Requiem for a Friend: A Meditation on the Life of a Maniac....

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth

until the hour of separation."

- Khalil Gibran

 

I heard yesterday, when a dear friend and high school Brother-From-Another-Mother FaceBooked me with the news.  And then another of my set called to confirm what I had hoped against hope wasn't true: the first of us had passed on....

 

Carlyle Vincent Smith has shuffled off this mortal coil, to borrow the phrase from the Bard ... and those of us who loved him are lost in grief, struggling to wrap our heads around the extinguishment of a bright but lately distant light in our lives....

 

I've known Carlyle since I was eleven, when he and I were part of what turned out to be a very successful experiment indeed.  The University of Detroit High School - now know as U of D Jesuit High School - had invited sixty boys to become members of the its first Jesuit Academy class.  In part to part to provide spiritual, moral and academic guidance to eager and ambitious young men and in part to stave off its declining enrollment as the realities of post-riot Detroit in the mid-1970s hit it hard, very hard, ninety-eight years into its existence, U of D founded what was in effect a junior high school.  And Carlyle - or C-Lyle, as he was known to us and everybody - was in its inaugural class of seventh graders.  We would graduate from U of D together six years later at the dawn of a new decade and in the process grow from boys to young men and from friends to brothers for life.

 

In fact, Carlyle and I were not only members of U of D's class of 1980, but, together, we were one-quarter of an octet that named itself the Maniacs, an appropriately juvenile sobriquet that these many years later is actually oddly inappropriate for eight inner-city Detroit kids who all graduated from college and have a half-dozen graduate degrees and various other illustrious achievements among them.  Back in the day, we liked to suggest that we were crazy and perhaps a tad dangerous, reflecting as it did at the time the need to posture protectively during that teenage crucible period in our lives, but, actually, we were a pretty straightforward, clean-cut bunch: one of our number was our class valedictorian, another won our school's Leadership Award and half of us captained one or more of U of D's athletic teams (while three of us finished second, third and fourth for the school's scholar-athlete award because, in effect, we split our classmates' votes), etc.  In sum, in six critical, wonderful years together, we grew from boys to young men in whom our parents (and friends) took great pride and from hangin' buddies into life-long friends and brothers....

 

But I saw Carlyle only occasionally in my adult life: the vagaries of fate being what they are, we stayed in touch but only got together a handful of times independent of our sojourn back to U of D every five years for class reunions.  In a phase, we were cool but not close ... and yet when we got together - as happens with all great friends of longstanding - it was as if time had not passed a moment.  Whether it was just a few of us or all of us, when we were in each other's company again we were home, transported back in time to the innocence of our youth when the possibilities of the world shone brightly and lay just ahead of us for the taking.

 

And despite our success, we each struggled.  A few years ago, at one of the lowest points in my life (working and wobbling my way through a protracted and enervating divorce, a simultaneous career transition, etc.), Carlyle came to New York City to celebrate his birthday and I agreed to meet him for a drink.  Though I was really rather depressed and reclusive at the time, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to be in my dear friend's company again, a rare and treasured prospect.  So I drove into the City through rush-hour traffic to experience the type of homecoming that nourishes the soul, sharing three glorious hours with my dear friend as we commiserated about the vagaries of life and celebrated our appreciable but seemingly ephemeral triumphs.  And then he left to hook up with a lady friend for the evening ... and I never saw him again....

 

It was another glorious moment among the string of such restorative and elevating reunions over the years.  In fact, just a year or two before, we had celebrated our 30th high school reunion and managed to get seven of the eight of us back together, having only managed to get all eight of us together on three occasions during those intervening three decades.  (I'll own the fact that I was usually the one missing on the half-dozen or so occasions when we only managed to get seven Maniacs in a room during this time.)  We were - and are - still like brothers, though life has taken us down separate and quite distinct paths.

 

Which is what made my quite reasonable and calm reaction to the news of Carlyle's passing a real puzzle to me yesterday.  Sadly, he was the twelfth friend of mine to die this year - a mystifying, unwelcome and unprecedented experience in my life, to be sure - but, logically, one could posit that I'd developed a sort of unconscious self-protective fortitude based on my recent experience. Yet I was troubled that I wasn't more upset: yes, I was sad, but not as sad as I thought that I should be when a lifelong friend passes on....

