living into the sacrament of tenderness...

Fifteen years ago, while still sharing pastoral ministry with my friends in Tucson, AZ I sensed that God was calling me in a new direction. At the time, the only way I could describe it was a ministry of presence. While walking on the streets of Glasgow, Scotland in celebration of my 20th anniversary of ordination, I had a strong sense that the holy was calling me into a new way of serving Christ and loving Jesus. That still, small voice caught my attention in 1968 and lured me into ministry. And now it shared an invitation to leave the security of Tucson and relocate to a struggling little church in Pittsfield, MA. 

For more that ten years I gave myself to this work, striving to blend presence and tenderness into the life of my pastoral vocation. We learned a lot about loving Jesus during this time: how to be vulnerable to the blessings of the Spirit, how to trust God beyond the obvious, how to open our hearts to one another in solidarity. In retrospect, it was a beautiful and faithful decade albeit hard as hell and complicated, too. To my surprise, while on sabbatical in Montreal, this same still, small voice caught my attention again. For the four months we were away it became clearer and clearer that my days as a local church minister were numbered. Then, while leaving a Taize worship celebration on our last night in Montreal, Di said to me, "You clearly are being called to step out of the local church, but your days of ministry are far from over." She was right - as is so often the case - and with time, angst, prayer, study, discernment, exploration, tons of uncertainty, and lots of waiting the One who is holy has been encouraging me to go deeper into a spirituality of tenderness in three unique ways.

+ First, as a grandfather.  I love my grand-babies - Louie and I are soul mates and Anna brings joy wherever she shares her smile - so now I have been given the time to walk, talk, laugh, pray, sing and visit with these sweet souls on a regular basis. Together with their loving parents, we are starting to figure out how I can spend significant time with them simply being "gawd" (Louie's early attempt at the tongue-twister "grand dad.") There are songs to sing and stories to hear, Mr. Rogers episodes to enjoy and questions to answer. There is love and presence to share as well so I don't want to waste my days missing this holy gift. A song from Zeffirelli's film about St. Francis, "Brother Sun, Sister Moon" gets it right:

If you want your dream to be,

take your time, go slowly

Do few things but do them well, 

Heartfelt work grows purely

If you want to live life free, 

Take your time, go slowly

Do few things but do them well, 

Heartfelt work grows purely

Day by day, stone by stone, 

Build your secret slowly

Day by day, you'll grow too, 

You'll know heaven's glory

+ Second, as a part of the L'Arche Ottawa community. This is a ministry of mutuality. I am enriched and blessed simply by being in relationship with the core members, assistants and community leaders. In turn, I am able to share my gifts of music, liturgy, prayer and presence in service to the common good. It is in these small acts that I have experienced the presence of Jesus - quiet, small and often obscure - but always real. Pamela Cushing puts this encounter into perspective in an essay on Jean Vanier's invitation to accept our vulnerability.  

In a world obsessed with mastery and control, Jean Vanier demonstrates the deep value of imperfection. He helps us to see that often all of our striving for mastery and control are as much about wanting to hide our fear of their opposite – that we might be as imperfect and fallible as everyone else... (He) argues that if we can accept that imperfection is intrinsic to being human, we will be liberated of the weighty burden of always trying to measure up to what someone defines as good or normal. Instead of our effort going to hide our imperfection, we can invest in thinking about how we might encourage greater humility around appreciating each other’s imperfections as an important part of the diverse human ecosystem, while never abandoning the effort to grow and change to serve others better. 

+ And third as an ordinary member of my local community. Most of my time is spent at home. I am in Ottawa once a month and am starting to go to Brooklyn once a month as well. So most of my ministry of tender presence takes place right here: at Wal-Mart, or Aldi's, or the post office, or the library, or with neighbors, or former colleagues, or even my musical partners. For the first time in ages I have the time and space to just listen. Pay attention. Ask others, "So what's going on with you? What's your story?" Charles de Foucauld. one of my prayer mentors, sensed that he had been called into a ministry like that of Jesus before his baptism. A ministry of presence. A way of living that offered small, quiet, hidden gifts of compassion and respect to others throughout an ordinary day. Me, too. If you had told me three years ago that some of my time each week would be given just listening to strangers I would have dismissed you as off your nut. But now...? It is part of my weekly wandering into the presence of the Lord. Fr. Mychal Judge, the first martyr of the World Trade Center, put it like this: Lord, take me where You want me to go; let me meet who You want me to meet; tell me what You want me to say; and keep me out of Your way.