The Flight

We live on a flight pattern, above, one after the other the planes fly overhead. Heading to Philadelphia or Baltimore or National or Dulles, I don’t know, all I do is watch them as they glide across the sky. Inside are people, all going somewhere or returning, to loved ones or to empty homes. Some to be greeted at the gate by a lover or spouse or a worried parent. The stewards are walking down the aisles collecting empty coffee cups or empty wrappers, making sure seats are upright and locked, that portable devices are off and secure. The plane is filled with stories, two lovers hold hands, a young mother soothes her fidgety child, a business person looks over their presentation before closing the laptop. A spouse goes through the conversation they will have, do we stay together or not, a young service person wonders how to tell his fiance that he is going to war, and a poet sits alone pondering what this all means, seeking the perfect metaphor.

Joining the Navy

Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.

“A risk is an action that holds a chance of danger or failure. Although it’s fun jump around on glaciers, the risk of falling down a crack into a freezing lake might deter you from ice climbing.”

Over my life, I have taken risks, some of the daredevil type and some of the more mundane daily type. Each day, I take a risk; it is part of living. One of my significant risks came years ago when I was a newly minted dad with a young wife and living out in Ohio; I made a decision that would change the trajectory of our lives. We had moved out to Ohio because my father-in-law had been involved in a farming accident that took one of his legs. Just a few months before that, my mother-in-law died unexpectedly, and this accident required moving out to the farm. Unfortunately, this was in the early 1970’s, and Ohio was in a deep recession. Jobs were scarce, and we had no resources. So, one day, walking through town, I passed the Navy recruiter’s office and went inside to talk. I served in the Army in Vietnam, so I knew what I was doing and what to expect, so I joined on a two-year contract. After doing this, I went home to talk to my wife, hoping she would be okay with this decision. She was, and for the next six years, we were a Navy couple, living in Groton near the Subase where I was stationed onboard the USS Glenard P. Lipscomb (SSN-685). It was a huge risk but one I never regretted. Sometimes, risks are necessary; this one allowed us to breathe and find our footing with the two kids and a life ahead of us.

Journey

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Where does your deep gladness meet the world’s needs?” I’m listening to a podcast from Ritual where Parker Palmer, writer, teacher, and activist, reflects on Buechner’s observation that vocation lies where our deep gladness meets the world’s needs. My vocation is ever-changing, moving through the various challenges that I face. Aging brings some modicum of wisdom, but still, I find myself seeking wholeness in my spiritual life. Parker asks us to get our authentic selves into our vocation, especially in our interactions with others. How do I, at this time of my life, bring the fullness of my true self into the work I feel called to do as I seek a fuller spiritual sense? These questions spin within my thoughts as I navigate this journey of retirement. Vocation in retirement as a priest is a theme I plan on writing about as I seek my place in this world of fear and anger. I’m no Palmer or any of the great spiritual thinkers and writers, but I do have that small portion of wisdom that I can share.

Seeker

You are my lost pearl

one I searched the world to find

my lover and life

Growing Pains

Describe a decision you made in the past that helped you learn or grow.

Most of my decisions, good, bad, or indifferent, have helped me to grow. Some growth is painful, as most true growth tends to be, and in that pain, I grew. Tears water the garden of my most difficult moments, and when the fruits of that have grown, I learn more about myself. I decided years ago to follow my call to ordination; it wasn’t an easy decision; it came amid confusion and doubt. It was not a decision made solely on my own; my spouse and children also were part of that conversation. One wise person asked me if I was prepared for what being ordained would mean. “remember,” he said, “Mother Church will not look after you.” It has now been 30-plus years, four parishes, and countless moments of difficulty and grace, and now I sit here retired and grateful. I learned to take the challenges in stride, to let go of those things that darken my life, and to grasp hold of the love that lifts me.

Five Portals of Happiness

What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?

My wife, my dog, my bike, my poems, and my family bring me happiness, love, and gratitude.

Life

What job would you do for free?

This is a strange prompt because, at some point, most do a job for free; not only that, we volunteer to do this job knowing it provides no monetary benefit. My spouse gives of herself each day doing the job of several without getting a paycheck. She is our cook, cleaner, financial wizard, and everything else that needs doing. As her husband, my job is supporting, loving, and doing things she doesn’t. I’m the one who sets up the tech, making sure our various devices work; I do the laundry each week, empty the dishwasher, and make sure the dog gets his walks. We do these things not to brag or seek brownie points but we do these things out of love and mutual respect. Marriage is an unpaid job we volunteered for over fifty years ago, and neither of us would quit because love isn’t something to throw away but something to embrace. It’s a job I love and would never leave.

Still Adapting

How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?

I’m not sure I have fully adapted to the changes brought on by the pandemic. During those early days, when COVID-19 was running rampant and people were dying, we stayed home as much as possible, ordered our essentials to be delivered, and washed our hands. Since then, we have become more aware of our surroundings, carrying sanitizer on every trip and ensuring we have masks within easy reach. Each week, the laundry is also sanitized and washed, and we use paper towels to dry our hands. We ensure a good supply of toilet paper, tissues, towels, and Clorox wipes. We also keep up-to-date with the latest vaccines, especially before long trips. When we do go away, whether we stay in a motel or an Airbnb, we take our own Lysol, wipes, and sanitizer. We know now that we need to be more aware and intentional about what we need to do to avoid this disease.

Morning Ritual

What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?

My day starts with walking the dog in our neighborhood. Usually, a mile walk along quiet streets, accompanied by the early birds up and gathering their breakfast. When I get home, it’s time to feed said dog and give him his first pill of the day; he’s on blood pressure medication; after all, he is sixteen. Then, turn on the Keurig and settle down to read a poem from A Poem for Every of the Year, edited by Allie Esiri. I will also read some prayers and the daily Grateful Living post for the day, as well as some other spiritual offerings. Once grounded, as these readings do for me, I can begin my day preparing to write my poetry or tackle the daily prompt. Of course, the writing comes after a cup of coffee.

Easter 2012: A Memory

The morning is quiet, the city still sleeps, a Boston Globe truck delivers the Sunday papers, and my Muslim neighbor greets me with a happy Easter, which makes this morning brighter. I walk into Dunk’s, coffee regular and breakfast sandwich ready. I walk past buildings reflecting the rays of the sun glowing a firey orange, and the birds chatter amongst themselves while the squirrel can’t seem to decide which side of the road he wants to be on. Churches I pass now adorned with colorful flowers, golden daffodils, and snow-white lilies. Pulling out my keys, I open the door into the silent parish. I’ve been doing this walk for so many years and still on Easter my heart still jumps. Do I expect to see him risen and alive? Into my office, I sit alone with so many thoughts as I drink my Dunk’s and eat my sandwich, a few notes on my desk, the remnants of sermon prep. When I go down into the sanctuary, I turn on the lights and am greeted by the altar filled with flowers, where, just a few hours ago, all was bare, stripped of its glory, as our Lord was stripped of his. Alleluia, the Lord is Risen, as the sun lights up stained glass, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Soon, they will arrive dressed for the occasion, with flowery bonnets and colorful dresses, men in their best suits, children scrubbed and clean. More than usual, they will pile through those doors, a latent guilt on their faces, a world upon their shoulders. The gifts of God for the people of God, with that all come to the table to be fed, all come with a prayer on their lips and hope in their hearts. This is Easter, a long time ago, in a place I called home, in a Church filled with love.