 

And then it hit me: awakened involuntarily in the middle of the night - a night, ironically, before a family road trip that necessitates sufficient rest - I realize that I'm mourning my friend deeply and that the delayed reaction was just my body and mind collaborating to protect my soul.  But now that it's loosed, the wound is gaping indeed.  I miss my friend terribly.  I regret that I was not closer to him during what I suspect neither of us realized were his last months and days.  I ache for his family, as now his parents must bury their eldest child.  And I grieve for what will never again be: no more Maniac reunions (like the anticipated one for our upcoming U of D reunion next year), no more deep but just a touch distant conversations with my friend who always seemed to be close but not quite fully accessible in the last decade of his life.  (To put a finer point on it, in recent years, I always felt like there was more to the story that C-Lyle wasn't sharing about his life and his circumstances, a veil that no amount of loving attempts at comfort and support could pierce, which is an experience that other friends have noted as well.)

 

Whatever happened to my friend, I want him to know that I love him still and that his spirit will always live on through me.  I will always try to be just a little bit cooler than I naturally am because of his example, a preternatural sense of self-assurance and nonchalance that made him magnetic to friends and acquaintances alike.  I will always think of that laugh and of that inevitable response of "Walt, maannn, you just don't understand..." when he was trying to set me straight about something or other.  And I will always wonder if there was anything else that I could have done to make his earthly life happier, as the reserve and distance in our relationship in recent years intuitively suggests to me an opportunity lost.

 

May God bless and keep you, C-Lyle, as you're returned to Him from whom you came.  I will treasure the more than four decades of friendship and the myriad hilarious and happy memories with which you gifted me (and everyone who was privileged to know you) in your earthly life and try not to ponder what could have been.  You were always the coolest ... and now the world seems just a little more stark and cold without you.  So the work begins, of keeping your memory alive and aflame in our hearts to steel us for the journey ahead and help us be just that much cooler, like you, as we travel our path....

 

"You can love someone so much.  But you can never love people as much as you can miss them."

- John Green





There's Only We: Keepin' It Real and Clear in Challenging Times....

"We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality,
tied in a single garment of destiny.
Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly."
 

- The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 

 

Today, Officer Rafael Ramos is being eulogized and laid to rest.  It's a sad day for us all, but especially for his family and those who were privileged to know him during his earthly life.  And it will be so, too, when we honor the life of Officer Wenjian Liu, his partner.  There are no words that can capture the tragedy of the precipitating event fully, though senseless and inhumane begin to point the way.  The officers' execution a week ago is an horrific reminder of just how inhumane we humans can be sometimes....

 

And yet Ismaayil Brinsley, their killer, is both an afterthought and a symbol.  He's an afterthought because his own self-inflicted death accomplished nothing and perhaps actually made this situation worse, as we will never have the opportunity to try to understand why, specifically, this tragedy occurred.  To be clear, I don't think that we would've gotten a cogent answer from someone who was clearly deranged, but I do think that we may have had an opportunity to understand better both the causes and manifestations of Mr. Brinsley's mental illness so that we can endeavor to prevent them from metastasizing again such a lethal way.

 

Which is why I believe that Mr. Brinsley is also a symbol, in this latest case of our failure as a society to address mental illness effectively and thereby subjecting ourselves to the too often deadly consequences of this choice.  Simply put, better mental healthcare may not have prevented this particular tragedy, but it would be hard to argue that a better system thereof wouldn't reduce the number of such tragedies (and possibly their severity) in a meaningful way.  After Columbine ... Virginia Tech ... Sandy Hook ... the DC Navy Yard ... and now this, can we at least agree that we need to address mental illness in a far more consequential way than we have thus far?

 

(Notice that I used ellipses to allude to the dozens of shooting incidents between the listed tragedies and also that I've left unaddressed the twin issue of gun control as, sadly, I've almost come to accept that we'll never come to any reasonable and meaningful progress on this issue.)

 

Why did all of this happen in the first place?  Proximately, one could posit that a deranged man decided to assassinate two NYPD officers in retribution for Michael Brown in Ferguson and Eric Garner in Staten Island, as the killer is reputed to have claimed before his heinous act.  And yet the reality is that it's happened in the context of a massive, legitimate protest movement in response to these unfortunate - and unpunished - police-involved deaths.  But this has been lost amidst the media's virtually exclusive focus on the NYPD tragedy in the past week.

 

And that's the point: it's hard to believe that it's a coincidence that the focus on addressing police brutality in its most lethal form has been virtually totally lost in favor of the legitimately heart-rending family tragedies of Officers Ramos and Liu.  Again, to be clear, I'm not suggesting that we shouldn't be present for the slain officers' families and NYPD colleagues, we most certainly should be ... and especially so after the glare of the cameras goes away soon after the funerals.  What I am saying is that we owe it to ourselves - and to the slain officers' families - to multitask, which in this case means staying focused on the police lethality issue as well.

