To Be a Witness

My favorite occasion in the yearly cycle at Maryknoll Lay Missioners (MKLM) is the Covenant Signing Ceremony. Every year (except for last year), the candidates for mission come in for orientation, which currently lasts about 8 weeks. This is a time for discernment and preparation for the time either overseas or at the border with Mexico. Almost every year someone leaves during the orientation period, either because there is a realization that they are not a good fit for MKLM’s type of mission or they decide they’re just not ready yet and plan on returning at a later date. This year, all 13 candidates made it through the orientation and signed their contracts to become missioners. 

After they sign their contracts, there is a ceremony soon after where they sign their covenants. The contract is a legal document laying out the terms of agreement for their time in mission. The Covenant, on the other hand, is a spiritual and religious commitment to their time in mission. As I understand it, there is no legal obligation involved, but as a religious mission organization the Covenant is, to my mind anyway, the more important one. I will end this blog post with a copy of the Maryknoll Lay Missioners Covenant. 

The best thing about the ceremony is that it takes place during the work week and all staff is invited to observe. The ceremony is created by each orientation class, so every year it is different. One year I remember it was particularly exuberant. Another year, the songs sung were an especially important element. This year’s I would characterize as meditative with a beautiful liturgy. We had a mass, with a Maryknoll priest presiding. I always love the Covenant signing. 

This year’s would turn out to be particularly moving and memorable to me. The centerpiece of each ceremony is the actual signing of the Covenant. Each missioner is called up one at a time to sign their personal covenant. There is a person who witnesses each signing by adding their signature to the document. Most years, it is someone the missioner has chosen for personal reasons. It could be a family member, a priest or a sister who was particularly important to them spiritually…anyone they would like. In the past, two or three missioners have called upon me to be their witness, which is an honor I am always thankful for the opportunity to perform.

We had to limit attendance to staff and a handful of representatives from the Fathers and the Sisters this year. Irene, the head of our Mission Services Department, witnessed all but one of the new missioners’ covenants. But I had the tremendous honor of witnessing the Covenant of my friend and former coworker, Laurie.

 Let me go back in time a moment. For three years, from 2014 to 2016, Laurie was the major gifts officer in my department and had the office next door to mine. We became good friends. I would usually stop by each morning to check in with her and to share any news of my own. I think Laurie is extremely creative and intelligent. When we would make the department presentation to the candidates each year, I loved to watch Laurie’s presentation. It showed off her talent and experience and was also somehow intensely meditative and spiritual. It seemed to me to be the most suitable and personal offering for her to make as a representative of MKLM. 

Then Laurie moved on to another organization, and I lost that daily contact with her. We touched base occasionally through social media, and I knew that she was still involved and interested in MKLM by taking Friends Across Borders trips to visit our mission sites. But we had really lost touch with our daily lives. The day the candidates arrived at Maryknoll to begin orientation, we had a staff luncheon with them. That was the first moment I realized Laurie was one of the candidates. We greeted each other with a big hug. I was so excited that even though she will be going to Tanzania, a lot farther away geographically from me than she was before, this was for me a new part of my journey that I would be able to share with my friend Laurie. 

The final gift was a couple of weeks before the ceremony, I was on my lunchtime walk with coworker Eileen and we ran into Laurie on the same path. She asked me if I would be her witness. It was such a blessing. We weren’t even sure at that point that staff would be allowed to attend, but if it was possible, she wanted me to be her witness. I checked with Mission Services, and I guess they didn’t even know for sure then, but two days before the ceremony I found out I could witness Laurie’s signing. 

When the time came, I was surprised at how moved I was. Eventually, I figured out that when I witnessed for other missioners in the past, I had really only known them for two to three months. I felt close to each of them, but it was really just a beginning in our relationships. Laurie is the first missioner I have known before he/she arrived for orientation. I have such respect and love for her based on our previous relationship that this was a real honor for me. I am so thankful she asked me, and I am so happy that we will continue to be in touch, at least via email, while she’s in mission.

