Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Things They Don't Teach You in Seminary

“They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.” (Jn. 14:21).


 It was one of those days they never prepared you for in seminary. The Eucharist was over, and the people were gathering in the parish hall for breakfast. As usual, I was just about the last one there, but I was ready to bless the food.


After the blessing, I was heading to take my vestments off when I spotted a man sitting in the corner. He was sitting at a table, about 45 years old, thin, African-American, wearing green shorts with a white t-shirt, and had his head buried in his hands. He looked as if he had been crying.


Someone came up to me and said the man in the corner wanted to talk to me. Just as I was finishing unvesting, the man came up to me. I asked him his name. “Terry,” he said. I asked him what we could do for him. Terry said, “I don’t need any money, and I don’t have any money to give, but I want to share something with the congregation. It might touch their hearts.”


All of my red flags went up. His eyes were red from sobbing. Terry wanted me to stop the breakfast and have him address the congregation. What would he say? Was he mentally ill? We have had regular visitors who were mentally ill during the liturgy and after during breakfast. Was he high on drugs? We have had visitors who were high before. But none of our visitors who were mentally ill or were high on drugs asked to address the congregation. This was a first.


“Terry, why don’t you have some breakfast, and we can talk,” I said. Tom sat down with him, and Jillian, Tom’s wife, brought him breakfast. Terry started to eat. I asked Terry if he was ok. “I have so many problems in my life, pain; my wife, my kids.” “Do you have a place to live?” I asked. “No.” “Where are your wife and kids?” Terry did not answer. “Can we help you find a place to live?” Terry answered, “no.” Then he said, “I need to talk to the people.” “What do you want to say to them?” I asked fearful of the answer, “can you give me a clue.” “Trust me,” he said, “I won’t say anything bad.”


“Trust me,” I thought. “Trust, you, I don’t even know you,” the thought continued, and I had just preached how we are all connected in Christ as followers in Christ, and I told them how Jesuit novices are given a bus ticket and $30 to go on pilgrimage to learn trust as they travel and they ask Christians, religious orders, to take them in as they make their pilgrimage into the world." “Trust me,” Terry said. My sermon came back on me. God has a way of doing that.


“Ok, Terry, I’ll trust you.” We got up from the table, and both of us walked over near the front door to the parish hall. “This is a bit unprecedented. Terry here would like to share something with you.” That was my introduction.


Terry spoke; fear clenched my heart. “We go through hard times in life. I don’t have any money to offer. My grandmother always told me that when things get hard, when life is difficult, you need to pray like this,” and Terry began singing the Lord’s Prayer. No one stirred. It was silent, except for Terry’s voice singing, clear and pure.


After he was done, everyone clapped. Tom and I prayed with Terry and then as Terry went back to his breakfast, others came to pray with him. “Trust me.” I was humbled. In the words of today's Gospel reading: “And those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.”

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