 

Sadly, though, this situation has been hijacked because its politicization is virtually complete: I'm still trying to figure out who's more reprehensible, former NYC Mayor Giuliani for trying to blame President Obama for this tragedy - apparently some of us were wrong that there had to be something for which the president couldn't be blamed - or NYC Patrolmen's Benevolent Association President Patrick Lynch's blaming it on current NYC Mayor DiBlasio.  When on earth has any modern-era elected official seen it as a personal, positional and/or societal benefit to encourage and/or endorse the slaughter of innocents?  Only the most craven among us would try to make this an Us vs. Them situation, which, at least for now, is what it seems to have become.

 

But why?  As far as I can tell, don't we all benefit from more effective policing, which, among other things, means less lethal policing (especially in Communities of Color)?  Isn't it better for us all if the police are rightly seen as our supporters, protectors and advocates in the achievement of public safety rather than an occupying force prone to prey on the least of us, especially Black and Brown males?  I couldn't agree more with Jon Stewart of The Daily Show who has presciently suggested (yet again),

 

"You can truly grieve for every officer who's been lost in the line of duty in this country, and still be troubled by cases of police overreach.  The two ideas are not mutually exclusive.  You can have great regard for law enforcement and still want them held to a high standard."

 

This is not an Us vs. Them issue as if those of us in the community are separate and apart from those who are sworn to serve and protect us.  This is an Us issue, period.  Whatever decreases safety in our communities imperils police officers, too, and whatever improves it benefits both citizen and cops.  We truly are in this all together....

 

And yet we're not:  In many communities, where police have acted more like an occupying force, citizens are legitimately wary of them, often beyond the point of suspicion to active distrust.  So, too, within many police forces, the combination of (mostly) living outside of the community being policed and having to deal disproportionately with the dregs of our society leads to a detachment from those ostensibly being served and protected.  These are both underlying causes that deserve more address.

 

In fact, I can't recall the last time that I heard a police official acknowledge a mistake publicly, although, logically, with hundreds of thousands of officers and hundreds (if not thousands) of unfortunate police-community/suspect interactions each year, statistically speaking, some of them have to be mistakes.  With respect to New York City, the names Diallo, Bell and many, many others come to mind.  Are our police leaders beyond accountability (and, even worse, devoid of humanity)?

 

Yet, we have to acknowledge three realities about how we typically interact with the police, especially in communities where the estrangement is greatest:

 

First, we tend to lump them all together rather than treat them as individuals, which, it turns out, is exactly what we ask them to do with respect to us (i.e., "Don't treat me poorly - by profiling me, stopping and frisking me, etc. - because I'm a young Black male; get to know me as an individual," etc.).  We tend to speak of "the police" universally as if each of them is equally responsible for the actions of a (very) few offenders among them (much like we as members of certain groups don't want to be associated with the transgressions of a few members whom we typically don't know or whose behaviors we, too, detest).  Until we're willing to acknowledge them as a collective of individuals, we lump them to our mutual detriment.

 

Second, we (most/too) often choose not to trust the police, more out of allegiance to a misguided communal ethic than because of direct experiences with certain unprofessional (and, possibly, inhumane) members thereof.  Before I keep going, let me acknowledge that in certain (typically urban, poor and violence-infested) neighborhoods, this distrust is earned by the harassment to which many - especially young Black men - are indiscriminately subjected by members of law enforcement.  Driving While Black (DWB) and its unfortunately myriad variations are real and the actual, lived experience of too many (including me, a suburban, upper middle class Black man).  In these situations, I understand the inclination toward mistrust ... but the reality is that most of us - even those of us of Color - don't have this direct negative experience with the police, so we need to change our approach.  We can't have it both ways: we can't choose not to cooperate with the police and then blame them for the level of crime by which we're being victimized and that they, in turn, are receiving little if any help to address.  In fact, the accountability imperative increases in direct proportion to our level of cooperation and collaboration.  If we really want to experience the benefits of public safety, we have to partner meaningfully and constructively with them.  Only in this situation, in which we've provided them the greatest possible cooperation, can we hold them fully accountable for the outcomes that we seek.

