A day in the life

As one whose life could be affected by General Convention 2006-B033 (but who has no aspirations to the episcopacy), whose life 'poses a challenge to the Anglican Communion,' I can't help but think of how much time is wasted on purity code tests when ministry goes on and the people entrusted to my care don't worry about who loves me or whom I love as long as they know God loves them and I do, too.

Yesterday, I walked up to a parishioner's home to bless her cat. She is 86, going blind, never married, but a lovely person and an ardent cat lover. We'd set up this meeting some time ago. Off I went enjoying all the crab apple and cherry trees in blossom, got to the house, and went in. She was holding her squirming cat but I managed to bless the feline with words I usually use about the cat being a reminder to us of God's unconditional love and how we have been called to be stewards of God's creation.

No sooner had I done that when her phone rang. It was the parish secretary, tracking me down to say I was needed at the hospital right then and there because someone was dying. So my hostess drove me back down to the church and off I went to the hospital.

H. had died about five minutes before I got there. Her 83 year-old body was still warm to the touch. Surrounding her were ten family members, including a son who had driven 45 minutes to get there, just in time to see his mother die (from old age, pneumonia, the flu, an assortment of things, but ultimately it was her lungs that gave out).

We said the prayers at the time of death, talked some about her life and then the family left. I stayed as I always do to keep vigil until her body was taken to the morgue.

It took quite some time for the nurses to come up with the gurney. And in that time, I sat with H., praying over her body, continuing those words of commendation for a long life now past, and the hope of resurrection... saying the Nunc Dimittis and simply keeping watch.

In the 45 minutes that I sat there, I watched the colour of her skin change and felt the temperature of her body drop. The natural processes went along, as I sat in that liminal place, on that holy ground, knowing that heaven and earth had come close together, their delineation faint.

In the 45 minutes that I sat there, the person in the room next door went ballistic and all of a sudden 15 people, security personnel, doctors, nurses, all came running to quiet down the commotion.

In the 45 minutes that I sat there, a lullaby came over the PA system to announce the birth of a baby (I trust OK). One soul came into the world while another soul was leaving it. The course of life continues. The two souls probably crossed each other on their ways.

In the 45 minutes that I sat there, the room mate of H., who had vicariously prayed with us unwittingly, perhaps not wanting to, met with her social worker.

And yet H.continued on her journey.

Of course it is very different from being at home where the noise can be controlled, people can light candles, go in and out of the house, and not worry about others. It is different in a large hospital than in a small town (the difference from where I am and whence I came), yet death and resurrection are universal.

Finally, the person in the next-door room quieted down, the crowd dispersed and H.'s body was gently taken care of and sent on the next leg of her journey.

And then it was back into the bright light of the day where the world has gone along, indifferent to the mystery into which H.'s family and I had stepped.

So, tell me, how does my having a spouse who is of the same gender matter one iota to H.'s family? Evidently, it doesn't.

Just tell me.