Break Bread With Me

A friend of mine once referred to my often garish, colorful or humorous ties as a ministry, because strangers have often commented on how they liked my ties, and one even asked if he could take a picture of my tie. I believe that anything we might do, no matter how seemingly small, can be considered a ministry if it has a positive impact on others.

So I have embarked on a practice that I had enjoyed in the past, but was negatively impacted by the pandemic, but one I am finally re-instituting: Having lunch with people. In the years I have worked at Maryknoll, I have enjoyed in particular taking visiting missioners out for lunch over the years and also with coworkers. A perfect lunch for me is with one other person or a couple. Large company lunches can be fun, but not rewarding in the way a one-on-one lunch is. The latter lunch always holds the possibility of a curtain pulled aside: learning something interesting about someone you otherwise would never have known. At our office prayer group, we recently spent a session discussing the passage in Luke about the resurrected Jesus encountering two of his followers on the road to Emmaus. They don't recognize him at first.

 

As they came near the village to which they were going, Jesus acted as if he were going farther; but they held him back, saying, "Stay with us; the day is almost over and it is getting dark." So he went in to stay with them. He sat down to eat with them, took the bread, and said the blessing; then he broke the bread and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he disappeared from their sight. They said to each other, "Wasn't it like a fire burning in us when he talked to us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?" --Luke 14:28-32

This passage resonated with me instantly. The fact that the two men's eyes are opened at the breaking of the bread only further demonstrates that meals together are an effective method of discovering the spirit within us. Then they have joy in remembering the conversation they had with Jesus on the road. If we are open to seeing it, we can find Jesus in each other simply by breaking bread together. As a contemplative, I believe that Jesus resides in all of us, and we can see him if we dare to look close enough. So the more people I have lunch with the more I see Jesus.

So while I started having regular lunches with people again merely because I enjoyed them, I suddenly realized that these lunches could potentially be another sort of ministry, albeit a selfish one. I began considering who would I like to have lunch with that I haven't ever before or in a long time. I took my priest of many years out to lunch, after having wanted to, but never quite putting it together. I had lunch with a person who worked at Maryknoll for many years, but not directly with me. I had lunch with one of the professors I felt close to when I got my masters at Pace University. I had lunch with a former coworker who I hadn't seen in months. Every lunch has been enjoyable and rewarding. And my meal partners seem to be enjoying them as well. One said that she would be willing to have lunch with me every month, and I just might take her up on it.

Some people even asked me to have lunch with them. One friend just happened to be in town and gave me a call. So perhaps God approves and is working to expand my ministry, if I can call it that.

I use to have lunch with my dear friend Joe about once a week in the years we worked together. He had a tremendous impact on me, spiritually and otherwise, and each lunch gave me another piece of him and a chance to share another piece of me with him. Now that he's passed, one of my favorite memories of him are the lunches we had together. Also my former priest Father Larry. We had many lunches and dinners together, sometimes with my Mary along, and the conversations we had were always far-reaching, intriguing and joyful. These continued after his retirement and only ended after his passing.

I am retiring in a year, and I plan on putting together as many lunches together as I can. Let me know if you are in the area and would like to have lunch with me. I would love to have lunch with you!

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.