 

Third, we must acknowledge the reality of the nature of policing by reflecting deeply on the answer to this question:  When do we call the police?  The answer is, in virtually every situation, when things have gotten out of control and we can't handle it anymore.  Into this morass, we invite the police to dive in and in so doing to resolve it both for our benefit and to our satisfaction.  In short, to be in law enforcement is to be the option of last resort.  Think about this carefully for a moment.  How hard must it be to be involved in situations that are disproportionately out of control and at a minimum confused/confusing and, too often, dangerous (if not potentially lethal)?  Let's face it, very few jobs are as difficult as being a policeman or policewoman.  Which doesn't mean that we condone their misbehavior, just that we must understand the conditions that can give rise to it amongst the less skilled or principled members of law enforcement.  Yes, police officers should know what they're getting into when they sign up for the job, but, so, too, we should acknowledge how difficult the job is that we're asking them to do.

 

If, all day every day, almost exclusively, you were asked to address nothing but problems - some of which could be quite dangerous for you personally - how do you think that you'd do?  Do you think that you might eventually begin to build up a psychic armor to protect yourself from this virtually constant negativity?  Do you think that you might tend to be more suspicious than the average person?  Which, again, isn't to say that we should allow police malfeasance, just that we need to appreciate the circumstances that can and too often do give rise to it.  We need to be compassionate enough to understand why the police often don't trust us while we also hold them accountable to acting conscientiously and professionally.

 

Which is what this is really about: we need to continue to honor those who serve and protect us - especially in life but also in death - while we continue to expect and hold them accountable to being compassionate, constructive and equitable in their service and protection.  We want the police to be protected, too, as we are, but this doesn't mean that they're allowed to violate our rights in doing so.  The Golden Rule applies still: the police don't want to be targeted so they should respect that we don't want to be, either.  And when outcomes are disproportionate, they must own and address them in collaboration with us, especially deftly and humanely in the segments of the community that are most and most often disadvantaged by their actions.  After all, we are all safest when the police are our partners, when we're safe and they're safe, when we are we and they are, too....

 

So, please consider this: isn't the best way to honor the lives of Officers Ramos and Liu (and all of those who've made the ultimate sacrifice in our service) to strive to have their legacy be that more of their fellow are like them?  They're being lauded as exemplary officers and people, so why not work together to insure that we can say this about everyone who has the opportunity to protect and serve?  And should a few members of law enforcement misbehave, let's commit to treating these unfortunate situations for what the are: aberrations by individuals that shouldn't be excused but understood and improved upon by the collective (which is admittedly supremely hard to do in the worst/most lethal of these instances).

 

In the end, there's no winning a war against the police or gain in conceiving of and acting as if this is an Us vs. Them situation.  The only victory is in seeing this as a We situation and working together accordingly.  Just like there are a few aberrant members in every family, in our communal family there are misbehavers who're civilians and those who're cops.  We all lose if we demonize either or both groups.  Our only solution is to extend the compassion and understanding that we'd want in situations involving a close relative to our more distant fellows, be they citizens or constables.  Our only solution is We, even - or perhaps especially - in situations when we may be deeply hurt by our fellows and our anger is authentic/right but not effective if expressed inappropriately.

 

Young Mr. Brinsley was angry (in addition to being deluded), but this didn't justify his heinous actions.  So, too, with the pack of officers - one of whom clearly applied a prohibited choke hold  - who wrestled Eric Garner to ground and, sadly, to his death (despite his protestations that he couldn't breathe).  None of us can breathe when we lose our humanity completely ... and, increasingly, our nerves frayed by too many tragic occurrences, it's hard for us to do so when we lose it even a little.

If we expect our police brothers and sisters to behave more responsibly and humanely in their service, especially with members of our communal family who may not look like them and live differently than they do, then we have to help them do so.  When we choose not to trust, then we can't demand trust in return.  Only by acknowledging our interrelation, however costly, can we live in harmony and peace.  Only if we truly live in alignment with the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's memorable words quoted above can we all be protected and served.  Only if there's We will there be life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all in our land....
 

Merry Christmas, Jimmy: Reflections on and Prayers for the Season....

And the king will answer them,

‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these

who are members of my family,

you did it to me.’

- Matthew 25:40 (NRSV)

Supposedly at the holiday season, we take time to reflect on and appreciate our blessings.  One way that we express this is to share gifts with those we like and love.  In fact, one of the laments of our age is that this gift-giving - reminiscent, for Christians, of the Ultimate Gift, God's sharing of His only begotten Son, born this day - is that it's been transformed into a time of rampant consumption and materialism virtually (if not totally) devoid of its seminal purpose.  And yet, at any time and moment, we can change, we can choose to return to the purpose of this Christmas celebration: honoring the birth of Hope in human form.

 

Even those who are not believers or Christians can identify with this purpose: grateful reflection on the past accompanied by hopeful anticipation of the future.  And it's in this universal spirit that I write today, to reflect on the meaning of this season, in this case through the lens of my relationship with a man named Jimmy.