 Here is the Covenant she signed:

 “Guided by the Gospel and the Mission Vision of Maryknoll Mission Association of the Faithful, and grounded in the spirit and history of the Maryknoll movement, I pledge:

 • To participate in Jesus’ mission, contributing to the construction of God’s reign of justice and peace on earth;

 • To work with poor and marginalized peoples in cross-cultural mission, striving to create just structures and relationships;

 • To celebrate the holiness of everyday life;

 • To weave connections of mutual understanding and solidarity among people worldwide, thus opening my heart and life to ongoing conversion;

 • To build and strengthen relations with the people of the U.S. Catholic Church, who send and support me in mission.

In order to live out our mission vocation, we, as members of Maryknoll Mission Association of the Faithful, covenant with each other, before God, that we will:

 • Support and challenge each other, creating and living in communities that witness to Jesus’ mandate to love one another;

 • Consider and treat each other as equals and support each other’s growth and well-being;

 • Welcome the gifts and vocational charisms of each member;

 • Reflect, worship and celebrate together;

 • Accept the responsibilities and rewards which come with being accountable to one another, our sending communities, the local Church and Maryknoll Lay Missioners Leadership.

 Through this covenant we commit ourselves to mission as members of Maryknoll Mission Association of the Faithful, in the firm hope that our faith and actions will transform our lives, our organization, and our world through the power of God’s love. As members, we recognize that, we strive together for justice, peace, and fullness of life, and so our ministries are offered in response to the needs of the people with whom we live and work, and with respect for the integrity of all creation.”

May I add my personal Amen. Each day I try to look out for God’s gifts; this is one I will cherish.

