It IS a Good Friday

Last week I realized that the drive from my mother's to our beach house would take me right past the home of The Rev. Alan Houghton--a man I love and admire and whom I have not seen since 2009.  I really wanted to stop and see him but didn't know if it would be a good idea.  He has some dementia and is weak.  I texted his daughter and asked.  I was thrilled when the reply came back, "Yes but he might not remember you and it has to be short like 15 minutes short.  I'll let the caregivers know."

This morning I set off full of anticipation; I wanted to thank him for all he'd done for me, for all he'd been to me, and if I'm totally honest, I really wanted him to remember me.  I tried to convince myself it wasn't important--I failed.

I arrived and went into his room.  "Hello," I said, "I'm Katherine Doyle, Chris Doyle's wife.  Hope and Carter's friend.  I wanted to come see you."  He smiled.  "I'm a priest now."  He smiled again and whispered, "In Louisville."  My heart leapt--he remembered me!!! "Which church?" he whispered.  I told him I'd been a priest at Calvary.  "Married there." he whispered again.  I asked him if I could say a prayer with him, he nodded yes and held my hand.  I prayed and then he prayed.  His eyes stayed shut so I began to back out of the room thinking he had fallen asleep.  His caregiver stopped me and pointed at him.  "He's pointing at the chair; he wants you to stay."

I sat down and held his hand.  I told him how I still had the email he had sent me with the four questions I should use with any discernment.  I thanked him for believing in me long before any Diocese had.  I told him I still used the devotional book he had written and sent me a copy of, and I asked if his children have copies.  He nodded yes.  (I need to check that because they need to have them...) I told him that Sarah Katherine, the baby he had played with, was now a first year at UVA and I thought might consider the seminary at some point.  I told him I loved having his green stole because it is the color we wear most throughout the liturgical year.  That stole means the world to me as I've written before (The Stole); I wear it both humbly and proudly.   (I hope he knows his children gave it to me; he smiled so if he didn't know I choose to believe he's okay with it.)

It had been 10 minutes and I knew I needed to honor my promise to Hope.  I remembered a Good Friday sermon I had read that morning.  It was The Rev. Anne Vouga's sermon from last year.  It's worth reading (Good Friday Reflection), but what I instantly remembered was she wrote, "The important Good Friday question for us is this:  Like the Psalmist's, will our lives speak what God has accomplished, to generations yet to be born?  Will our lives be signs of God's grace and love?"

As I held his hand I told him the world is a better place because he has been in it--the world is a better place because he has been a priest in it.  I told him the world is a better place because of his children and grandchildren.  I told him I hoped I'd be 1/2 the priest he is and that I was a better person for having known him.

I stood to go not letting go of his hand,  and I remembered how in July of 2009 he had laid his hands upon my head and blessed me.  I asked him if I could bless him. (To be clear--this was not the Ministration at the Time of Death--it's not yet time and someone else will have that honor, but I wanted to bless him as he had blessed me.) He nodded yes.  I leaned over kissed his head and blessed him.  When I stood up he had a smile on his face and a tear in the corner of his eye.  I squeezed his hand and left.

As I walked out the front door tears slid down my face and I said to myself, "It IS a Good Friday."