Sunday, May 17, 2009

Trusting God

Fr. Bill is a striking character. He's probably about 6'5" and something about him, other than his height and priestly clothes, makes him stand out in a crowd. The first time I ever saw him, he was leaving Kroger in regular clothes. There was nothing priestly about him, yet he caught my attention in the crowd. I found myself asking, "I wonder if that is our new priest?" I don't know how I knew he was a priest, I just did. He was my pastor for a few years before he was transferred to a parish in the southern part of the state.

Fr. Bill helped me through a really rough time in my life. I learned a great deal about God, life, spirituality, and relationships through my hours of conversation with him. He patiently tried to teach me that God is compassionate, loving, and not the awful father figure that often still colors my spiritual perceptions. We kept in contact and visited periodically after he transferred, but in time the distance became too difficult to overcome.

I think also that I was at a place where I was unwilling to advance any more spiritually in that moment. I just couldn't take that plunge and trust God to any greater degree than where I was at. I wish I could say I've grown on my own in that regard, but I think that would be an untruth. I can honestly say I try, but it's more of a blind resignation than a cheerful surrender.

Over the years, I have thought of him often and always wished him well. In particular, I have missed his sermons. Most weeks, some part of his sermon would touch me and offer some piece of instruction that I would contemplate in the days to come. At times, I would be moved to tears by his words.

I thought of him most in the happy times of my life - my marriage and the birth of our son being the highest points. I wanted to send a birth announcement and short note to share my joy. Much to my surprise, I found that he was back in the city. It's not a parish close to my house, but is a reasonable distance and in some of my girlfriends' neighborhood.

I stopped there for mass on a Saturday night when Ismael was working. I was very happy to see my friend and laughed internally at how some things never seem to change. He still forgets his wireless mic is on and the congregation hears his hallway conversations until some kind hearted parishioner runs out to tell him. The visit was sometime before Christmas but I still remember part of his sermon from that night. It came back to me today as I was holding Adam and reflecting on how I worry about him.

Father went to visit some patients at the local heart hospital. As he walked down the hall, he heard a man's voice call out, "Hey, holy man." Father remarked that he had often been called a tall man, never a holy man.

"Who me?" he asked.

"Yes, I have a question to ask you." The man was maybe twenty years old, wheel chair bound, and connected to all sorts of tubes. "Why?" he asked, "why is this happening to me?"

And in a very simple, honest voice, Father answered, "I don't know. I don't know why this is happening to you."

"That's the right answer, sit down," was the young man's reply.

I looked at Adam that night in church and felt a very deep pain in my heart.

I do everything I know to do to protect him. Use the carseat correctly and faithfully. No rice cereal in his bottle at night. No pillows or blankets in his bed. Put him to sleep on his back. Don't leave him unsupervised on anything he could fall from. Get his vaccines on time. Go to all the well baby visits.

Yet, today as I held him and felt his little heart beating under my hand, I know that my protection of this precious gift can only go so far.

Ultimately, only God can keep his heart beating in a normal rhythm or prevent his body's cells from becoming cancerous.

Father talked about how when we suffer, he believes that God suffers along with us. Something to think about, but not much comfort to me. Suffering or not, God is still all powerful.

I have to trust God. And, honestly, that terrifies me.

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