I will pray for you

I woke up on a recent Thursday and began my daily preparations for work at the office in Ossining. I had just finished taking a shower when I noticed a pain in my chest, as if a hand was squeezing it. I also began to sweat profusely, soaking my shirt and dripping perspiration from my hair and face. I stayed still and hoped the feelings would pass. After about 15 minutes, Mary asked if I was all right. I said, “I think I’m having a heart attack. Better call 911.” Five EMTs were soon in our apartment, four shining lights from their phones on me (our living room is dark that time of morning) so the fifth person could see as she attempted to attach an IV on my right arm. They told me my heart rate was 176, which they described as “serious.” I told the woman working on my arm that I was often difficult to attach IVs to or drain blood from. It seems I have magical veins that dry up as soon as they’re poked or twist away from needles. Finally she switched to the back of my left hand and inserted the IV, but then my heart rate dropped to normal, so they didn’t need to give me any medication.
I was quickly placed on a gurney and taken out to an ambulance. Mary climbed in and rode with me to Montefiore Hospital, about five blocks from our apartment building. They took me into the Emergency room, where Mary could not follow, so she walked home. But we kept in touch by phone throughout my time there, and once I was in a room upstairs, she was able to visit. Still, I am not a fan of hospitals or emergency rooms, and I soon felt my anxiety rising while waiting for some information. I decided to focus on the other people in the ER: doctors, nurses, medical techs, EMTs and patients. I tried to keep each one in prayer as they came into view. I began to feel calmer.
The doctor came to see me, and informed me that I had suffered an AFIB (atrial fibrillation) attack, when the upper and lower chambers beat out of synch, causing the pulse rate to increase to high levels and sometimes plunge to low levels within seconds. The doctor told me they wanted to keep me overnight for observation, but I had to wait for a room, as the hospital was full at the moment. Meanwhile, to keep at bay the rising anxiety, I kept focusing on the other people in the ER. I also remembered a podcast I heard by an Episcopal priest, Cynthia Taylor, whose church in Tennessee had a “Blessings” ministry. They would look for opportunities to pray for other people. For example, if they were having a meal at a restaurant, they might tell the waitress they were just about to say grace and wondered if she might need a blessing she would like them to pray for. People responded positively to this, sometimes remarking that it was the first time anyone had ever prayed for them. While this ministry appealed to me very much, speaking to strangers about praying for them is not something that comes naturally to me. I tend to be very shy when surrounded by people I don’t know. Still, I thought my stay at the hospital might provide me with opportunities to try it. In fact, I did try it three times during my two-and-a-half day stay.
First, while I was still in the Emergency room. I had just heard I was to be transferred upstairs when a woman who performed various tests on me asked if I wanted dinner. I told her I was about to leave, but she said it would still take some time, and I might not be able to get dinner by the time I got to my room. Did I want “fish or chicken?” I opted for fish, and she soon returned with a platter containing a chicken dish and a paper bag. She told me they were out of fish, but she managed to get me a bag lunch containing a tuna sandwich, fruit and cookies. I could eat whatever I wanted, so I opted for the tuna lunch, which was surprisingly good. I decided I wanted to thank her for her extra efforts and offer to pray for her, but I didn’t see her again until I was in the process of being moved upstairs. Surrounded by all these other strangers, I told her, “Thanks for the tuna sandwich!” “How was it?” she asked. I said, “Delicious. I just wanted to thank you and tell you I will keep you in my prayers.” She looked surprised and touched, and she said “Thank you” as they wheeled me away.
The next opportunity came when a “patient assistant” was trying to take some blood. She was having the usual problems with my magic veins and apologized to me. I said it was okay. I was used to it. Eventually, she gave up on my right arm and moved over to my left. She was able to get the blood she needed, and she apologized to me again for having to try twice. “I’m used to it,” I said, “I will keep you in my prayers.” She laughed, which I took as a positive response.
My final effort came as I was checking out. My roommate for the time I was in that room was a Mr. Dutton. He was a very quiet man, and we barely exchanged a word while we were together. I noticed, though, that all the staff seemed to treat him very affectionately, calling him pet names and always asking how he was doing, even though his responses were minimal. On our final day, we were both told that we would be checking out that day. A social worker came to speak to Mr. Dutton. I picked up enough from their conversation to understand that Mr. Dutton was living temporarily somewhere and was waiting for acceptance in some sort of assisted living. He was concerned about taking his medications and getting around to his appointments. The whole time we were there together, he never spoke to anyone on the phone or had any visitors. He was still waiting for ambulance transport while I checked out and was about to head home. I decided to say goodbye to him. I said, “I hope you are able to leave here soon, Mr. Dutton. I wish you well and will keep you in my prayers.” He said “Thank you, I’ll do the same for you,” and extended his hand. In these pandemic days, I hesitated a moment, but then realized I was not going to leave without returning his handshake.
I was happy that I had been able to reach across my normal boundaries and offer to pray for these people. Whether I will be able to do it again, we shall have to wait and see.
I am feeling fine these days, by the way, taking some new medications and checking in with the cardiologist. I think the future is bright, and there is much on my agenda for the years ahead. If you need any prayers, let me know. I will be happy to include you in mine.

We Will Meet Again

"I wanted to share the Camino experience with my younger brother. ...Almost every workday Adam and I would sent each other short e-mails, his from an office on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center in New York City. Regardless of the content of our messages, the subject lines always referenced Jack Daniels. On the morning of September 11, 2001, Adam's message was cryptically entitled, "JDJDJackJDJDDanielsJDJD" In it, Adam noted that the account he was in the office early to work on that day "will be the end of me." That fateful morning my brother and best friend, J. Adam Larson, became one of the casualties of the horrific terrorist attack on our country. Ten years later, I continue to be consoled by words of St. Ignatius, who considered all of life on earth a pilgrimage, with heaven as its destination: "... But being we are pilgrims on this earth, we should not consider it a great loss when those whom we love in our Lord depart a little before us, for we shall follow them before long to the place where Christ our Lord and Redeemer has prepared for us a most happy dwelling in His bliss."--Keeping Community with Saint Ignatius by Luke J. Larson. 

