Reflections About a Camino

"May we become bearers of joy, we who are invited to share in the Cosmic Dance! May we walk in faith all the days of our life - confident in your Divine Presence, even in times of trouble, and with assurance for what is and all that is to be. May we have faith in the unfolding of our lives, and radical trust in the universe." Nan Merrill, Psalms for Praying. 

It was a week ago that I was at the 9:30 am Pilgrim's Mass at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, Spain, after completing a six-day journey from Tui to Santiago. We returned to the US on Monday, and I have spent the past week reflecting and trying to pull some meaning out of the experience.

I have heard it said that "It's your Camino. Do it the way you want!" I certainly did that, but I also wanted to be cognizant of and faithful to the pilgrims who walked this way before me. Around 800 years ago, pilgrims started leaving their homes to walk to Santiago. After arriving and resting, they turned around and walked back home.

The Camino de Santiago has been designated a Plenary Indulgence in the Catholic church, meaning that if you complete the pilgrimage,  your sins are all forgiven. I am not Catholic, but my reading indicates that the early Church looked at indulgences as a way to encourage people to live according to God's precepts in their daily life. Indulgences eventually were twisted into things you could buy and sell. But as someone who strives to live a contemplative life, I like the idea of encouraging people to live their lives according to their faith. I believe that when your faith is a part of your daily life, you find joy.

That was the first gift I received on the Camino: a feeling of joy that I was actually there after three years of planning. I was taking part in this incredible ritual and at the same time discovering the beauty of Spain's landscape and its people.

 

The second gift was forgiveness for myself. It was much harder to walk the Camino than I had anticipated. On day 4 I had started to break down. On day 6 I told Debbie and Mary that I didn't think I could complete the journey. They both told me not to quit, and with Debbie's help I was able to complete it. I was able to forgive my weakness and accept that I did pretty well for a 69 year old with numerous health issues.

The third gift was all the Spanish people we met. They went out of their way to help us navigate the vagaries of staying in various cities along the Camino. I had made the arrangements, mostly through Booking.com before we left. I was expecting to find a sort of reception desk at each place, but the first three days, when Mary arrived ahead of us to hang out while Debbie and I hiked the trail, there was no one there and no indication of how to access our room. In each case, Mary, who speaks no Spanish, found a local shop owner or other local to contact management and get her in our room. By the time Debbie and I arrived, Mary would be relaxing on the balcony or in a nearby park or square waiting for us. I like to think God was watching out for her.

I was also impressed by the Spanish women running the restaurants we ate at.  More often then not, two women would be the only people behind the counter, one cooking and the other acting as host/wait person. No matter how busy they got, they reacted to us with patience, kindness and grace.

I remember in particular two occasions. The Spanish generally follow the practice of Siesta. Most restaurants are closed between 2 and 8 pm. Our preference was for dinner around 5:30 or 6:00 pm. We could usually find some sort of bar/bistro that was serving food, but in Caldas de Reis we seemed to have run dry. Then we found this little bar, operated by two women, of course. They said they had a very limited selection of food. We said we would "eat whatever you've got." A little later they brought out three big plates: one of a salad with onions and tomatoes, one of French fries, and one of fried chicken. They were each delicious, and we filled up with three chicken legs left over. We heaped our praise on the chef, who was obviously pleased at our enjoyment of her food.

The other special meal was when Debbie and I ordered gazpacho at a cafe in Santiago.  The host/chef told us about how she chose and prepared the tomatoes for the soup with real pride. I have never liked gazpacho, but after that description I had to try it. It was bliss. The tomato taste was incredible! I would say that it was the best bowl of soup I have ever had.

The Camino can be magical. I remember feeling worn out and struggling to keep going when a group of five or six women passed me and began singing in perfect harmony a folk song. It was like a dream. The next day a tiny elderly woman passed me. As she did she broke into a wide smile, looked directly into my eyes, and wished me a "Buen Camino!" Then she and her family broke into a rousing song as she hiked on.

I feel so blessed and fortunate to have finally made this pilgrimage. The pain has faded, but these memories live on. I believe that God's spirit resides inside each of us, and the Camino is filled with people exhibiting that spirit. It is a wonderful place to be.

The map on the inside of my Pilgrim credentials shows the various routes spreading across Europe away from Santiago, as if Santiago was the beating heart pumping God's grace and love across Europe. I would like to see that system grow, heading East into Asia and Southeast down to Austrailia and then shooting across the Atlantic to link up in the Americas, creating one circulatory system across the world, enfolding us in God's body. Then we could all feel together, not alone, as we strive to, as a Hindu prayer I love put it, "create heaven here on earth." Amen.

