Life-Changing Encounters

 

I recently visited upstairs at Walsh, the building I work at currently. My office used to be on the second floor, but a few years ago we all moved together on the first floor and our old offices are vacant. But we still use the Chapel on that floor, and I visited it as well. While there I noticed the pictures of former Maryknollers (staff & missioners) who have passed away on the wall outside the Chapel. I’d like to talk about two who influenced me in important ways.

The first person was Larry McKinney. He was a long-time maintenance person at Bethany, who was loved by the staff and missioners who stayed there for orientation. I didn’t know him more than to say hello to and exchange small talk. But when he retired, I was impressed by the fact that one of the first things he did was take a trip to Africa and visited the missioners there. I was so envious; for the next 20 years I would dream of following in his footsteps.

Now as my own retirement is very near, I have made the arrangements to go to Africa myself. My dream is finally being realized, and I just want to offer a prayer of thanks to Larry for putting the idea into my head.

The other person was a missioner I met in my first couple of years here at Maryknoll Lay Missioners. His name was Ted Lanpher. He had retired and was living his dream of being a missioner to Peru, but then he was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer during what would be his only three-year contract. He came back to the U.S. for medical treatment and to be with his family. He stopped by our offices and visited with every staff person, including me (whom he had never met).

I remember that visit like it happened yesterday. We talked about each other’s lives, but whenever I was speaking I felt like he was totally focused on me. He looked into my eyes, and he listened to everything I said. It was a powerful, positive sensation. I had never had a conversation like that with anyone. I felt like I had been in a trance.

A few months later, Ted returned for a final visit. When he came around to see me, he seemed to remember everything we had talked about. Once again, he focused 100% on me whenever I spoke. I was stunned. With all the things he was going through—cancer treatments, visiting the people he loved, and preparing for his own death—where did he find time for me, a stranger whom he had only one twenty-minute conversation with? These two conversations inspired me; he had become someone I wanted to model my own behavior after.

I recently attended my final meeting with the anti-racism task force, and they shared some farewells with me. I have felt like I am the least important person on that committee. I mainly listen and occasionally comment on what we’ve been discussing. One of the members said to me that she appreciated that I was actively listening to her during meetings, and she felt that was a rare quality to find in people. Maybe I have grown as a result of my time with Ted (and Larry), brief though it was with both.

I think we all have special people out there looking for us. I have been so fortunate to have spent time with so many terrific, awe-inspiring people. I urge you to be open to that person wanting your attention. They may change your life more than you affect theirs. Don't let your Larry or Ted go by unnoticed.

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.

A Mishmash of Liturgies

I do three prayers a day normally: morning, evening and compline. Over time I have developed distinct and contradictory preferences in my solitary worship. I presume they don’t make any sense to anyone other than me and God, and the only reason I count God is that She is all-knowing.  That’s one of my preferences, if you hadn’t guessed. I try to refer to God as neutral or female. At times I would wonder if I was being blasphemous, but then I read about a Saint (exactly which one I can’t remember) that was noted for always referring to God in the feminine.  If you can achieve Sainthood and maintain that behavior, I’m not going to worry about my little transgression.

In my humble opinion, God is really without gender, but has been referred to in the masculine by countless millions (billions?) for so long that I believe if I use the neutral it will not balance the majority references, so I feel better using the female gender whenever possible.

Other habits include referring to the Holy Spirit as the Holy Ghost.  It’s my understanding that until recently Ghost was preferred to Spirit, but somewhere along the line Ghost got associated with spooks and goblins, and the Spirit was considered  less likely to be associated with Halloween.  Still I see Ghost used in my Rite 1 section of the Book of Common Prayer, so to be contentious perhaps, I like using Ghost.

I used to have the Order of St. Helena’s Psalm Book, and they try to use neutral language at all times.  Instead of:

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit:
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.

They write and say:

Glory to God, Source of all Being, Incarnate Word and Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.

I say the same, except I say Holy Ghost.  I like the rhythm of it better than the more traditional wording, and of course it’s gender neutral. Another thing I enjoy doing is using different translations of the Bible for the readings. I grew up on the King James Version, which I believe has some of the most beautiful language of any Bible in English, but sometimes it is a bit difficult to understand.  I used Eugene Peterson’s The Message for awhile.  It has understandable language, and it can be quite surprising and dynamic.  But I like to mix things up a bit (obviously), so have started using the different versions authorized by the Episcopal Church.  One of my latest favorites is the Good News Version, and I even ordered a copy of it, so I can refer to it when I don’t have access to the internet.  I love it; it reminds me of the Bibles I knew in my childhood with all the illustrations.  Some are in color and “starving artists sale” style, and most are just sketches within the text.