    I recently attended a funeral for a friend of mine's father. I was happy to be there, for it was a difficult time for her and I wanted to be part of the community supporting her. However, what struck me about the service itself was the priest, who in his homily explained to us exactly what was going to happen to our souls after death. I had to wonder, "How can he be so confident that he not only knows what's going to happen, but he is determined to share with us his knowledge, we being a group of people who are largely strangers to him?" I can't convince myself that I have any idea what is going to happen, let alone share that knowledge with anyone else, friend or stranger. The quote above comes from a book about the author and his pilgrimage along the Camino Frances with his wife. As I myself hope to hike the Camino Portuguese next fall, I have been reading as much spiritual literature I can find, and currently am enjoying this book. I read the passage above recently and was struck by the story about his brother and his hope to see him again, which resonates with me, particularly after the memorial service we had for my brother last month. My Christianity is--and always will be, I'm afraid--disturbed by my doubts. Yet I continue on describing myself as a Christian, I go to church almost every Sunday, engage in religious practices such as meditation every day. Although I can never be without doubt, my efforts do comfort me; I can't explain why, but they do. So when I read the passage above, I thought to myself, I can accept my brother Harry's passing, because I will see him again. 

Here at Maryknoll Lay Missioners, when we have candidates for mission for orientation, the organization invites the staff to participate with the missioners in morning prayer, and also to lead a session or two, if the person feels comfortable with that. When I have led prayer in the past, I have frequently done a sort of Litany of Saints, a practice where we call on the saints to pray for us as we face a new endeavor or challenge. Borrowing the idea from Downtown Monks by Br. Albert Holtz, I use a practice where we ask not just the "official" saints to pray for us, but we invite people who were important in our spiritual development and now have passed away to pray for us. Each person asks two or three personal saints to pray for him or her. I would like to share with you a few of my personal saints. 

First, I'd like to mention my brother Harry, the most recent addition to my group of saints. Harry was my younger brother, twenty months younger to be precise. We went to the same schools through high school just one year apart. I wouldn't say we were frequent companions; I think we each were strugging to create our own lives, distancing ourselves from each other and our older siblings. Pretty normal childhoods, until Harry developed Stage One Diabetes. The impact was immediately apparent, he sprang up in height to well over 6 feet tall, without gaining any weight, in what seemed to me a matter of weeks. His arms and legs were the thinnest I had ever seen. Yet somehow he kept running. Eventually his weight began to catch up with his height, and he continued to pursue his various interests. After I graduated college, I left the Pacific Northwest, first for California and finally for New York. So we saw and spoke to each other rarely, yet what conversations we had were somehow bringing us closer. He told me he admired my involvement with Maryknoll and the Episcopal Diocese of New York's antiracism committee and said it had motivated him to try to make a difference in his local community. We each have our own gifts: Harry’s were his talent as a certified public accountant and an engaging personality that enabled him to reach out to strangers and charm them with his humor and his interest in their lives.

So he started writing a column in an online newspaper about the local government. He felt that the governments of towns like his have a lot of power over its citizens’ lives, and the people concerned have little understanding of how it works. He decided to reach out and tell them what they should know through his column. Eventually he began hosting “Coffee with Harry” sessions at a local restaurant at which he would interview local city officials. His most inspiring column to me, however, concerned how he befriended a tired-looking woman whom he noticed drinking coffee by herself at one of his hangouts. She turned out to be a prostitute who had been abused as a child, lost her own children to child welfare and was struggling to get by as best she could. He talked to her and tried to help her with food, money and, perhaps most important, friendship. When she passed away from a drug overdose, he wrote a column about their relationship. This led to the paper being contacted by the adoptive parents of her two children, who had been searching for her. Harry agreed to meet with them and tell them about her, so that they could share this information with her children.

I could not be any prouder of my brother than I am now. His lifelong struggle with diabetes, which slowly diminished him physically, and his caring heart, which touched so many other people’s lives. I know he is looking down at me from heaven, wishing me well.

