Voices from the Past

For the first two weeks of 2011, I've been on a mission to purge. I've pitched files. I've given away books. I've schlepped boxes upon boxes of various "treasures" to the dumpster in the church parking lot. I've made several trips to the Goodwill Center here in Wauwatosa. I've mercilessly plowed through the sorts of memorabilia that seem to adhere to clergy-types with time-honored predictability: old worship service bulletins, newspaper clippings, cards, notes and the like. To be honest, I had forgotten I even had some of this stuff!

Upon "reconnecting" with these various artifacts, I would ask myself a simple question, "If you haven't even thought about this thing for years, do you really need to keep it?" And, with only one exception the answer has been a resounding "NO!" And that exception was a homemade "bon voyage" card given to me by the members of an adult Sunday School class I taught in the years before leaving Florida to go off to seminary in Virginia.

I spent some time late this afternoon reading the card and appreciating the artwork. I found myself vividly remembering the two dozen or so folks who had spent nearly every Sunday morning together with me for over five years studying, wrestling and arguing with each other, all the while allowing the voice of the Spirit to be heard through each other's voices.

I read my friends' handwritten greetings in that homemade card. I noted the words of encouragement they offered. I remembered the great affection we had shared with each other. I also became aware of how many folks who had signed this card had since moved on to the "larger life with Christ." These "voices from the past" didn't haunt me, but they did powerfully remind me of our inter-connectedness -- across time and space. Sitting in my basement, I could see their faces; hear their voices; remember their gentleness and their grumpiness.

This group of people helped me hone my love of teaching. Their questions pushed me to learn. Their curiosity about God kept me curious. They taught me far more about the joy of community than one can learn out of a book. They were the Body of Christ to me.

And so tomorrow, when I celebrate the Eucharist, when I get to the part of the prayer where the celebrant acknowledges the heavenly chorus -- "Angels, Archangels and all the company of heaven", I will remember a few names of the the great multitude which no one can number -- C.T., Dorothy, Jack, Betty, Boots, Bitsy, Etta Mae, Ham, Laura, Jini, Walter and Lorraine -- the voices from the past who spoke to me today through their words of encouragement inscribed on a piece of poster board that's eleven years old.

The Episcopal Church is a better church because of them (even way up here in Wisconsin!), and I would have most certainly been less of a priest without them.