08-07-25 A Letter From Our Servant Leaders

Finding Joy in the Chaos of Service (and Life)

I was blessed to grow up in a community filled with friends, neighbors, and classmates from diverse ethnic, religious, and cultural backgrounds. Our tight-knit circle of school friends, many of whom I still keep in touch with, spent countless hours in each other’s homes, celebrating holidays and special moments together.

I attended my Jewish friends’ Bar Mitzvahs and shared Seder meals at their homes; they joined us for Christmas dinners and came to our Confirmations. It was a joyous way to grow up. We were all beach kids, growing up on the ocean, and our common bond was the water. Whether it was surfing, swimming, or late-night beach parties, we forged lifelong friendships.

My closest friend was Jewish. His parents were immigrants from Germany, and I still remember an expression his mother used to say when we’d start dreaming out loud about our future plans (which, of course, mostly involved becoming rock stars, world-champion surfers, or lifelong beach bums). With love and a knowing smile, she’d say: “Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht,” Man plans, and God laughs.”

The Punchline of the Universe

Many of you have probably heard that expression before, though perhaps not in its original Yiddish. It’s one of those rare proverbs that manages to be both deeply philosophical and a perfect punchline when life throws a pie into your meticulously laid plans.

You might hear this phrase from grandmothers, spiritual sages, or anyone who’s ever had a Monday. But its power lies not just in charm or self-deprecation. It speaks to a universal truth: no matter our intentions, life retains the right to improvise.

We map out our days, plan years in advance, and read books titled Things Fall Apart, assuming, of course, that our particular things will not. Then, the universe, with the comedic timing of a late-night writer, throws in a snowstorm, a flat tire, or a missing cat just to keep us humble.

But this isn’t cruel. The laughter in “God laughs” isn’t the cackle of an omnipotent prankster. It’s the loving chuckle of a parent watching their toddler plot a path to the cookie jar, completely forgetting the laws of physics (and the family dog). It’s a cosmic inside joke and an invitation to loosen up and remember even the best-laid plans are subject to rerouting, revision, and reruns.

Plans Meet Real Life: The Volunteer Edition

Nowhere does this proverb’s wry wisdom hit harder than in the world of volunteer work.

You arrive, eyes shining, plans in hand, ready to fix every woe in a single afternoon. You’ve got a PowerPoint titled Operation Soup for the Soul, color-coded schedules, and an uplifting playlist queued up. Five minutes in, the oven rebels, toddlers outnumber adults three to one, and nobody can find the ladle.

The universe (and, perhaps, God) chuckles gently, tossing in a dash more chaos to your recipe for good.

And yet, and here’s the twist, magic sneaks in through the cracks. The moments you remember aren’t the ones you scheduled, but the laughter during dishwashing, the surprise carrot-chopping talents of a retired dentist, and the mysterious appearance of twelve extra cakes.

Your plan wasn’t the plot. And that’s where the gold is.

The Hero Complex Gets a Reality Check

You’ve probably heard of the “hero complex,” that well-meaning urge to swoop in, fix everything, and earn a modest (or resounding) round of applause. The heart is in the right place, but the ego is riding shotgun.

You rush forward, cape flapping (even if only in your imagination), determined to “save” the community, cure all injustice, and be remembered in stories, preferably with inspiring background music.

But here’s the kicker: reality, like God, has a wicked sense of humor. The hero complex can quickly morph into overconfidence or tone-deafness. You plan to “lift” a community, only to find it already has its own plans, and, more often than not, already built the ladders.

“Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht” pops the ego-balloon before it floats too far. It reminds those of us prone to heroism: don’t assume you’re the protagonist. Ask instead: “What do you really need?” and “How can I help without making this about me?”

That shift from control to curiosity reveals the true spirit of service. The best stories rarely star us alone. They emerge when everyone has a voice when we serve with, not above, others.

Laughing with the Divine

One of the secret gifts of this Yiddish proverb is permission to laugh at yourself, at the universe, and at the micro-dramas that unfold in every charitable kitchen, food pantry, or fundraiser.

Jewish humor, forged through centuries of resilience, finds its strength in irony, self-effacement, and the ability to smile in the face of absurdity. That spirit is contagious. Those who can laugh when the soup burns, the flyers multiply inexplicably, or the event flops gloriously are the ones who recover, adapt, and build true community.

There’s liberation in this laughter. It frees us from perfectionism and opens the door to creativity. Sometimes the failed event becomes the beloved tradition. Sometimes the missed connection becomes a lifelong friendship. And sometimes, busted plans and quick recoveries turn out to be the best team-building activity ever invented.

Planning with Open Hands

So, the paradox is: “Man plans, and God laughs” doesn’t mean we shouldn’t plan. We should. Plans are useful. Intentions are meaningful. Structure helps.

But clinging too tightly to a plan, bristling at every deviation, (you know who you are) is a surefire way to miss out on the richer, more joyful surprises that come when we let life breathe.

Instead, approach service with ambition and agility. Shoot for the stars, but pack hiking boots and a sandwich just in case the road is actually a roundabout, and the stars are hiding behind a cloud.

What does this look like in practice?

Be prepared, but open-minded. Show up ready, but expect the unexpected, and when your plan falls apart, look for what’s trying to break through.

Perhaps the deepest lesson isn’t that we shouldn’t plan but that we should hold our plans with both commitment and curiosity. In volunteering, this means centering the community’s voice, respecting lived experience, and remembering that partnership always beats paternalism. Some of your greatest contributions might be the ones you never saw coming.

The Invitation to a Better Story

So, by all means, lay out your plans. Bring your best intentions. Leap into service with enthusiasm.

Just don’t be surprised when things go sideways. And if the universe winks, or bursts into laughter, don’t insist on being the straight man in life’s ongoing improv.

Chase your big ideas. But welcome the plot twists. Laugh with the divine, with your neighbors, and most of all with yourself.

Because sometimes, plans falling apart isn’t the joke. It’s the invitation to an even better story.

Oh, and by the way, I still think I would’ve been one heck of a professional surfer. (Cue God chuckling.)

– Peace and God’s blessings,  John