I have one other personal saint I would like to share with you today, Fr. Larry. When I decided to return to the church, the nearest Episcopal church was St. Stephen’s Woodlawn, just a few blocks from my home. The rector at the time was Larry. That first visit, I wrote a review, of sorts, for the website Ship of Fools, and as instructed, I left a piece of paper indicating “The Mystery Worshipper” (MW) had been present. I also signed the church registry. As it turned out, Larry was familiar with mystery worshipping, and he sent me a card asking if I was the MW, and if so, suggesting I be kind and also inviting me to return. Thus began a relationship that would continue for his remaining tenure at St. Stephen’s and after his retirement until his passing.

Since I hadn’t been attending church at all for 25 years, and never the Episcopal church after my baptism, I had lots of questions. Larry patiently answered each one as best he could, and prepared me for confirmation in my late 40s. This began a series of theological conversations which persisted throughout our relationship. He was also very fond of my partner Mary, and the three of us had a number of meals together, both at his home and at restaurants, which were spiced by lively conversations. One of the restaurants in the neighborhood was apparently a hangout of his, for as we sat down, the waitress would usually bring up a martini for him before he asked. He could be charming and brilliant. When he served at the altar, he gave thoughtful and intellectually challenging sermons. But what most impressed me about Larry as a priest was the way he seemed to live the liturgy. He seemed totally involved even though he was repeating words he had said hundreds, if not thousands of times. Each service it felt like he was living every word, saying them for the first time. When I told him about my impression, he responded by saying, “That’s because I am constantly praying throughout the whole service.”

He was also a generous friend to me. When my last car died and I couldn’t afford to replace it, he immediately offered me the use of his car. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable taking advantage of his generosity, he replied, “But I want to help.” So I did borrow his car, and as he became more ill, I also drove him around when he needed help. In fact, Larry was ill the entire time I knew him with AIDs. He had contracted the disease before he became a priest, and with medication he was able to live into his 70s. But as our Bishop said at his funeral, he spent most of his life in tremendous pain. He covered it well, but as he got older, it got harder for him. I think it made him erratic emotionally, prone to bursts of anger and feelings of abandonment. Through it all, he remained committed to his faith and his role as a priest. Even after he retired, he would fill in when our regular priest couldn’t make it, and sometimes he would just come and play the organ at the service. He loved to play the organ. 

After he retired, he moved out of the parish house to the apartment building next to mine. And now that he’s gone, I’m reminded of him each time I walk past the building. I miss him dearly. He played a large role in my spiritual development. I am counting on him to pray for me in difficult times.

So I recommend to you to think about those people who shaped your life, spiritual or otherwise. Take some time to remember them and thank them. If you’re a praying person, pray for them and ask them to pray for you. I am sure they will respond, if you ask.

Where Have You Seen God This Month?

 One of my favorite podcasts is Faith to Go, put together by some Episcopal priests in the Diocese of San Diego. Each week they look at the gospel reading for the week and share their interpretations of the text. But before they do that, one of them always reports on where they saw God in the previous week. By seeing God I don't mean literally, but rather, when you have an experience that you feel particularly blessed by, and when you feel the experience is an expression of God's grace and bounty, that is what I think is meant by "seeing God." It kind of makes you feel like the smiling angel above.

Most weeks, I am not paying enough attention to recognize God when I see him/her. But thinking back over the past month, I can remember two such occasions. Both were meals shared with a friend after many months apart. These friends I number among those whose company I most enjoy, and, because of the pandemic, I have been unable to get together with them. Things have gotten better in New York, so at least I was able to sit at the same table with both of them this July.

