Dan's Thoughts

Trish #34 - July 16, 2004

The floor space of the chapel at St. Joseph's is moderate, able to seat perhaps a hundred people or so. It is two story structure with somewhat of a contemporary design. Nonetheless, it is reminiscent of a time before sacred spaces began to get gradually replaced by theatre/shoppingmall/lounge/ what-the-heck-is-it? kinds of worshipy gathering spots. Though obviously a Roman Catholic space, the chapel was designed to make any believer comfortable enough to pray.

It must work. There are nearly always a few people here praying. Of these, the most interesting to me are the medical personnel. They come here, either when beginning their shifts or perhaps when concluding them, to sit for a few minutes in silence. I have watched them as their faces grew intent and their mouths began to move. I have realized that they had come to invoke the help of God for the work they do in this hospital. It is the Filipinos and Mexicans especially who return here, day after day, to intercede for their patients.

I discovered this one day during a guided prayer service. After the passing of the peace, the workers made their requests known to one another. Then, as they prayed together, the light poured in from the arched windows above our heads, revealing the tops of palm trees, back-lighted by the Arizona sun. It was as though grace was seeping into the chapel, wooed from the heavens by the fervent prayer of these who are called to heal the sick.

Trish and I went to the chapel today just as we have several times before. If we catch a few minutes when no one else is present, we play the piano and sing. If not, we pray with the others. Today, we did both. First, I thanked God for Trish's life and for her recovering health. I specifically gave thanks for the therapist who today remarked that she could not believe Trish was the same woman she had assessed just three weeks ago. The therapist claimed that she looked at her own report several times before becoming certain that she was working with the same woman. Her remarks moved me and I gave God thanks for them.

When I had finished, Trish began. She prayed for the patients in her rehab unit. Then she called out all the names she could remember from the prayer service we had attended here a few days ago. She concluded by praying for our children and grandchildren.

Afterward, we were silent for a while. Then she whispered to me, "Its all about love and relationships. God loves us. We must learn to love one another. Without that, nothing matters."

At this we began talking about how God dwells in the midst of two or three gathered in His name. We spoke of how easy it is to drift away from this simple truth, all in the name of "serving God." We discussed how much of our lives have been spent staying busy at things that turned out to be less than nothing as we neglected things as vital as breath. (As we talked, we touched each other's faces a lot. We looked into one another's eyes. We are like schoolchildren who have just discovered that they are in love.)

When I suddenly saw that we were alone, I pushed her wheelchair to the piano. I sat at the bench and hit a chord. We began to sing:

"Oh God you are my God and I will ever praise you. I will seek you in the morning and learn to walk in your ways. And step by step you'll lead me and I will follow you all of my days."

Trish sing with me, in harmony even! Her voice has been gathering strength and she enjoys singing. She seems to be reassuring herself that the bloody fire, which swept through her brain less than two months ago, did not destroy her music.

"Now I want to sing to you," I said. So I started singing Bette Mittler's "Did You Ever Know You Are My Hero?" When I got to the line, "you are the wind beneath my wings," the wind left my voice. My mouth kept moving but no sound escaped. Just tears.

For many years now, it has been my lot to fill large, public roles. Both my gifts and my faults seem to capture people's attention. For more than twenty years, I have spoken to hundreds and sometimes to thousands of people every week. Some people have tried to make me out to be an angel. Others have thought of me as more akin to the devil. The truth is, I am neither an angel nor a devil. I am just a man with gifts that some people find interesting and others find repelling. Every public success I have enjoyed has been made possible by a handful of people willing to compensate for my enormous deficiencies. Most of the time, I have been able to hide my serious deficits by staying surrounded by the right folk. My public role is thus supported by many private people.

Principally, it has been my wife and my friends who have kept me grounded and sane. They have known that the flip side of being a visionary is a willingness to flirt with insanity. They have known that being spiritually sensitive is not the same thing as being spiritually mature. So they have been willing to be the "wind beneath my wings," doing obscure work so I could do visible things.

The other day I noticed a sign at St. Joseph's: "We are grateful for the people who keep things clean behind the scenes!"

The surgeons make the money and get the respect. The impressive technology hums and bleeps. The managers plan and direct. But invisible and often ignored people scrape feces from floors and urine from walls. They collect the dirty linen. They clean nasty plates. They prepare instruments and sanitize objects. Some even clean the air that moves through the hospital vents. Without such people, the patients would die like flies.

In our attention deficit culture, we tend to flitter from one gilded hero to another. We obscure the eternal stars with momentary firecrackers. We flee things that require obscurity and silence. That's why few ever notice the nurses and orderlies who visit the chapel before starting their menial work. Few know that they are there asking God to heal the sick. Few ever grow mature enough to realize that such people are the salt of the earth, ones through whom Heaven works to "keep things clean behind the scenes."

I have visited hospitals for years without noticing these people. I have been too busy doing God's work, proclaiming the kingdom of God, and building up the Lord's Church to pay much attention to superstitious foreigners mumbling in some corner about God knows what. Today I know that in this war against evil, these who maintain a capacity for compassion and a life style of reverence are the shock troops.

Trish is one of those people. Without her, I am often a clanging cymbal and a flash in the pan. With her, perhaps I can still be of service to God and to His church.

Dan