 

Actually, I'm not 100% sure that his name really is Jimmy, but I've overheard others calling him that, so I've done so, too, and he's never corrected me (whether out of politeness or some other motivation).  What I do know is that Jimmy is homeless and that I often see him on 34th Street on my way to and from Penn Station.

 

Of course, on any given day, one will encounter any number of homeless people on the streets of New York City, many of whom are begging for anything that passersby would care to share.  In my recent experience, this seems to average about one such person per block.  What makes Jimmy just like his peers is that he sits inconspicuously in front of a shuttered storefront with a small sign requesting donations.  But what makes him stand out is that he has a companion, a small, tattered black, white and grey dog whose name I don't know (or, at least, remember).  I've often asked myself what it means about me (and my character) that the primary reason that I noticed him was because of the dog.  When I am totally honest with myself, much to my dismay, I suspect that this is so and it pains me.  Most of his peers I don't recognize, but Jimmy I do, virtually exclusively because of his companion.

 

At least that was the case until one interaction about a month ago that literally rocked my world:  I've made it a habit to donate a dollar to Jimmy each time I pass him and, most importantly while doing so, to acknowledge him/his humanity.  (Certainly being homeless is a stressful life, but often even more painful is the reality that to so/too many of their fellow humans, these least among us are often effectively invisible or, if noticed at all, treated inhumanely/as 'less than.')  One morning just before Thanksgiving, I decided to increase my gift in the spirit of the season and slipped him a five-dollar bill.  He didn't seem to acknowledge the significantly increased donation, responding graciously and appreciatively as usual, but what he said almost stopped me in my tracks.  When I wished him a Happy Thanksgiving and implored "God bless you, brother," he answered confidently and louder than usual that...

 

"He does, every day, and I appreciate it!"

 

I smiled, said "That's great!" and kept walking ... for a few steps at least until it hit me: What?!?  Did a homeless guy just say to me that he feels blessed by God every day?!?  Did I hear that right, that a guy who has nothing and is living on the cold, hard streets of New York City and depends on the kindness of strangers to live feels blessed by God ... and, even more, every day?!?  At this point, I think that I actually stopped walking, as I remember being jostled by several fellow pedestrians, which I assume was as a result of my being lost in befuddlement....

 

I realize now that I was dealing with a thunderbolt to my worldview: as is so often the case in my experience, we meet God in the most unexpected of places ... and for me, on that day, it was in the person of Jimmy.

 

As I regained my equilibrium and began again to my destination, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd just heard and witnessed (in the truest sense of this word).  And, soon, it - the lesson - came to me:  If Jimmy can feel blessed by God every day, what on earth do I have to complain about/how can I not feel even more blessed and grateful every moment of every day?!?

 

The next time I saw Jimmy, I thanked him for sharing something of great importance with me and, graciously as he accepted that day's donation, he looked up quizzically and said cheerfully, "You're welcome!"  I was just about to explain when I decided on what I thought might be a better course, to wish God's blessings on him again, which then elicited the same response as before.  "Thanks for that lesson, Jimmy!" I said as I walked on feeling renewed and supremely grateful.  "You're welcome!" he again intoned cheerfully as I left and he welcomed his next benefactor.

 

As the Christmas holiday approached, I promised myself that I would stop and talk at greater length with Jimmy when I saw him to learn more about this kind soul whose honest, happy sharing had helped me gain a much better perspective on the vagaries and blessings of my life.  Alas, the several days that I passed his usual spot, he and his companion weren't there.  My heart sank a little bit each time.  I had hoped that in exchange for a little insight into his worldview, I might be able to share a greater kindness, perhaps a larger donation or even the offer of a hot meal in a warm place.  But this was not to be....

 

I come into Christmas this year greatly benefited by my association with Jimmy but as yet unable to share my gratitude with/express my gratitude to him.  So I share it in this blog and hope that somehow, wherever he is on this thankfully more temperate Christmas Day, he'll know that someone is wishing him well and appreciative of him.  And when I see him, of course, I intend to express this fully.

 

Until then, I share with you what Jimmy taught and returned to me: that happiness and fulfillment are a function of one's perspective and, especially, of one's gratitude; that God's abundance is ever present if we choose to be aware of and appreciate it; and that the real giver in our relationship was not me....

 

As I shared with my spiritual brothers at the Men's Breakfast at my church later that week, Jimmy gifted me with one of those life-altering moments of clarity that haunt, illumine and elevate.  If he can feel so blessed, then surely I should (and, by extension, my troubles should be a distant, secondary consideration).