Special thanks: The following people deserve my special thanks.

My boss Ted and my former boss Leslie. Three years ago for St. James' feast day, Ted wrote a reflection in which he referred to the Camino.  I had never heard of it before. He had no idea what a spark he put in my life. Leslie always encouraged me in my spiritual development, and we talked of the Camino often while I waited out Covid.

Missioners and Camino veterans, Jim and Marilyn, Heidi, Richard and Sami. They answered my questions, they gave excellent advice, and provided all kinds of support to my pilgrimage. My spiritual director Jeanine, who always knows the right questions to ask.

Most of all, my companera Debbie and my life partner, Mary. I had planned on hiking alone, but God sent me Debbie, and She knew what I needed. Mary has played down any contribution to my journey, but just having her there at the end of each day meant everything to me.

Many others provided encouragement and support, and I am grateful to each of you.

A Reflection on My Time With Maryknoll Lay Missioners

 Every other week at work, a "Monday Bulletin" is sent out to the staff and Missioners. The Bulletin has news about what is happening in the organization, along with prayers, reflections, highlights, celebrations, etc. The writing of various parts are written by different departments each issue. This week, I was asked to write a reflection on our anniversary. I have added some photos, except the collage above, which our Communications Manager put together for the original Monday Bulletin. I thought it was worth sharing with you what I wrote:

Bethany - Former Home of MKLM 

Today is the 47^th anniversary of our founding as the lay missioner program within Maryknoll, and it is the 28^th anniversary of the creation of MMAF as an independent organization. I have been an employee for the last 22 years. Recently, I was having a procedure done and to keep me preoccupied until the anesthesia kicked in, the doctor engaged in a little small talk with me. “You are retired, right?” “No,” I said, “I’m still working.” “Really?” he replied. “I love my job,” I said.

In my relationship with MKLM there have been plenty of changes. I have now worked with 9 different department heads. I have seen the organizational structure change dramatically. I have seen regions open and regions close. Most of all, I have seen missioners come and go and staff come and go, some of whom I felt very close to. I have had to make many adjustments over the years, but it has been worth it.

I love my job. A friend of mine won a bishop’s cross (for contributions to the church above and beyond expectations) at the Diocesan Convention, and when she spoke in response, she said she wanted to thank the Episcopal Church for giving her the opportunity to “do good.” That’s what drew me to Maryknoll Lay Missioners: it gives me the opportunity to do good.

MKLM is different from other organizations I’ve worked for, because its mission is not making a profit, but rather, “Compelled by faith, engage with people across cultures and ethnicities, we live, love and work with communities on the margins to promote active nonviolence and healing.” That first part, “Compelled by faith,” is important to me.

Jesus is in our hearts, and nothing can change that. I have read the results of various Mission Assemblies, and while the discussions are sometimes heated, everyone’s goal is always to make MKLM better at doing God’s work. This motivation is immediately apparent if you listen to the discussions going on. Take a minute to ask one of our missioners why they are in mission, and God’s light shines from their faces.

What a wonderful history this organization has. Take a look at the faces of all the classes in the photographs on the wall downstairs at Walsh. Hundreds of people over the years doing good all around the globe. I think we are living out St. Francis’ prayer:

“Make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love,

Where there is injury, pardon,

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness, light,

Where there is sadness, joy.”

MKLM has been providing peace, love, pardon, faith, hope, light, and joy for almost 50 years. I raise my glass in a toast for the next 50: May our light never dim.

 

(Mostly) Solo Caminito

Happy St. James' Day!

If you are unaware, St. James (Santiago) is the whole focus of the Camino de Santiago, and the New York City American Pilgrims on the Camino organization held a "Caminito" to celebrate his feast day (July 25th). We were to walk from 72nd St in Manhattan along the Hudson River for about 7 miles to a tapas bar in Soho. The hike was scheduled for 9 am, in part to avoid the heat of the afternoon (93 degrees). I had been warned via email that they would leave promptly at 9 am.

Checking my Moovit ap, I saw I needed to catch a 2 subway train by leaving my apartment at 7:40 and walking up the hill to the subway station (it's actually elevated above the road in my neighborhood). Unfortunately, I was just reaching the station as the train pulled in and I made the platform in time to see it start up and head toward Manhattan. The next train was in ten minutes, and I arrived at the meeting place (a memorial statue of Eleanor Roosevelt) at 9:03. There was nobody there.