First I had lunch al fresco with Brother Ray, a 92-year-old Maryknoll Brother who in the past few years I have become very close to. Before the pandemic, we would meet for lunch every two or three months, but the Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers (F&B) were particularly hard hit by the virus, and their building has remained shut to visitors and other non-staff people. But now that both Ray and I have been vaccinated, and the F&B have relaxed some restrictions on residents, we were able to get together. I scurried around to the back of their building, and Ray and I secured an outdoor table to share a meal. Ray is in excellent shape, physically, mentally and spiritually. His life was marked by a number of struggles, and he received no theological training (brothers were seen as servants to the priests, so the training a priest would receive was considered unnecessary), but now he is one of the most spiritually advanced people I know. I learn so much from him and about him whenever we together, and I am glad to say that he tells me that he feels happier now than he has ever felt before. I can't begin to express how much it means to me to spend time with such a thoughtful and loving person. I hope we have many more lunches in our future.

My second encounter with God was a dinner I was able to share with my friend Jean, one of my dearest and most valued friends. Jean and her late husband Joe played a large part in my Spiritual Autobiography (see the immediately previous post), but since she no longer works at Maryknoll, we have only rarely been able to get together in person. With the arrival of the pandemic, the opportunities shut down entirely. Jean is a chaplain at Columbia Presbyterian hospital, so with the impact of the virus and the needs of her family, she has been pushed to exhaustion with no free time. Yet there has been some easing, and it has been so long, we managed to squeeze in a couple of hours for a dinner and time to check up with each other. Materially, the meal was not particularly noteworthy, a salad and a frozen pizza, but being able to spend this time together was so rare and so rewarding, I'm sure God was at the table with us.

Any time I am able to spend with people I admire and love is a gift from God. I hope you are able to connect with those you love. Where have you seen God lately? I would love to hear about it.

May God bless you, and may you bless God!

Found Happiness with Mary and God - A Spiritual Autobiography

What follows is a Spiritual Autobiography I put together with the help of a couple of friends. It was meant to be shared in person and presented aloud. So packing 68 years of spiritual life into 30 minutes was a challenge, but also I think worthwhile. Here's what I came up with.  

 Introduction

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John 1:1

As I looked back on my spiritual journey, I became aware that my love of reading and the spoken word has had a tremendous impact on choices I made, and these loves will undoubtedly continue to influence my choices. I can point to quotes from authors such as C. S. Lewis, Kathleen Norris, Thomas Merton, and others that have been influential in my understanding of myself. I have also found the words of friends, colleagues, and my spiritual director have helped me make decisions along the way. In going through this autobiography process, I have discovered these words still have the power to move me. So, I have broken my life into “Steps” in my journey and led off each step with a quote that played a role in that period of my life.

 

Step 1: My Baptism and Childhood Christianity

“Richard Lee Gatjens, you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.”

Those words from the Book of Common Prayer were undoubtedly spoken at my baptism at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Seattle, Washington. I was a baby, and I have no memory of that event. I don’t even remember talking about it, but I did know that I was baptized Episcopalian. It would be 45 years after my baptism before it led me back into an Episcopal church to worship. I find it intriguing that this ceremony would shape my future spiritual life so profoundly.

My family moved out of Seattle to a rural area 20 miles north, when I was less than 2 years old. My parents were concerned about our spiritual upbringing, yet when the time came to pick a church, my parents did not choose a local Episcopal church. They chose Alderwood Manor Community Church, a non-doctrinal Protestant church, because it was close and they had an active children’s program. I remember going to Summer Bible School there. Each day would begin with us singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” outside the church, before proceeding to the undercroft to listen to Bible stories and create pictures of Jesus Christ surrounded by children and sheep.

But I never developed a feeling of belonging to the Community Church. In junior high, I thought about becoming a priest, but I remember meeting with a friend’s father who was a minister and telling him that I had no idea what faith I belonged to.

Step 2: Separation from the Christian Faith

“I don’t believe there is anything after death, and I’m glad.”