 

And, for the most part, I have been more aware of and appreciative for my blessings and less concerned by my inevitable and ceaseless challenges.  To put a finer point on it, like Jay Z, I got 99 problems - as do we all - but I'm more focused on the reality of my too-innumerable-to-count blessings.  And since Jimmy's gift of perspective, my challenges haven't lessened in number or magnitude, but my appreciation for the context in which I live - and especially the far more voluminous and meaningful extent of my God-given blessings - has certainly grown greatly.

 

Like so many, I was caught in the daily grind and more attuned to the challenges than the gifts.  But now I'm giddily humbled by the abundance in my life and appropriately but not overly concerned with my burdens, which is as it should be.  In sum, this Christmas, I'm truly in the Spirit of the Season, largely thanks to Jimmy.

 

So, Jimmy, my Brother, wherever you are tonight, I hope that you're feeling blessed and know that I realize just how blessed I am, especially by the gift of you in my life.  And I'm most appreciative for your kindness not to point out that, distracted and misperceiving as I was, I was the one who, though I thought I was sharing God with you, was actually meeting Him/Her/It in you.  Thank you for this gift of life, Jimmy. I hope to share something of such profound meaning with you someday.  Until then, I'll keep appreciating my myriad blessings and keep paying them forward in your honor at Christmas and every day.

 

What if God was one of us, indeed.  Just a stranger on a bus, as Joan Osborne sang a few years ago.  Or, in my case, a homeless but generous soul named Jimmy....

 

 

 

 

Blessings and Love: A Reflection On Angels Among Us....

 And thus we rust Life's iron chain

Degraded and alone:

And some men curse, and some men weep,

And some men make no moan:

But God's eternal Laws are kind

And break the heart of stone.

...

How else but through a broken heart

May Lord Christ enter in?

- Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

 

 

Recently, my dear friend Joanie Collyer passed away after a courageous battle with cancer.  And with her went a little piece of my heart, for, to me, in the five years that I knew her she was tangible proof of God's Grace, a true Angel Among Us.  It wasn't just that Joanie was kind and thoughtful with a wry sense of humor and a heart "as big as the sea" (to quote a song of this Advent season), but also that she was so influential in her completely understated way.  In sum, Joanie taught me that the quietest person in the room can often be the most influential and that one can lead from the background in a very powerful way.

 

And power isn't a concept that one would normally associate with a diminutive 'little old lady' who stood just over five feet.  No, her physical presence was anything but powerful, initially and overtly at least.  But if you ever got to know Joanie, you'd realize just how powerful a person she truly was ... and is.

 

First and foremost, Joanie was a person of great faith.  Both in her professional life - a large portion of which was dedicated to creating opportunities for others to explore and expand their faith - and in her personal one, she was devout.  And yet she was also open: whatever she may have believed herself - and now, upon reflection, I struggle to summarize just what this may have been - it was clear that she was completely dedicated, in her inimitable, understated way, to helping others come to know the Divine in ways that are meaningful to them.

 

Perhaps what captures this best is that Joanie started a revolution.  A small one, perhaps, but a revolution all the same, one that has resulted in the spiritual enrichment of hundreds of people in the past five years.

 

For three decades or so, Joanie worked on the staff at Marble Collegiate Church, a deservedly revered and venerated institution in New York City.  During this time, she excelled at responding to the needs of that congregation by playing a vital role in developing opportunities for that church's parishioners to explore their faith.  And then she came to our church, St. Luke's Episcopal in Montclair, New Jersey, and this is where, quietly as ever, she started the revolution.

 

It all began innocently enough with her planting a seed in our esteemed Rector's fertile mind about the kind of spiritual exploration and enhancement opportunities that Marble was providing to its members.  As St. Luke's has grown under Rev. John Mennell's leadership, so, too, has the interest in and need for more opportunities for the members of our parish and the broader community to cultivate their sense of the Transcendent in their daily, earthly lives.  Joanie suggested that he have members of St. Luke's check out what Marble was doing as they began to address our church's own needs in an expanded and enhanced way.  And that's how our now thriving Spiritual Enrichment effort was born....

 

Little did I know that November day so many years ago that I would be starting a new and deeply meaningful chapter in my life.  I just thought that I'd be checking out an interesting program at Marble and then contributing to the dialogue about what we could do in a similar vein at our church.  It turned out that this was the beginning of a powerful experience of spiritual renewal and expansion for me personally and of a similar revolution at St. Luke's.

