Who’s Got A Hold On You?

Having been fortunate enough to hear Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori speak and give a sermon last week at the Diocesan Council meeting, I bought her book “A Wing and a Prayer: A Message of Faith and Hope” just in time for a four-hour flight to Phoenix, where I was traveling to the GreenBuild convention. 

I had to delay my original flight on Tuesday due to hurricane weather wafting up from the Gulf to Atlanta. So by the time my actual flight left on Wednesday morning, I had already read some 50 pages, divided into small chapters, which are really sermons that Bishop Katharine calls essays.

In her introduction, she ends by saying “The essays look at my dream for the Church and the reckless, abundant love of the God we serve. That’s the dream that I bring to the Episcopal Church as I serve as presiding bishop. Breathe deeply, know the wind of God is always beneath your wings, receive the Holy Spirit, and change the world.”

Reading the presiding bishop’s words is a lot like hearing them in person—they are calming and inspiring. Looking at life and the Kingdom of God through her lens, you start to see small ways that perhaps you can make a difference in the world. The essay that stuck with me from my waiting on Tuesday was entitled “Who’s got a hold on you?”

The old gospel language was used to describe what happens at baptism when we are “claimed” for God’s mission. “It’s about vocation, and it’s about hearing with compassion.” As I read over several examples of lonely or poverty stricken or mentally ill people who had briefly entered and exited Bishop Katharine’s life, thereby laying a claim to her heart, I started to see just how many people had a “hold on me.”

There was the elderly African-American cleaning lady in the airport smoker’s lounge across from the waiting area at my gate. As the travelers sat puffing hurriedly before their flights, talking incessantly on their cell phones, she might have been invisible. I watched as she made her way around the room, cleaning in a cloud of smoke, swishing her broom under feet and emptying dirty ash trays, each of which she cleaned out with a wet rag held by her bare hands.

I saw not a single person acknowledge this woman, not one visible sign that she existed, let alone the fact that her hair was nearly all gray and her body was thin and frail. For a brief moment, I wondered how much they pay in the airport for such nasty work, figured probably not much, and then tried to imagine what kind of a home this old woman lived in, if she had trouble buying Christmas presents for her grandchildren.

I thought: “That’s just the kind of person I would help if I could.” And in that statement of course is the idea that I am not in the position to help or pray or maybe even care. And it’s probably a little self-righteous in implying that there are others who would actually be able to change that little woman’s life—if only they had my good intentions. I’ll add, my distant, theoretical good intentions.

I was considering what I might actually do when I read over the sermon again. In the examples, there wasn’t necessarily a material cause and effect. The bishop often just prayed for these people in pain, acknowledged their existence by not turning away.

By the time I had to reschedule my flight, gather up my things and head for the ticket counter, I looked around for the little cleaning lady. It was as if she had disappeared. I do not know why that wasn’t enough for me. I actually took off down the long, wide, busy corridor that is terminal B, looking for her and her dust pan, behind fast moving foot traffic and at least eight gates, trying to recognize the gray hair and the maroon apron top. Not that I knew what I would do if I found her. 

Just as I was about to give up, I saw the elderly lady resting by a column with her cleaning station, gray rubber garbage can that came up to her chest, the broom and stand-up dustpan now safely secured. I was so happy that I still had a chance to speak to her, to not leave her unnoticed, I walked up to her joyfully, holding back a hug. “There you are!” I said looking her in the eyes, noticing the perfect row of false teeth as she returned my greeting with a smile. I pressed a five dollar bill into her hand because I think actually even small tips are nice to get once in a while. And besides it gave me an excuse to speak to her and not look too insane. “I never got a chance to thank you for cleaning up. That’s a nasty job. Thank you so much for doing that,” I said.

She brightened up and thanked me back. Now she’s got a hold on me. I wonder if I’ve got a hold on her?