I had a classmate in high school, Debbie, who made this pronouncement at a play rehearsal. For most of my young life, I had been afraid of dying. I had been raised a Christian, but I had severe doubts about the existence of God and an afterlife. I had spent many sleepless nights worrying over what would happen to my “soul” after death. To hear Debbie say that she had no fear of death gave me pause. What was so terrible about nothingness? I think this was a turning point in my willingness to admit to myself that I was an agnostic or atheist. God was on the backburner of my life for the next 25 years. I don’t think this made me a bad person, but it perhaps made me an emptier person. I was still guided by the same ethics and morals instilled in me as a child, I just didn’t see God in it.

In college, I had a friend who practiced Transcendental Meditation. I was interested, so he taught me a way to meditate with him. Meditation of various sorts would continue to arise and recede as a spiritual practice from then onwards. Currently, I love the practice of Centering Prayer, which is a form of Christian meditation. In college, I was not seeking interaction with the divine, however, but looking for a way to calm my own inner self, as I can be prone to anxious, sleepless nights over even little mistakes.

Step 3: The Big Leap

“I ate apple pie and ice cream—it was getting better as I got deeper into Iowa, the pie bigger, the ice cream richer.”--Jack Kerouac, On the Road

In March of 1978, I got on a Continental Trailways bus bound for New York City. One of my favorite novels at the time was Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, in which he traces various trips he made back and forth from coast to coast. On his first trip, he talks about how he didn’t have much money to spend on food, so he thought apple pie and ice cream was the cheapest, yet still nutritious, thing he could eat. On my four-and-a-half-day trip I had more than one apple pie and ice cream in tribute. I also found a salvation, of sorts, in Iowa.

I grew afraid as the bus pulled out of Seattle, wondering what I was doing. I had $750 in my pocket traveling across the country to a place I had never been, with only my friend Debbie in New York City to help me get set up. Yet somewhere in Iowa, I began to feel calmer, more confident, and from that point on I felt that I was going to be all right. That no matter what happened, I would find a way to continue.

I spoke to my TM friend afterwards about the trip, and he told me that the TM organization had a headquarters in Iowa, and one of the things they do there is send out positive vibes to the world around them. So as my bus drew closer, in his opinion, I received more and stronger vibes from them. I am skeptical of this particular interpretation, but I do believe that positive thoughts can have an impact on other people, so who knows? Their work may have had an impact on me on that lonely bus ride. If so, thank you!

Another interesting event of the trip happened when my bus pulled into Cleveland, Ohio. We had a dinner break, and while I was waiting for the bus to leave, I found a newspaper with an ad for a play that was being performed just around the corner from the bus station. One of the performers was a college friend of mine, Karen. I had no idea she was in Cleveland. It seemed too preordained to ignore. I found out I could take a later bus, so I went to the theater and got there just in time for the curtain call at the end of the play. I stood backstage as Karen came off. She took me back to her apartment so we could talk and I could take a shower before catching the next bus to New York. Looking back, it feels like this was a chance to say good-bye to my life in Seattle. I was committed to a new place and life that Seattle had prepared me for.

Step 4: New Start in New York

Interviewer: “How can I make myself want God enough to enable myself to find him?”

C. S.:“If you don’t want God, why are you so anxious to want to want him? … I should say that this person has in fact found God. … At any rate, what is more important is that God has found this person, and that is the main thing.”--C.S. Lewis in a radio interview.

I met Mary at American Management Association in 1981. We were just friends until she was laid off. This prompted us to step up the relationship that has lasted until this day. It was not a storybook romance. We have dealt with a number of issues over the years, some I found very difficult to handle. Eventually I found myself spending lunch hours at St. Thomas Episcopal Church at midtown, looking for peace and space to think.

When I thought about why I had chosen St. Thomas as my refuge, I began to wonder if this was a return to church. Had God found me again in New York City? I felt drawn first to investigate the Episcopal church because of my baptism. I had been reading Kathleen Norris’s book Dakota, and one passage about her return to South Dakota particularly resonated with me:

“T.S. Eliot wrote, ‘The end of all our exploring/Will be to arrive where we started/And know the place for the first time.’ Against all odds, I rediscovered the religion I was born to, and found in it a home.”

