.

I was greatly moved by Eli’s prayer and wondered about it. Looking up the words later, I discovered that the centerpiece of it came from 2 Timothy Chapter 4: “I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith.” At forty years ol age and a lifetime Catholic, it is certain that I heard Paul’s words to Timothy many, many times over my life. However, it wasn’t until they found me through a movie that they hit home and produced a movement in my heart. It was both disappointing and profoundly encouraging to make that discovery and reflect on it many times since.

Pope St. John Paul II wrote of the Law of Gradualness, the basic premise of which was that we’re all on a journey and see the insights of life at the points where we are able to receive them. He was speaking specifically to our faith journey but it is such a wise reflection on all discovery. The books, movies, songs, conversations, presentations, sermons, editorials, headlines, et.al. of our lives tend to meet us where we are. There are moments when the clouds clear, the moons and stars align, and we finally get it. The rest of our way is marked by what we don’t see…often because we’re just not ready.

Much has been written on vulnerability, but I think the short summation is that we have grown to protect ourselves behind the masks and facades we create to hide the realities of our humanity: we make mistakes, we often don’t have the right answers, we say silly things, we do dumb things, and we frequently fail more than we succeed. We’ve convinced ourselves that others seeing these things in us makes us vulnerable – it exposes us to ridicule, risk, or may hold us back from the things we want.

In What’s Wrong With the World, G. K. Chesterton wrote, “Not only are we all in the same boat, but we are all seasick.” We are all on a journey, this great adventure we call life. We will falter, fail, learn, and succeed, in various ways throughout our adventure. All of us. Sure, we’d like to experience a bit more of the “success” part but everything we experience is forming us and helping us become. Figuring out that much of what we once thought was “success” is just one more part of the great discovery awaiting us along the way.

There is a place where sharing crosses the line into true confessions and there are simply some mistakes that are not meant to be shared outside of the confessional. However, most of our stumbling is common to our lives as human beings, and the stories we tell often bring the right tidbit at the right time to the right person – meeting them along their own journey of gradualness. We may fear our own lessening in it, but it almost always lands exactly where and when it needs to, and returns the favor in our humbling acknowledgment that we are not perfect.

In whatever season you find yourself, recognize that the giving and the receiving are gifts. Particularly when they humble in their recognition.