My spirit soared and my heart broke at the same time today.
Songs by Tommy Sands have a way of doing that to me.
Sands wrote “You Will Never Grow Old” for his brother Eugene (“Dino”) who died young, way too young, in a 1975 car accident.
Lines from the chorus spoke to me of members of my family and of friends:
You will never grow old
But you’ll always be growing
In our hearts, in our minds
In the home you left behind
Amen.
See you along the Trail.
I recently attended the 2012 Churchwide Gathering of Presbyterian Women – a great event filled with the opportunity to meet new folks and to hang out with long-time friends. For me, that included Courtney Payne – who is recovering from an auto accident. Thanks to Stephanie Quintana for the photo.
See you – and Courtney – along the Trail.
Filed under Friends, Photo, Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), Travel
I remember courage.
I remember faith.
I remember wisdom.
I remember grace.
I remember sorrow.
I remember tears.
I remember grieving.
I remember fears.
I remember laughter.
I remember song.
I remember welcome.
I remember joy.
I remember hard work.
I remember toil.
I remember changes.
I remember pain.
I remember caring.
I remember hope.
I remember sharing.
I remember love.
I remember you, my friend.
Thank God,
I remember you.
22 July 2012
DL 1776
MCO – LGA
I knew the day would come. I had checked on it again and again. I did not want to miss the opportunity to say what I wanted to say. But I learned tonight, that I almost did that.
I met Kevin Dance several years ago when I attended a seminar at the Presbyterian United Nations Office (its name at the time). Kevin serves as the representative at the UN for Passionists International. A group from National Capital Presbytery came for a seminar on addressing racism around the world. Kevin spoke to the group because of his work with indigenous peoples. I liked him instantly.
When I arrived in New York in October 2010 to serve with the Presbyterian Ministry at the United Nations (its current name), Kevin, along with many others, greeted me warmly. We worked together on a several issues including indigenous persons and a just peace for Palestinians and Israelis.
A gentle, caring man, Kevin mixed a brilliant sense of humor with a profound passion for justice. He played a key role in bringing indigenous voices into the conversation at the UN. When that happened, he continued to work to ensure that the powerful heard our indigenous sisters and brothers.
Earlier this year, the faith-based NGO community learned that the time had come for Kevin to return to his home. We made a special effort to learn about his work with indigenous peoples. We did not want to lose his memories and insights We set a time to hear from him when he gladly provided “not a lecture but more of a meander. An insightful, helpful, challenging meander.
Through the first part of the year, I made a point of asking every time I saw him, when he would leave. I did not want to miss the opportunity to tell him what his friendship and witness means to me.
Of course things got busy in my life and in Kevin’s life. For the last month or so I have neither seen him nor checked his schedule.
Tonight, as I prepare to travel in the morning to a meeting that will keep me away for the rest of the week, I learned that Kevin leaves town on Monday. That last cuppa will not happen. But, with fumbling fingers, I did send him an email thanking him for his friendship and collegiality.
I am grateful I could do that much. Two other thoughts provide comfort as I bid Kevin farewell.
My friend Emily McGinley recently wrote a blog post “Love is Sticky” in which she reflects on the Korean concept of term jeong. Emily notes that:
Jeong is rooted in relationality and it has this disturbing quality of dissolving those barriers between oneself and another. … Jeong is “sticky” because it reminds us that: “we are, whether we want to admit it or not, always connected to one another.”
In theological terms, we are “people of one body, bound together by ultimate love.” Remembering that, I know that even as we go our separate ways, Kevin and I remind bound together.
Secondly, Kevin lives in Australia. I figure since I did not get a chance to say the good-bye I wanted to say in New York, I have to go to Australia to do so. Pretty good deal.
Kevin – thank you for your faith, your witness, and your friendship. Go with God, my dear friend.
See you along the Trail.
Slowly
comfort
comes.
Comfort comes in hearing the guitar wail
and
comfort comes in watching the river flow.
Slowly
comfort
comes.
Comfort comes in shedding tears
and
comfort comes in consuming chocolate.
Slowly
comfort
comes.
Comfort comes in talking with friends
and
comfort comes in having work to do.
Slowly
comfort
comes.
Slowly
comfort
comes.
6-7 July 2012
Pittsburgh and Cleveland Heights
1 April 2010
Villa Blanca, Colombia
I try to post purple flower pictures once a week,
an act of discipline,
creating a theme,
building an audience
(know that I deeply appreciate both of you).
However, today I did a blog post on Colombia for work.
And as I looked for a picture,
I came across this one
and it too me back
to a very special day.
At Villa Blanca, where displaced Colombians,
who in an act of courage and grace
beyond my imagining rebuild and start anew,
on a sunny April day, gathered
Presbyterians from Colombia and Presbyterians from the United States.
With agricultural implements
and symbols of faith,
a worship space was created;
prayers were said, songs were song,
love was shared.
I was there.
I remember the people.
I remember the time.
But until I saw this picture,
I had forgotten the purple flowers.
See you along the Trail.
It is hot. There is no doubt whatever about that. Marley is dead. And it is hot.
By some form of warped, interior, illogic, I believe that my refusal to complain about the cold entitles me to whine when it is hot. And it is hot.
