I invite you to sit back and listen to a modern day fairy tale. The tale of two women, great heartache and the power of a faith community. Listen closely for you just might recognize you or someone you know in these words.
Once upon a time there were two women, Gail and Lucille, who were part of an ongoing euchre tournament held every Tuesday afternoon at a community center in the retirement complex in Vero Beach, Florida. On this particular Tuesday, Gail and Lucille were partners. In between hands they began to chat---about their marriages, their children, their grandchildren. They talked about the weather, their aches and pains and their coupon clipping. They avoided politics and religion.
The tournament was hot and heavy that day and Gail and Lucille cleaned up—they were a terrific team! Afterwards they went out for coffee---ok maybe they went out for gin and tonics---but whatever, they went out.
Gail, who usually never did anything like this with someone she barely knew, told Lucille about the greatest heartache of her life----her daughter’s mental illness and drug addiction in the 1970’s---she shared her daughter’s descent into the horror that is addiction and mental illness, about the arrests, the hospitalizations and the broken promises. She spoke of the recovery programs, halfway houses and court dates. She beamed as she spoke of her daughter’s current stability and sobriety and her leadership in the recovery community, her business success, her husband and their three kids. It was heartwarming.
Lucille asked Gail how she possibly made it through the years of ups and down, of hopes raised and hopes dashed? Gail hesitated but then said, well….”I think the short answer is my church. Now don’t get me wrong, said Gail, I’m no holy roller, I’m not one of those crazy Christians who are intolerant of anyone different from them. I am an Episcopalian, and back in the middle of all this mess with my daughter, my husband was transferred to a new town and I decided that joining a church was the best way to get to know my new hometown. No one at that church, except the priest, knew the depth of my heartache, but they embraced me, they showed me a way forward through their faithfulness, their welcome and their love. It’s funny, I never shared all that was going on with me with the friends I made there---not because I was ashamed, but because somehow, when I was with my church family, my heart just burned with a realization that as long as I kept being fed at the altar of that church—both the one in the church itself and the one of friendship and warmth at coffee hour, church suppers and other church events----I was strong enough, hopeful enough, serene enough—to bear what I needed to bear. We were only in that town for 2 ½ years but I never forgot that love, that fellowship, that sense of home. I stay in touch with many of them to this day---all these some 35 years later.”
After a few minutes of chit-chat, Lucille, no longer able to ignore the burning in her own heart, began to share her story with Gail.
Lucille’s story hearkened back to the 1980’s and the challenge of raising two kids all on her own in a small town…especially when one of her kids came out as gay at his high school graduation.
On the stage.
Using the microphone!
She spoke of the embarrassment she felt by her son’s very public “coming out.” “I wasn’t ashamed of who he was---I was ashamed of the public spectacle he had made----it’s funny, Gail, I was raised Episcopal, too, and making a spectacle just isn’t in our DNA, is it? As a matter of fact, it was my Episcopal upbringing that made me wonder how it was that my son felt the only way to come out was in that public forum…I had always been very open with my kids and we, as a family, were accepting of all people, respecting all lifestyles, just like the Baptismal Covenant instructs us. But teenagers will be teenagers, and I guess he decided that the bigger and bolder his announcement, the better. Can’t get much bigger and bolder than the stage in the middle of the football field with the entire town in attendance!
Everyone at my church then was very sensitive to what had happened—almost too much so. After his announcement, the folks at my church then kind of tip-toed around me, as if talking about being tolerant and accepting was one thing, but actually being tolerant and accepting was another. They spoke of my son as if he was a science experiment, not a human being. They weren’t homophobic, they were just…. well…awkward. Soon thereafter I relocated to be closer to family and I joined the local episcopal church. WHAT a difference! This congregation wasn’t at all concerned about appearances or about being politically correct while actually being really socially awkward. The day I walked into that church I was embraced as a member of the family. I was extremely open about my son’s sexuality, as well as my daughter’s vegan, wiccan worshipping, green party, hippie lifestyle. We all had a laugh about it----our kids are our kids, no matter what! Thank goodness for that, because fast forward 10 years and as my son lay dying from AIDS in a hospital in Chicago, while I was fighting for his partner’s right to be by his bedside, my church back home was praying for us, calling me, sending us prayer shawls and---this was the most amazing thing---an attorney in the congregation contacted a law school classmate who lived in Chicago to help me fight the hospital on behalf of my son’s partner. It was amazing. Even though those days were some of the worst of my life---there’s no heartache like the death of your child----I felt this resolve, this peace, this hope. It absolutely burned in my heart as I walked through the saddest days of my life. I know where that fire came from, I know where that peace, that resolve and that hope came from---my faith and the manifestation of that faith as expressed in my church home.”
Blown away, Gail just took Lucille’s hand and they sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, Gail realized that they’d never told each other where they were from, they never mentioned the name of the churches that meant so much to them. Lucille answered that her church home, the one she misses everyday was St Martin’s in the Fields on a little known island in Western New York—Grand Island.
Gail’s jaw fell open and her heart was about to burst when she said, “that was my church for those 2 1/2 years.” St Martin’s, Grand Island.
OK, so maybe this story was a fairytale, maybe there never was a Gail or Lucille, but the truth of the matter is that this story tells us, in concrete terms, why congregations are important. A community of faith, like St. Martin’s, casts a wide net---you never know the effect your involvement at St Martin’s will have—on you and on all those whom you encounter. God only knows how many Gail’s and Lucille’s will walk through the doors of St. Martin’s in the years to come. May your gift keep those doors open and the fires stoked for many years, because there are people out there, and people in here, whose very lives depend on it. May all our hearts continue to burn in the knowledge and love of Jesus Christ, who is our peace, our hope, and our Savior and may God continue to bless The Episcopal Church of St Martin’s in the Field, Grand Island, NY.
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