 

Joining me at this gathering were two fellow parishioners and church Vestry members, one whom I'd known for years but not that well and another who had joined relatively recently.  Although we didn't realize it at the time, we were, along with our beloved Joanie, the founding members of our church's Spiritual Enrichment Team, most often known by its acronym, SET.

 

What transpired at Marble that evening was truly uplifting and inspiring, as, among other opportunities, we were exposed to and engaged by the work of Rev. Ron Farr and participated in various spiritual exploration exercises in which we were encouraged to get to know other participants, most of whom were members but a meaningful number of whom were visitors like us.  In sum, what my fellow Vestry members and I realized that night was how a thoughtfully constructed and well-executed slate of spiritually-infused programming - in effect, a spiritual 'adult education' effort - could create a powerfully energizing and enriching sense of community among its participants, including both fellow parishioners and members of the broader community.  (In fact, one of my greatest surprises and delights about the experience that night was how welcomed we were made to feel and how the leaders of the various exercises encouraged us to participate just as meaningfully as their fellow Marble members.  In that sacred place and space, there was no "Other," only friends and friends we've just met.)

 

I left Marble that night not only nourished in a way that I'd never previously experienced but also completely committed to helping create a similar effort and opportunity at St. Luke's.  Simply put, though I didn't yet comprehend it fully, in a matter of hours I had become a motivated member of the revolution that Joanie Collyer had started....

 

When we first met, the inaugural members of SET were the three Vestry members who had attended the program at Marble and the diminutive Anglican lady who'd initiated it all.  Truth be told, I had an idea who Joanie was, but it wasn't until that first organizing meeting that I came to know her in any meaningful way.

 

And in the series of a half-dozen meetings or so that resulted in the creation and debut of our initial Spiritual Enrichment effort at St. Luke's, Joanie was a contributor but a seemingly quiet and almost reticent one.  (What I didn't realize at the time was the mark of a true leader: she was just staying in the background until needed, and, over the next few years, would step forward to take a more overt and active leadership role whenever the situation required it.)  What was clear from the very beginning of our efforts was her fierce belief in the power of what we were doing, creating opportunities for others to cultivate their sense of God and His/Her/Its Grace in our daily lives.

 

And that's also something that I came to appreciate about Joanie as I got to know her better: though she was petite and quiet, she was indeed fierce.

 

And kind:

 

As SET was developing its inaugural slate of programming and envisioning how to bring a greater experience of heaven on earth to our church and our community, personally, I was going through hell as I was in the midst of a bitter and protracted divorce and an accompanying (and enervating) slump professionally.  In truth, it was the lowest and most challenging point of my adult life.  Yet, thankfully, as the members of SET worked more closely together and became true friends, we also supported each other as well.  While I was dealing with my exhaustive and exhausting travails, another member was supporting her husband of five decades who was experiencing some major health challenges and a third was just beginning to get a sense of what turned out to be her own life-endangering health challenges to come.  In sum, we were all wounded spiritual seekers and 'warriors,' intent on creating something beautiful and meaningful for our church and the broader community despite the hardships that affected us.  And quietly and constantly, Joanie was our rock....

 

Proactively so, it turns out:  At one particularly challenging point - during Hurricane Sandy when the power and heat in my home were knocked out for two weeks during the beginning of winter - Joanie took me aside and asked me how I was holding up.  Reflexively, I told her that I was fine, but she pressed on in her quiet but firm way.  No, really, she insisted, how was I doing?  The truth was not well at all: although I was putting on a brave face for my children, family members and friends, the reality was that I was besieged and near the end of my tether emotionally, physically and financially.  And Joanie was there, listening compassionately and patiently as my woes gushed out of me involuntarily yet cathartically.  When I was done I was exhausted and thanked her for being so patient and supportive and then apologized for saddling her with my burdens.  She dismissed this kindly and took hold of my hand, prayed with and for me and then put something in it: a small wad of bills amounting to a couple hundred dollars.  Overcome by her kindness but proud to a fault, when I objected, she shushed me and insisted that I accept her gift, so I did....

 

Yes, it felt good to release my burdens, but, truth be told, it felt even better to know that, by her proactively caring presence, it was clear that Joanie was a source of compassion and strength upon which I could draw during that very dark time.  And so I did: every few weeks she would check in with me and inquire as to how I was really doing ... and every few weeks I would let down my guard and share this with her.  Things eventually improved for me to the point where I could repay her monetary kindness, but, politely yet firmly, she refused.  What I realized then and appreciate now was that my experience with Joanie was a true expression of who she was and is: an Angel Among Us, tangible proof of God's Grace in our daily life.