Finally, I prefer the modern version of the “Our Father [Mother]” to the traditional.  My experience in worship settings seems to indicate that I am almost alone in this.  I have read a number of articles, however, on how the modern “Save us from the time of trial” is closer to the original text than the traditional “and lead us not into temptation.”  Recently I remembered that I must have grown up with the modern text because I remember being puzzled by “transgressions” as opposed to “sins,” when I started going to Episcopal church services about 25 years ago. So I feel even more comfortable using the modern version since that realization.  In fact I find myself saying “Save us from the time of trial” at this point even when saying the traditional “Our Father” in church.

So what’s the point of this particular blog? I guess that when we worship in isolation, we find ourselves doing all sorts of things that we wouldn’t do within the walls of a church.  It makes me realize how people who are “spiritual, not religious” can end up astray and self-centered, when I think God calls us to be outward-focused. I won’t begrudge myself my idiosyncrasies, but I will maintain my weekly church attendance: Both to be among others and also to keep me grounded in the Episcopal liturgy, not my cockeyed version of it.

Trinity Exemplified

Hang on, folks, we're going on a ride here. Keep your hands inside the car.


For most of my life, I never felt God was communicating with me. I would meditate, pray, and hope I would feel some sort of energy pass through me in a recognizably Godlike way, but generally felt nothing. It has been only recently that I've thought that God may really be trying to guide me. See post entitled "God speaks in mysterious ways." Maybe it's just knowing what to look for, or being more sensitive to the possibility (or maybe I'm just fooling myself), but I have felt in the last year that God has been speaking to me in a way that I'm able to interpret.  Case in point:

I was sitting outside the Walsh building during lunch recently, reading The Divine Dance, a beautiful book on the Trinity by Fr. Richard Rohr. Rohr describes the Trinity as a Divine Dance between the three manifestations of God and ourselves. I was engrossed in reading throughout my lunch hour.

I got up to return to the office when I suddenly saw a little house sparrow chasing one of those ubiquitous, tiny white moths. I was mesmerized by the action: The moth gave the sparrow quite a chase, and suddenly another little sparrow joined in. Finally, they chased the moth into a bush, where a third little sparrow was waiting. Suddenly the moth was gone. I don't know which sparrow got it, but one (or all) apparently did.

I had just been reading  in The Divine Dance about how you can begin to understand the three phases of God and the interaction between them and us by sitting and contemplating nature. You find God and understanding in that plant, tree, sky ... or whatever is in view. So did I just witness the Holy Trinity in those three little sparrows in their dance with that poor little moth?

And who does the moth represent? Normally, I think of communion as a way of taking God inside me and then becoming filled with the Holy Spirit. Could God also consume me and unite with me that way? Was I the moth?

A chill runs down my spine.

God Speaks in Mysterious Ways

I listened to the interview and All Saints sermon of an Episcopal priest on Day One, a podcast site that has interviews and sermons by mainline Protestant preachers. I was particularly impressed by her suggestion that when eating out that you tell the waitperson you are going to bless your meal and ask what Blessing they would like you to offer them. She said the stories you hear are incredible and inspiring. I thought to myself, perhaps that is something I can do, if I'm not too shy. It is something I would like to do. The following morning, I took the train to work, and, as usual, I was doing Morning Prayer with my Book of Common Prayer in hand. A gentleman came and sat next to me, and looking at me, said, "Ah the daily bread ... would you like to share the daily bread?" I wasn't certain what he wanted, and then he said, "The Living bread". I understood what he meant by the bread, but I still wasn't sure what he wanted. Did he want me to read from the scriptures? So I just said, "Ahh, yes," and went back to my praying. He pulled out a book of his own and read. When I finished my prayers, I still had time on the train, so I pulled out another book I had just started--Escape Routes by Johann Christoph Arnold. A friend had sent me (and others) the book, and it seemed relevant to my condition right now, so I have been reading it. As I was sitting there in silence, I read the following: "...life's deepest fulfillment comes from valuing every human encounter, and showing love to everyone we meet, especially if they are lonely, despairing, or beaten down. What excuse can there be for not conquering our shyness in loving? ... As the novelist Alice Walker writes, '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.'" Now in general I don't think God is that interested in speaking to me, but I thought I can't ignore this! I waited for the train to come to our stop. We both began to gather our things and I reached out my hand to him. He took it, and I said, "Have a good day. May God bless you and keep you. I'm sorry, but I'm a shy person." He looked at me and said, "That's okay," and he handed me a card for an evangelical gathering. I didn't go, but I'm glad I reached out. I owe that in part to the priest's words. I sent this story to the priest I heard on Day One, and she responded, “Thank you so very much for sharing your blessing story with me. I treasure it but what I especially love is the realizations that you had that 1. God is very interested in speaking to you and that 2. you have a story to tell, just as we all have a story to share. I will be sharing your story with my congregation and your quotes from Walker and Arnold. The circle keeps expanding.” Maybe I'll be able to pray for that waitperson after all.

