Before my second adventure with cancer last year, I fancied myself a fairly balanced person. “Moderation in everything” was one of my mantras, and I figured I had this particular discipline down pat. My worldview sprang from personal experience and my relationship with God, but I could also appreciate a beautiful view and a glass of pinot noir with the best of them. However, resting in my hospital bed, barely able to get to the bathroom, unable to eat, and morphing into a narcotics fiend, I learned something: The physical is more important than I thought.
After living on this planet for over 50 years, you would think that this epiphany might have come to me a little earlier. After all, work with the homeless, mentally ill community allowed me to see firsthand the ramifications of having no safe place to lay one’s head. And, to be sure, I had glimpses of this reality throughout my life; I was not someone with my head in the clouds. But it never got really personal until I could no longer fend for myself.
I don’t think this experience is all that uncommon. We walk along, minding our own business, when all of a sudden something happens that changes everything. We feel lost or frightened or angry and reach out for a lifeline. It may be a friend or a fuzzy blanket or our dog, but we all reach for something.
So, the physical is important. That’s one reason I love St. Paul’s so much, and I’ll bet it’s one reason you do, too. The beauty of the cathedral offers a sense of place, foundation, and sanctuary for us. It’s a place to reach for when the going gets tough. It feels set apart by its stature, its very physical presence, and yet so much a part of our individual lives. Together, we pray and celebrate and weep here. In this place, we struggle, we wonder, we answer God’s call to be bigger than we think we are.
Lessons in generosity did not stick when I was growing up. My parents were teenagers when I was born, and they fought hard just to keep the family together. Looking back, I realize that I believed in a culture of scarcity, clinging to the unfortunate notion that there is never enough of anything in this world…never enough money, love, or security. I had no real sense of God’s abundant love for me and lived in the shadow of fear for many years.
Fortunately, I began to find my way back to myself with the help of a 12-step program, a loving family, and this diverse community…all physical, tangible stuff. Joan Chittister says that the benefit of being in community with people not of our choosing is what different kinds of people can teach one another about who we are. And I have learned a lot from you! St. Paul’s is a conduit through which I deepen my understanding of what Jesus meant when he said, “You are the light of the world.” St. Paul’s offers the space I need to return to week after week after week to continue my journey toward being myself.
Generosity begins with our recognition of our debt to others. I give generously to St. Paul’s because I have been given so much throughout my life. In terms of love and friends and support, I am rich beyond measure. I believe in us and in what we are trying to do with God’s help. I love the humor and humility of this place. I am proud that we set God’s table for everyone who walks through our doors.
I am well now. The cancer has taken its leave again, at least for the time being.
I am back in the community that held my family and me up with prayer and spaghetti and visits. It’s my turn and my privilege to be a support, to give back to the cathedral as generously as I can. What I know for sure is that the physical is important because it allows the rest of God’s call to be realized.
thank you for this moving witness! More from Christie in our most recent installment of “Cathedral Characters”.