 A friend of mine at work was a practicing Catholic, and I felt I could talk to him about my feelings. He would go to mass at St. Patrick’s at noontime, and I found a nearby Episcopal church that also had noontime mass. We would compare notes afterwards. I did not feel comfortable sharing this with Mary, because she was a committed EX Catholic and generally opposed to organized religion.

Eventually, I found an Episcopal church in my neighborhood and told Mary what I was up to; she surprised me by how supportive she was. She didn’t want to go to church with me, but she encouraged me to follow my instincts and became good friends with my priest, Father Larry.

I believe my faith enabled me to deal better with subsequent crises, and I think Mary and I are both closer and happier as a result.

Step 5: Maryknoll

“We are called to serve one another, to walk humbly with God.”--David Haas

"Pay attention. This will be over in a blink of an eye."--Joe Regotti

I was still in the early stages of finding God in the Episcopal Church when I came to work at Maryknoll Mission Association of the Faithful. It turned out to be the perfect place for me to be. If I wanted to discuss spiritual matters, there was an abundance of people willing to do that with me. Two people who played the largest role in my development spiritually were Joe Regotti and Jean Walsh, two lay missioners who had returned from mission when Joe was found to have a brain tumor. For thirteen years Joe was on staff and he was a frequent lunch companion. He was a real mentor to me and helped me see my own relationship with God more clearly. Jean was my partner in anti-racism activities and epitomized to me hospitality and spiritual joy. No one I know has a more full-bodied laugh than her.

Other missioners and staff prompted conversations that made me feel more confident in my spirituality. I felt better able to share my faith thanks to their encouragement. Thanks to my work at Maryknoll, I was also able to take the next step, which enhanced my spiritual life more than any step so far.

Step 6: Contemplative Formation Program at Mariandale

“Just say yes.”

This is a phrase frequently intoned by my spiritual director and the instructors at Mariandale. It was a long winding road to the program that would impact my spiritual life more than any other event. It began when I was having lunch with a friend, Karen. In the days before our lunch, I felt I should ask her about spiritual direction. I had thought off and on that it might be helpful to me in my efforts to draw closer to God, yet I wasn’t even sure exactly what it was. Nor did I understand why I was feeling compelled to ask my friend. I had no idea of her relationship, if any, to the process. But I asked her anyway, just saying yes to the impulse.

 “Funny you should ask.” she said. “I know a Maryknoll Sister who is a spiritual director and is looking for new clients.” Karen gave me the sister’s e-mail, who agreed to have lunch with me. Then she decided she didn’t really want any new clients, but would have lunch with me anyway. At the end of our lunch, which I enjoyed very much, she told me, “I can give you names of possible directors, but what I want to really recommend is that you take the Contemplative Formation program.”

I took her advice and applied for the program. It was like applying for college: filling out forms, collecting references, attending interviews. After finally being accepted, they told me I had to get a spiritual director to be part of the program. I had come full circle. I ended up working with a former lay missioner, Jeanine, who had recently gotten certified. I have enjoyed and continued the spiritual direction experience with her.

I found the program challenging at first, but eventually I realized this was where I needed to be. It has altered my daily life, so that I am more outward thinking. It has made me happy and feel that I am really on the right track to becoming a better person. I feel so grateful that God has led me to this place, even if I never saw it coming.

Step 7: Where I am now and Where I am going

"Our last five minutes on earth are running out. We can spend those moments in meanness ... or we can spend them consciously embracing every glowing soul who wanders within our reach."--Alice Walker

So where has my journey brought me? It has brought me to a place where I realize I am never going to hear God’s voice telling me what to do, like King Arthur does in Monty Python’s Holy Grail. The path ahead is never obvious, but I move forward by trusting my own instincts. I think that Thomas Merton best expressed where I am in my journey today and where it might lead.

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.”

Amen. That last sentence I quoted from Merton is probably my biggest new understanding I gained from writing this piece. Thank you.