It's the New Year--time to make resolutions, promises--time to set goals, make plans. It's a time of nostalgia for the previous year as well as a time of letting go of the pain and sorrow that may have happened. It is a time of hope for many--hope in what the New Year holds in store. For others it is a time of sorrow as they enter the New Year without people they love either taken by death or broken relationships. It can be a time of hope for new adventures, new careers, new opportunities and a time of pain as people say good bye to places they've lived, jobs they've loved or friends they've made. Every year for me I'm somewhere in the middle and every year I try to understand both the previous year--what I learned, what I gained (both in joy and sorrow) and I also think about the future. It usually leads me to some activity--one year I decided that once a month I was going to send a note to someone who had impacted my life and maybe didn't know it. I wrote a previous coach, a professor, my fourth grade teacher among others. It was a chance to focus on the positive in my life and to let people know. I've thought about doing that again this year; I might who knows?
This year I'm haunted by the previous week some which has been public and some which hasn't. Truth? I'm obsessing--trying to make it matter; trying to bring resurrection and life--hope and love. That haunting and my previous New Year letter writing scheme have been swirling in my head like the fall leaves that never were completely raked in our yard. Swirling in a frenzy like a tornado and swirling in beauty like a ballet. It's that both/and....and I remember...
Years ago when the children were very small (all under 5 years) and Chris was in his first year of business school, something was happening at the church we had called home for 4 1/2 years, the church where our children were baptized and the church where we made some of the best friends of our life. (Still to this day) I don't remember the particulars, truly I don't. Perhaps I was too sleep deprived, too young, too naive, but really all I remember was their was conflict and people were leaving. Over a period of a few months Chris and I realized that we were using any excuse on a Sunday morning to not go to church--we were avoiding, hiding, running away--you pick the verb, but we weren't going to church and that mattered to us. We had vowed to rear our children in the faith and so we decided to try the other Episcopal church in town.
I remember that first Sunday so well. We arrived just a few minutes before service and it seemed that everyone was looking at us. (They probably were--we had four children dressed alike in smocked outfits under 5--not your typical "visitor") We walked in and sat to the side by what I remember as sliding glass doors (I'm sure it wasn't) in a very contemporary style church. Everyone was nice; they welcomed us, but when we got back in the car I cried. (I did a lot of that back then--call it sleep derivation or hormones...) It didn't "look" like a church. It wasn't a traditional building; I missed my other church--but we kept going back.
I'm going to be really honest here. I didn't want to love this new church; my heart still belonged in the other, but we were changed. Porter Taylor, was the rector, and he gave the most amazing sermons. He connected the sacred and the secular in ways that I understood. He inspired in me my desire to make the holy ordinary--to connect every day living with faith. He challenged us, encouraged us and led amazing formation classes. (One on Dante's Inferno--awesome!) One Sunday after church as the children ran around Porter said, "We are so glad you're here; ya'll are adding so much to our congregation." (I'm not sure what that was other than the spectacle of four children being corralled in service, but he seemed genuine.) I don't know what came over me but I blurted out, "We're not transferring our letter." (That is epsicospeak for moving our membership from one church to another.) I think Chris turned bright red (we hadn't been married that long yet so he wasn't as used to my lack of filter), but Porter didn't flinch. He touched my arm and said, "That is absolutely fine. Just know you are welcome here for as long as you want to be here in whatever way that is." In that moment, Porter became my priest.
Over the next year we cautiously became more involved. Porter suggested EfM to me. Chris and I talked about it; he wanted me to do it, but we didn't have the money. I called Porter back and made up some excuse about timing; I know he saw right through me. A few days later I received a call from the mentor of the group who said, "I know you said timing might not work but if you can work it out we'd love to have you. Oh, and we have a scholarship we have to give to a first year so it's yours if you want it." I took it and so began my love of EfM--14 years later I'm still involved. I finally understand (or at least suspect) that scholarship was Porter's discretionary fund. I wasn't ready to commit to this parish, and I made that clear, but they were ready to commit to me--unconditionally; expecting nothing in return. A true witness to God's amazing unconditional love.
Chris finished graduate school and we moved to Pittsburgh (and to another parish we LOVE). I heard Porter had moved on but didn't know where. Several years ago I reconnected with Porter on facebook (I didn't think he'd remember me but he says he did--I choose to believe him.) He was now a bishop and I was preparing for ordination. He sent me a message telling me that one of his spiritual disciplines was to read Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation every year. He suggested I might want to try it; see if it was helpful to me. Being the rule follower I am, (I know he didn't mean for it to be a rule, but when you respect someone the way I do Porter you turn their suggestions into rules...or at least neurotic people do.) I have done this for the past 3 years. As an aside this year it was early December and I hadn't finished so I bought it on audible and told Porter that I was going to make the babies listen to it on our road trip. He suggested I let them listen to a novel and just try to read one chapter a day by myself--they are grateful.)
I guess I have connected the two--the pain of last week and remembering those who have made a difference in my life. Porter Taylor showed me then what unconditional love in a church can and does look like. That church can both bring hurt but it can also be a place of healing, reconciliation, and total love--a place of acceptance, a place where all are welcome in whatever way they can be. A place where need is met and hope is given. The church isn't a building--traditional or contemporary--it is the people; the people who seek to live lives of mercy, grace, and love.
Today I give thanks for Porter Taylor and his ministry, for the witness he has shown me, for what I have learned from him--being a priest and being a person. And today I move forward in hope that love will win in the church and in the world.
PS--He gave me another list of books to read this year if anyone's interested--
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