Well, I had spent an hour and twenty minutes getting there, and I had never hiked the Hudson River walkway, so I thought, "Might as well, maybe I'll catch up." Well, I'm slower than your average Manhattan walker these days, so I never did catch up until the very end. But I still enjoyed the hike. I had a bottle of recently frozen water with me and some grapes, and I was wearing sunglasses. The only hazard on the trail is there a lot of runners who don't like to slow down (got to keep that blood pumping!). Manhattanites are different than Bronxites. They are thinner, taller, whiter, and more fashion conscious. So I did a lot of people watching as well as river watching as I went.

The walkway is comparatively new, and much of it is an extended park (Hudson River Park) along the river's edge. I walked by playgrounds, lots of benches and picnic areas. To my right was the river, the Intrepid, tug boats, cruise lines, and ferries. Chelsea piers is a complex with restaurants and very clean bathrooms (needed by me at that point). It was easy to pull aside to have a drink of water and munch on a few grapes. I was always looking for my fellow pilgrims (peregrinos), but didn't see them.

The end of the walk was to be a meal at a Spanish tapas bar called "Despana Foods." With my Google maps app, I tracked it down. I ordered a couple of small sandwiches (pintxos) with Iberico ham and sausage and a hard apple cider. Then I found my fellow pilgrims and joined them. I managed to sit next to a couple who had just completed the Camino Portuguese, and I learned a few things from them. After lunch, I strolled over to REI to pick up new hiking shoes and socks.

So did I learn anything from my Caminito?

  "Our world is saturated with grace, and the lurking presence of God is revealed not only in spirit, but in matter...God intended for us to discover his loving presence in the world around us." Brennan Manning in The Ragamuffin Gospel.

  I have been thinking about why I feel drawn to the Camino, it has been more a feeling than an idea so far. But on a recent training walk, I realized how much I was focused on all the sights and sounds around me. I didn't have to concentrate on what I was doing or where I was going, so I was open to the blue skies, the birds singing, people talking and laughing, even the sight and sound of cars passing me as I walked.

 I do Centering Prayer almost daily, and the focus is to empty yourself of thoughts and open yourself up to God. I don't know how it works, but somehow over the years that I've been doing it, I feel Centering Prayer has changed my life for the better. I am more positive, I am more focused on other people than myself, I am more willing to share with other people, and I look for opportunities to pray and help other people. I think hiking the Camino will be a walking form of Centering Prayer, and I look forward to what blessings I will find by walking it.

On this Caminito, I learned I have little control over what will happen, but by persevering when things go wrong, by staying open to what's in front of me, I will find what I feel drawn to. It may be entirely different than what I expected,  but that's okay, because I believe that God is in everyone and everything I encounter.

Buen Camino!

Time Spent With Tina

My sweet Mary’s mother, Catina Zippo, passed away this month. She was 93 years old, and I have known her for the past 40+ years. Tina, as we called her, was born and raised in the Bronx. As is true of many native New Yorkers—including my Mary—she never learned to drive, but she had her husband Lou to drive her around most of her adult life. She loved the Bronx she grew up in and the Bronx of today. If she could have, I am sure she would have lived her entire life there.

When Mary and I first got together, she lived five minutes away from us in the Wakefield area. We spent many dinners there with Tina and Lou and other members of the Zippo/Meloni clans. I learned to appreciate northern Italian cuisine at their dinner table, especially polenta, which was always prepared in a special copper pot and required continual stirring with a wooden spoon. Mary has memories of countless sore arms from taking her turn at stirring the pot as a young girl. But by the time I was on the scene, the stirring was done by a tiny electric motor which moved the wooden spoon in circles through the bubbling corn meal. The pot, however, was the same one Mary had labored over.

Eventually, as Lou and Tina aged, it was realized that they could use some family help, so they sold their home in the Bronx and moved in with Mary’s sister Carol and her family in Bethel, Conn. It was soon discovered that Lou had Parkinson’s disease and needed to be cared for in a rehab center. Tina found her way to the center via senior transportation to visit Lou almost every day. We would come out once a month or so, to visit with them both. Tina seemed to be friends with the senior bus driver and the various nurses and some of the other patients, but after Lou passed away, she mostly stayed at home. When she traveled or went out, it was with her family.

