A strange thing happened at church today...

Well, this is my inaugural blog here on blogspot.  And, I want to begin by inviting anyone who is kind enough (or bored enough) to read this, to visit my webpage at www.doxleymd.net.  

Today something unusual and unexpected happened to me, or should I say, happened in my presence.  It was one of those moments when I find myself strangely convicted by the kindness and goodness of someone else.  These experiences move me and, at the same time, make me a bit uncomfortable because, as I said, I am overcome with a humbling conviction.

The story goes something like this: I was at church today, in my usual place, which is in the choir balcony in the back.  (If you visit my website, you will discover that I am a member of a vibrant Eastern Orthodox Church.)  Now, I must tell you at the outset that a member of our congregation died earlier this week, and, as is common in our church, the casket was brought into the nave of the church early this morning, before the Liturgy.  The person in the [closed] casket was the mother of one of our deacons.   In the nine plus years that I have been a member of this parish, I have never met her or even laid eyes on her: she had been in ill health for a number of years and had been unable to come to church during that time.  I had heard her name mentioned at the commemorations every Sunday; I knew enough to know that she was too chronically ill ever to come to church again; and I knew that she actually lived not far from me.  But, I did not know her.  Nor did she know me.

At the end of the Liturgy this morning, our priest asked us to sit down for a few moments so that the lady's son could share a few brief thoughts with the congregation.   He was aware that many in the congregation would not be able to attend the funeral the following day.  This seemed reasonable enough and, since I did not know the deceased person, I sat back in my seat in the choir loft expecting the comments to be brief and, for me, nondescript.  

What I got was something far different.

The first thing that gripped me was that the lady's son, the deacon, broke down and cried for brief periods during his talk.  This made me a bit uncomfortable, as it always does.  I find it very difficult to cry in front of anyone and avoid it at all costs - perhaps that's one of my many faults, I don't know.  As he wept, then gained his composure, then wept again, I felt the grief welling up inside of me. I did not even know this lady, and yet the grief I felt for her son was, inwardly, very painful.  Among the congregation, the grief was palpable - from my perch twenty or so feet above the main floor, I could hear a number of people weep audibly, and this only made my feelings of grief even more difficult to suppress.  

The deacon began by saying: "This is a day of joy!" - not an unusual thing to say, it seemed to me.  But, then he proceeded to tell us that in the days since his mother's death, he had had an opportunity to go through some of her things and had run across something very important.  It seems that she had been very frustrated that she could not attend church, and so, she had taken a copy of the church directory, which is updated annually, and had prayed for each and every person in the church daily for years.  She had written notes, poems, and prayers - 'love letters', if you will - for and about us.

In our services and in our private prayer, we pray for peace, for the sick, the suffering, for our leaders, etc. etc. etc. - which is all well and good and proper and necessary.  But, it seems to me, this was a different sort of prayer - intimate prayer, personal prayer.  It is the prayer that the Holy Apostle Paul speaks of when he exhorts us to "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing." (1 Thess. 5:16-17).

After all these years, she likely did not know half the congregation - yet she prayed for each of us.  On the other hand, I knew about her, knew she was ill, knew that she was a shut-in - yet, I must confess, I did not really pray for her. At least not in the intimate and personal way that she had for all of us.  

Saint Paul instructs us over and over and over again to pray for each other. Indeed, he credits the prayers of others, people he did not necessarily know personally, for his deliverance from danger and adversity (2 Corinthians 1). Ought we not pray for one another so that we may share each others sorrow, each others griefs, each others joys?  And then be victorious together!

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing."

DDO