The following post originally appeared on a site called 7villages, a mostly failed social networking expereince fostered by the United Methodist Church. I have shut down my 7V profile but wanted to save two pieces I had written there by posting them here.
She got stuck in the elevator yesterday.
Thankfully the custodian was still in the church building and knew where to find the door key. I waited outside the elevator until the doors were open, as helpless there as she was inside, watching for something to happen.
With a turn of the key the door opened to reveal her, 84 years old, standing in her cabled cardigan and knitted beret, as calm as could be. She looked as if the elevator had been stopped for 10 seconds, not ten minutes.
As she launched into a conversation with the custodian about how the key worked, I left and went back to my meeting. It wasn’t until hours later that I realized I had offered no pastoral care. Not a single word of encouragement or consolation, no, “I’m glad you’re out” or “thanks for your patience.” I guess it was the look on her face that showed me she didn’t need it.
She’s unflappable. Not completely, already in four months at this appointment I’ve seen pain and grief on her face. But really, she’s unflappable. And she’s not the only one. This place is full of bedrock members, with faith as deep as the ocean, with commitments to the church longer and stronger than I can imagine.
Today I am thankful for them. For their quiet, consistent, presence. For their witness to life as shaped by the rhythms of church. For the stories they hold in sacred memory, stories I want to hear.
Okay, that sounds like a lot from one moment outside the elevator. But sometimes you get a glimpse of who you want to be in 50 years. And that makes for a good day.
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