When Carol and Freddy retired, they moved to Cape Cod permanently. Tina had mixed feelings about living in Connecticut, but Cape Cod was a favorite family vacation spot for years, so she loved being there. I am sure, however, there were still times when she missed the Bronx. Over the years we would receive requests to bring with us some grated Parmigiana Reggiano from our local Italian deli when we came to visit. It’s hard to find authentic Italian ingredients in the Cape.

It is apparent to me now that Tina’s life centered almost exclusively around her family. There was nothing more she enjoyed or needed than time with them. In fact, she went on vacations with as many children, grandchildren and great grandchildren as she could gather. Mary and I went with her and Lou to Bermuda along with Mary's sisters and their families. Then after Lou passed away, she led a large trip to Italy where they all stayed together at a villa. Mary and I were unable to attend that trip, but the next one was the most incredible of all.

Tina, now in her 90s, wanted to recreate that trip to Italy, this time going to Provence. She wanted everyone to come, so she treated everyone to their plane fare and the cost of renting the Villa. There were 18 of us all staying together in an incredible house. Each morning we would gather at breakfast, then head out on our own for the day before returning for dinner, where most nights a private chef had been hired to make a traditional Provencal meal for all of us. We also spent a couple of days traveling together as a group to a wine tasting and to sight-see. It was one of the most memorable trips of my life.

Tina’s feelings about photographs were further proof of her love of family. At any event, She always wanted at least one picture of everyone there. She wanted to look at the photo and see all of us together. Tina could be difficult to get along with sometimes, she was opinionated and stubborn, but you always knew that while she might be angry with you, she always loved you and would forgive you, even if you were only marginally a family member, such as me. If I were to interview people for the role of mother-in-law, Tina would be impossible to beat.

It is difficult to imagine going to Cape Cod and not seeing Tina there. I’m sure the pain will lessen over time, but much as I still remember my mother’s peanut butter cookies and cherry pies, I will always remember dinner with Lou and Tina, pouring the polenta out of that copper pot onto a wooden board and cutting it into portions with a string. Loud and joyful meals with a glass of wine in hand in the Bronx, Connecticut, Cape Cod and Provence. Thanks, Tina, for all the meals and the memories.

 

"How's Your Lent Going?"

I received an email from a friend with this question about my Lent. I have to admit that's the first time anyone has ever asked me that. I paused a moment, then I tried to answer her question:

 "I have fallen down a bit on my normal spiritual practices, and I was feeling guilty about it. But then I read an article from a magazine by a group of Episcopal Brothers (I’m nothing if not loyal to my faith) about “the practice of the presence of God.” The author writes that if you’re having difficulty finding time for your practice, “It’s not that you need to give more time to your spiritual practice; but rather you might need to broaden your sense of what a “spiritual practice” is.”

I have struggled with the idea of what a spiritual practice is. I like to define what something is and is not. When I do Centering prayer, that is a spiritual practice. When I walk in the woods just enjoying the outdoors, that is not. My spiritual director has tried to correct me in these beliefs, but they are hard for me to accept.

The author of the article also spoke about Br. Lawrence of the Resurrection, one of my favorite Christian mystics. He strove to be aware of God constantly, whatever he was doing. I picked up my copy of The Practice and Presence of God and began rereading it. I especially appreciated the section where Brother Lawrence says that he sometimes forgets about God and feels guilty about it. But then he realizes that God forgives him, so he forgets about his mistake and continues to try to be ever-conscious of God's presence.

I think I get caught up in striving for perfection, and, as a result, I am continually disappointing myself. I think the key lesson Br. Lawrence teaches me is to let "perfection" go. God forgives me. I can't go back in the past and change things. My only choice is to move forward, to continue what I have started, to pick myself up and walk further on the path I have chosen.

There is yet another lesson: I will never ever be in "constant prayer," and if I forget to pray, its okay. There are still things I will learn and appreciate without being in prayer or meditating. It's okay to go on a walk and just enjoy the scenery. It can still be a spiritual experience. I wrote in an earlier post about the podcast which they begin by asking, "Where have you seen God this week?" When I look back on my week, I frequently remember times that included a "God sighting" without recognizing it as such at the moment. When I open my eyes I see things that I may not understand or appreciate until later. That can be a joy as well.

Brother Lawrence had an incredible spiritual awareness, and many people came to ask him advice, but he still washed the dishes (ineptly, apparently) and performed other duties around the monastery. A powerful spiritual experience can happen anywhere, at any time. You don't have to be alone, praying in silence by a lit candle, to experience God. I will strive to be open to that.

