A man calling himself The Salty Vicar asked that I tell a story about the people I mentioned who died last week. This just so happens to coincide with something about which I was going to write tonight anyway. Yesterday, while at Jives' watching the USA lose a valliant effort to Lithuania in basketball (Tim Duncan vs. Darius Songaila - awesome!), my cell phone rang. It was my fellow chaplain, Tat, calling from the hospital. He said a man called him at the hospital looking for my phone number, which Tat rightly did not give him. But he took down the man's name, number, and a message to relay to me. The man was Ron, husband of the recently deceased Ellen. He apparently was so grateful that I was with him and his family during his wife's death, that he wanted to call and thank me personally. Really, I was just doing my job, but I was touched by his phone call. Tat went on to say that they were having a celebration of Ellen's life on Sunday (today) and that Ron wanted me to come out and lead a service. WHOA! I thanked Tat and hung up the phone, not knowing what to do. Should I call him and agree to do a service for this party? Could I do such a thing, as a non-ordained seminarian? Would it be stepping beyond the boundaries of the job? I thought about it and decided I would not be performing a sacrament, nor would it be a funeral or burial service (pastoral offices) and so, I could do this. Now, should I? I decided yes. He honored me by asking and I would honor him and his wife's memory by doing this for them. I called and told him so. He was delighted and he told me the details. This morning, after church, I drew up a short liturgy of remembrance. Not knowing how many people would be there, I printed up 15 copies of the service, thinking up to three could share a copy. The drive out to their house took about 45 minutes and when I arrived, there were cars lined up parked in the street for blocks. I knew I definitely did not have enough copies. The party was out in the back of the large home under a huge tent. Easy, there were 150 people gathered there. I sucked in a deep breath, donned the mantle of my pastoral identity (great group material!!) and went inside. About fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing atop a deck, addressing those same 150 people in the name of God for the purpose of commemorating the life of their loved one, Ellen. I read scripture. I prayed. I gave a short homily talking about how briefly I knew Ellen, but how I knew just what kind of woman she was from those short moments we spent together. A woman whose candle burned brightly and fiercely. A developer who commanded the respect of tattoed, muscle bound construction workers. A woman whose love was reflected in the tears of those gathered to celebrate her life. Then we closed with the Lord's Prayer, which Ellen loved dearly. It was over before I really knew it had begun and I felt good. There were tears of sorrow shed, laughter of memories shared, and embraces of love and life exchanged. People told me they were touched. I kept replying as I thought I should, still stunned by what had transpired.

I have talked in my group at the hospital about how I think I am in a shell. I have spent so much time on the road to becoming an Episcopal priest, that I have become a person becoming. That shell cracked today and light shone in. There's a whole new world out there and it's bigger than anything I've ever known. But, I'm excited, because God's hand is leading me into it. It's an amzing thing, really, to know you've touched lives so deeply in such a short time. Humbling really, because I know it was not really just me, but God working through me; His love emanating out of me. It kinda makes your skin tingle and feel like it's ready to burst. Weird. I hope I never lose that feeling.

-R