My friend Laura asserts that it is “hotter than two hamsters fartin’ in a wool sock.” I do not know how she knows that. I do not want to know. I don’t even want to ponder any possibilities. I take her at her word. It is hot.
As I began to work up a privileged rant, friends intervened to provide perspective. Nancy welcomed me to her former world pointing out that such heat is the norm where she lives (until she moves – and the truck was there today). Lloyd approached the issue in another way. His Facebook post reminded me that, as hot as it may be here in New York:
It is not 120 degrees.
I am not 5700 miles from home.
I am not dressed in a full combat uniform.
I am not carrying a pack weighing 70 pounds or more.
And it is very unlikely that I will encounter a bomb.
Reflecting on Lloyd’s post reminded me that there is more to it than that:
I have shelter.
That shelter has air conditioning. And a fan.
The air conditioning in my apartment and my office works (sorry, Ryan).
I have water – as much water as I need to stay hydrated.
Most subway cars are conditioned. Most times it works. I can find another one if it doesn’t.
Many folks – too many folks – some of them here in New York – do not have all those things. Many folks – too many folks – some of them here in New York – do not have any of those things.
Perspective.
It does nothing about the heat.
But it reminds me of who I am and what I have. And, hopefully, it shapes what I say and what I do.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Current Events, Friends, New York
Last night’s time of prayer – prayer service – brings to mind some definitions – these belong to me, not to Webster or anyone else.
Shelter – a place of protection from the elements, from animals, from other people
House – a place to live, constructed in many ways and different styles using a variety of materials
Home – a place of belonging, built on a network of relationships and interactions with one another, grounded in love, filled with memories
May we all have shelters … houses … homes.
See you along the Trail.
“I would like to have a prayer service for my son at my house'” she said. Would you be willing to do that?”
I pondered for a few moments, not sure what to say. I have prayed in people’s houses. I have celebrated Communion in people’s houses.
I have visited many people who were shut-in over the years, although probably not as frequently as I should have done. I have visited people where they live at times of death and situations of stress or moments of joy. I have visited to nurture and build relationships.
On all those visits, or at least all that I can remember, I have prayed. With the people I visited, I have prayed. For the people I visited, I have prayed. Sometimes the person I visited prayed for me. Other church members and friends went with me at times. Often I went alone.
“You see six months ago my son received a diagnosis of cancer,” she continued. “He has had treatment and recovered, and I want to give thanks to God. I want a prayer service. Would you be willing to do that?”
The use of the word “service” wondered me. It is one thing to go and pray with someone. But services of worship, are public in my Reformed understanding. The Session approves celebrating Communion at times and places other than the usual worship time and place; representatives of the congregation usually accompany the celebrant. A private service?
After some quick thought and prayer – she sought an answer now – I decided this would really be the same praying with someone in the place where they live. I would view this as a time of prayer. If she preferred to call it a service, well I could live with that.
“I will,” I replied.
The planning began. We talked a time or two, and we exchanged email. The service morphed and developed. In the end, it became a service of thanksgiving. It would be a time to give thanks for both her sons and to give thanks for the house in which they lived – their home.
She emailed directions. And at the appropriate time late yesterday afternoon, I set out.
As the A-train rattled toward the destination, I wondered what the evening would bring. Would there just be the four of us? If I said a prayer or two would she consider that a service? If she did not, did it matter?
I came off and descended the steps to the sidewalk. There I discovered that my email server had gone down so the email with the directions could not be retrieved. Fortunately, I had the wisdom (or maybe just needed some busy work during the trip) to enter the address in my Google Maps application while on the train. I turned to that and began the short walk to her house.
Upon arriving, and before entering, I noticed three things. A pile of shoes stood at the top of the stairs – far more shoes than three people would need. Through the window, I could see the shadows of many people. A buzz of conversation, punctuated occasionally by laughter, came through the door.
Her son answered my knock and escorted me in to the living room. People filled the room. Family members. People from church. Any thought of a private service disappeared. This would be a communal time.
As I sat down, two of the men from the church left. The introductions had not ended when they returned with hymnals.
Quickly I reorganized my prayers and shaped a service. I invited the family to pick some hymns. When they had done so, we started.
I gave a call to worship. We sang. We prayed. We gave thanks for life’s blessings and God’s goodness. We gave thanks for her sons. We gave thanks for her house – her home. We remembered and prayed for God’s healing, comfort, and strength for all in need. We passed the peace, reminding one another of God’s love.
The closing hymn for the service – and it truly was a service – was “Let Us Break Bread Together.” And after a benediction, we did.
Outside, behind the house, family, friends, sisters and brothers in Christ enjoyed a meal of Guyanese and Trinidadian foods, supplemented with fried chicken and red velvet cake. Joy moved from table to table. Grace abounded. Thanksgiving bubbled over.
“Would you be willing to do that?” And I am blessed because I said I would.
See you along the Trail.
This is a test.
It is only a test.
If this was an actual post,
these words would have more meaning.
At least a little more.
Actually, I am trying to answer
a friend’s question.
I believe I can do so now.
15 June 2012
New York
Along the Graybeard Trail 