I'm Just Passing Through

     I've been trying to write about my plans to hike the Camino to Santiago for a while now, but I wasn't quite sure how to approach the topic. Then I read this story in a book I've been reading, The Restless Heart, by Ronald Rolheiser:

    "In the nineteenth century, a tourist from America paid a visit to the renowned Polish rabbi Hofetz Chaim. The tourist was astonished to see that the rabbi's home was only a simple room filled with books, plus a table and a bench. "Rabbi," asked the tourist, "where is your furniture?"

    "Where is yours?" replied Hofetz Chaim.

    "Mine?" asked the puzzled American. "But I'm only a visitor here. I am only passing through."

    "So am I," said the rabbi."

     And so are we all. One moment you are studying drama in high school and suddenly you are 69 years old and wondering if you should retire. "Pay attention," a wise friend of mine once said, "This will all be over in the blink of an eye."

    With that in mind, I want to make the best of my remaining days on earth before they disappear like dust blown away by the wind. I have found myself led by God to a contemplative lifestyle, and one of the benefits of that process has been a slowing down of time. The more attention you pay to what's important in your life, the longer it seems to last. When you are too busy paying attention to minutiae the big things pass by you in a blur.

       One way of intensifying attention is by stripping away distractions. That's why I am planning to hike the Camino Portuguese from Tui to Santiago this September. A few years ago, the Executive Director of Maryknoll Lay Missioners (MKLM) sent out a reflection on St. James' feast day (July 25) in which he spoke about the Camino to Santiago (relics of St. James are in the cathedral in Santiago). It is one of three major pilgrimages in the Catholic Church (the other two are to Rome and to Jerusalem). I had never heard about it before, but reading that reflection resonated deeply within me. I knew I wanted to do it, even if I wasn't sure why.

    Mary made a deal with me: she would go with me on the Camino for a week, if we spent the following week going to places in Spain where she would like to go.  In a week, walking from Tui to Santiago, I will travel over 100 kilometers, which would qualify me for a compostella, a religious certificate saying that I have completed the pilgrimage. Plus after a week of hiking, I think I will be ready for some old-fashioned tourism.

     The thing about hiking the Camino in Spain on vacation is that I will be away from work and away from my daily routine. Looking at a guide to the Camino Portuguese, I should be hiking from 10 to 12 miles each day, except the last day, which will be over 15 miles. There won't be much pressing on my mind beyond taking each step, looking around, and dealing with whatever thoughts and emotions arise.

    We originally made plans to go in September 2020, but then Covid changed our plans. This year, I feel things will be settled enough where we will feel comfortable going. I also don't want to wait too long, because as I noted above, I am 69 years old and will turn 70 in November. I have been keeping a walking regimen, and feel I should be able to handle the hike, but that may change, so the sooner the better. Mary originally wanted to do some of the hiking with me, but it appears she won't be up to the physical challenge.

    The plan is to stay in hotels. Each morning I would go off on my hike and Mary would look about the town before taking a taxi to meet me for lunch along the way. After lunch, she would take a taxi to the town where we would spend the night. I may be walking with my friend from work, Maryknoll Lay Missioner Deborah Northern. Debbie would be very helpful, because she is fluent in Spanish, while Mary and I are not. 

    In preparation, I joined the member organization American Pilgrims on the Camino, and last fall I hiked with some of the members along the Hudson River. We walked from Tarrytown to Yonkers, about 12 miles. I had no problems, which convinced me this is doable. I also had my first experience walking with people who have walked the Camino, and they were the friendliest, most encouraging, and nicest bunch of people you could walk with. I hope to do a couple more hikes with them before September.

    I also posted a question about our mixed taxi/walking plan on their Facebook site, and I received much encouragement there as well, including one person who offered to talk to me via phone about her "taxi Camino" experience. The more I read and learn about the Camino experience, the more apparent that this is a journey that changes the lives of most people who do it. Many people hike the Camino multiple times. They also have a strong sense of community, because if ever someone needs help along the way, there is another person who will do their best to help. There are many stories of complete strangers reaching out to someone in need.

    I don't know how I will feel afterwards. But I think that this hike will be an important, spiritual experience, and I very well may meet people that will be friends for life. I am excited by the possibilities.

    So for a week, I hope to be just passing through Spain, one step at a time, learning something about a place I've never been and about the people I meet on the way. I will be walking my first pilgrimage, and I hope to tell you about it this fall.

    Meanwhile, I hope you have a safe journey on your pilgrimage through life, and that you find wisdom and joy at the end of it. ¡Buen Camino!

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.