Life on this side of the veil
Monday I found out that a woman I felt very close to from my church in Austin died of lung cancer. In the time that I was at the parish, I knew nothing of her cancer, as it had gone into remission when I was there.
For one of my classes, we had to interview lay leaders within our field ed churches about what their definition of the Church was, what their ministry meant, etc. I interviewed her and she shared about her ministry with Loaves & Fishes, where she grew up, her beliefs about God, and how thankful she was to be at All Saints. This was within the first month of me doing field ed, and I immediately knew I looked up to her, and that she would help form me into being a priest.
As the weeks went on in field ed, I would see her every Sunday, and every Wednesday when I led Evening Prayer (she was quite dedicated to Evening Prayer). I walked in to do my first Evening Prayer service terrified, because I just wasn’t quite sure how things worked yet. I remember she and I sitting in silence in the choir area waiting to see if anyone else would come. We finally chatted, our small talk seeming even smaller in the large empty church. I did the service, stumbling over words and feeling sorry for the regulars who had to deal with someone so new and ill equipped. When the service ended, she walked up to me, put an arm around me and said, “That was beautiful. I’m glad you’re here.”
When I wanted to go to England, she left a check and a simple note: “Enjoy your travels!”
I absolutely love what I feel called to do. I feel like every week, gosh—everyday—something happens that reminds me that this is perfect for me. Something happens that affirms why I’m here, and that this is a very holy place in my life.
But what I didn’t know is how much holiness could hurt. It is my greatest joy to know that someone who formed me into being a better priest is free from physical pain. It is my greatest joy that I knew her at all. But that joy doesn’t always feel good.
When people I care about die and experience holiness in its fullness, I have to continue to live on this side of the veil. And it hurts in the kind of way that leaves a lump in my throat, a knot in my stomach, and anger in my tears.
I live a life of being invited into the most personal and intimate areas of people’s lives, and when I know people on those levels, it’s hard to ever let them go, even when letting go is the only option. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and it hurts.