 

And while our Spiritual Enrichment effort debuted to rave reviews and then was renewed and expanded in subsequent years, Joanie was the quiet yet consistently energizing presence at its core.  And when members of SET had to change or scale back their involvement for periods of time, Joanie invariably stepped up and in and became the coordinator and logistical leader of our efforts.

 

And then her own health challenges began.  Truth be told, Joanie was proud, too: she didn't disclose her true situation to us for some time.  Yes, her work with SET energized her in ways that helped her deal with the physical and emotional demands of chemotherapy, but she really didn't tell us the full extent of her challenges because she didn't want us to worry.  Each of her fellow SET members was either still contending with his or her own challenges or trying to start a new, more positive chapter in life, so Joanie insisted that we focus on this and not her.  I realize now that I should have been more like her and insisted that she allow me/us to support her as proactively and meaningfully as she had done for me/us over the years.

 

She did let us in a bit, but mostly she soldiered on valiantly while thanking us for our concern but insisting that we go on about our lives: about as much as she would let me do was to pray for her on a regular basis.  In fact, while she was in the midst of excruciating rounds of chemotherapy, she was equally fierce in performing her SET duties.  And over time as it became clear that her personal battle would be a losing one, she was nonetheless conscientious and committed.

 

But the toll that it was taking was evident, both in her physical appearance and in her emotional aura.  In good health, Joanie, in her invariably understated way, would radiate a joy and good humor that was infectious and uplifting for all in her presence.  As she battled her cancer, that glow dimmed noticeably, which I took to be an indication of the true magnitude of her challenges.  While she continued to eschew my attempts to support her as meaningfully as she had me, I decided to send her a note expressing my continuing commitment to and appreciation for her.  In part, it read:

 

But it's more than this, it's your warm, loving, caring presence, too.  Whenever you are in a room, the others who are so fortunate know that their well-being is being tended ever so quietly and reverently.  We know that you have our best interests at heart and are actively seeking to be loving in that most truly Christian way: you are so generous with your healing and uplifting spirit and yet you do so in such a self-effacing and almost retiring way that sometimes your touch is only appreciated upon reflection.  It's this soft but loving gift of spirit about which I marvel and for which I am so thankful.

I've never believed in angels, Joanie.  They're one of those mythological aspects of ancient Christianity that actually has tended to repel me rather than inspire me over the years.  Until now, that is.  Because now, in you, I see an angel in the flesh and know that God is (always) quietly present and loving and supportive because you are.  My faith has been so deepened by your example and I have been so inspired by you that I have come to know Christ more meaningfully through you and thereby been indescribably more blessed (in the midst of what, ostensibly, is one of the darkest times of my life).  I pray that you realize how much of a gift you truly are....

And she fought valiantly on, doing amazing work with and on behalf of her SET colleagues, even as it became increasingly challenging physically and emotionally.  In truth, I regret that I didn't insist on doing more with and for her during what turned out to be her last few months, but I allowed her to define the proximity of our relationship.  Even though I saw her deterioration with my own eyes, I couldn't quite accept this reality fully, in part because I'd come to assume that her quietly indomitable will would somehow create a last-minute miracle reprieve if not cure.

 

But she left us nonetheless, physically at least.  She will always be a part of us in spirit and in this way will live on through the lives she touched in her earthly life, expanded exponentially by the lives that these lives will touch in turn.  Even now, there are hundreds of people who either didn't know Joanie or barely knew her who owe her a debt of gratitude for the opportunities that she helped to create and from which they've benefited greatly.

And even more than this, she will live on in my life and spirit because she was truly an Angel Among Us.  I will always know and feel the presence of the Divine more intimately and more powerfully because of His/Her/Its manifestation in my life in the form of Joanie Collyer....

When she signed off an email, Joanie would close with "Blessings and Love," which, it turns out, is a fitting epitaph for her.  In her earthly life, Joanie Collyer was for those privileged to know her a true blessing and manifestation of God's Love.  So, to you, Joanie, I offer my own blessings and love as your journey continues in spiritual form and hope that you know just how much you have meant and will continue to mean to those of us enriched by the abundance of your spirit.  Thank you, too, for reminding us that there are indeed Angels Among Us, quiet but powerful (and fierce) leaders in our midst who encourage us to live more fully, love more boldly and broadly and be more of what the Good Lord created us to be.

And this, as far as I can tell, is the very embodiment (and legacy) of life well-lived, a life like that of the indomitably sweet and spiritual Anglican woman named Joanie Collyer....