Falling to My Knees

Wilderness: Empty of human influence; lacking shelter for protection; no guideposts to show the way. For thirty years I traveled in a spiritual wilderness without God’s grace, or so I thought.

I was baptized Episcopalian and raised in a non-doctrinal church in a rural area just north of Seattle. I decided when I was in high school that I wanted to be some sort of minister, but I realized that I had no idea what faith I belonged to. By the time I graduated, I no longer went to church on Sunday. I found myself in a spiritual wilderness—either agnostic or atheist, but unwilling to commit.

After college, I struggled to become an actor, but found little work on the West Coast. I decided to head east, and I took a cross-country bus to New York City. From Salt Lake City to Chicago, the only folks on the bus were a half dozen of us in our twenties. We rode through what looked like mostly empty land with few features, all journeying to new lives in new places. Upon arrival in New York four days later, a generous friend helped me get established by finding me a place to live and a job to pay the rent. I don’t know if I could have made the transition without her help.

My time in the spiritual wilderness was spent moving from place to place. I valued the people I met more than any of the few possessions I acquired. But then I found myself spending lunch hours just sitting in St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Manhattan. Not praying, not even quite realizing why I was there, just needing a break from the City buzz and finding comfort in the beautiful reredos filled with white figures stacked from the floor up and around the blue stained glass windows to the ceiling.

My life had been shaken by deaths and depression. I realized that I was trying to reestablish a relationship with God. But I didn’t know quite how to go about it. I needed guidance in leaving my spiritual wilderness.

My first source for help was Kathleen Norris’ Dakota, in which she suggested that people in search of a spiritual home should look to their roots. I decided my roots were in the Episcopal Church. I began attending noonday mass at St. Mary the Virgin, a couple of blocks from my office. But I was a stranger among strangers. I needed someone to talk to, to figure out if I was making some sort of progress or walking in circles through desert wastes.

A few years later I found that person—two persons actually. By this point I was working for a Catholic lay missionary organization (Maryknoll Lay Missioners), and I became good friends with two missioners who had returned from Mexico and were working on staff. They were a married couple named Jean and Joe. They had spent their lives in mission helping those in need and living in a way that reflected their Christian faith. They returned from Latin America after Joe had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Joe’s belief in spiritual wholeness led him to strive for wellness within his cancerous wilderness in a way consistent with his faith. His cancer was in remission for years.

When I wandered out of my spiritual wilderness, both Joe and Jean served as my guides, even if this relationship was never openly defined as such. Joe and I had lunch together about once a week, and our conversations covered all manner of spiritual and moral questions.

Jean was my companion on many excursions as I defined what my role as a newly reborn Christian was to be. I wanted to be more than a go-to-church-on-Sunday type of Christian. I wanted to live my faith every day in all my encounters with others. When I discovered the Episcopal Diocese of New York had a two-day anti-racism training for clergy and church leaders, Jean accompanied me, even though she was Catholic. We continued to share an interest in the work after I became involved with the Diocesan committee on anti-racism.

Even in small ways, they demonstrated Christian hospitality to me. I used to walk past their home every day up a steep hill on the way to work. One morning I was making my way through a snowy climb when I heard the voices of their daughters Hannah and Maria calling my name. They told me the office was closed because of the weather and invited me in. Jean was waiting for me with a cup of tea to warm me up for the trip back home.

When Joe’s cancer returned and he passed away, their wisdom and grace continued to inspire me. Jean spoke at the funeral ceremony of their wedding day. Joe pulled her aside and said, “Pay attention. This will all be over in the blink of an eye.” At the time, she thought he was speaking about the wedding; now she felt it was about their life together. I remembered a day when I saw him standing among trees whose leaves were blazing with fall color. He seemed so overwhelmed with awe; I thought he would fall to his knees.

Jean has since become a United Church of Christ minister. I was honored to be asked to her ordination, which was filled with testimonies to her spirituality and Christian behavior.

Although Jean no longer works with me and our interactions are fewer now than I would like, I still feel close to her, and she remains a guide to me even now. I still hear Joe’s voice giving me wise advice as I face moral choices. I have never known anyone whose lives were so marked by the joy of their beliefs. I have learned that I will remain in the wilderness until God calls me to his arms. Jean and Joe taught me that my job until then is to find the beauty hidden in the desolation.