Mysterious God

The Lord, they say, works in mysterious ways.

Sunday, with my Episcopalian wife working, I went to worship at a nearby United Methodist parish. The senior pastor, someone I know, was out, but the pulpit was ably filled by a woman cleric who was once my ecclesiastical superior. She spoke with me warmly prior to the service and then , during the service, introduced me to the congregation, mentioning that I was a UMC cleric, recently retired and one of her former teachers. I was asked to stand to be greeted and I did. Though my plan was to be invisible, suddenly I was spray painted day-glo orange.

The service proceeded, and though I found the order of worship a bit odd, the warmth of the singing and the genuineness of the sermon was comforting. I knew and enjoyed the hymns, and on this Trinity Sunday was offered a sermon on prayer—much to be preferred to a sermon on the Trinity.

The service ended as they typically do in a UM Church, with a called to discipleship. Following the benediction, as I began to move from my seat, a woman at the end of the pew engaged me in a brief conversation, greeting me cordially and inviting me to return. As we chatted, a man in his mid to late forties joined us. Speaking to her while looking at me, he said, “I heard Jerry Harber was here today, and I wanted to see for myself,” smiling as he spoke. He then introduced himself and reminded me that he too had been one of my students back in 1982 when I was teaching pastoral care and counseling at one of the local seminaries. Sadly, I remembered only vaguely his name and not at all his face.

By now the woman had left and he began our conversation by telling me that every Wednesday night he spoke my name and told a story about me. I always shudder at moments anything like this one. He told me how he came to class one day, and as part of the class experience, I put a chair for him and for me in the center of the room and had the other students circle us. I told them that I was going to demonstrate what I had been teaching them about therapeutic or empathic listening. The experience changed his life, he said. He told me how he had told the class that he had never felt so understood and how I said to the class, “If you want to be able to do, you must go home and practice.” That very day, he went home, and as well as he could began, to listen to his Mom and Dad, neither of whom were ever very open, certainly not with their feelings. It was a remarkable experience for him.

He then went on to say, “The whole seminary thing didn’t work out for me, but I went to school and became a social worker. Now every Wednesday night I lead a group of people who are trying to single parent under difficult conditions. Every week I tell them the story of your listening to me and my listening to my parents and how it changed my life.” He thanked me effusively, shaking my hand several times as we talked. I admit, I felt goose bumps as he told the story and again when he finished.

My last post was about always wanting to make a difference. I’m reminded today of a seminary professor of mind who said, “When we clergy leave a place, we leave never knowing how much good we did.” He was certainly right. I had no idea that a class exercise left such a profound impact on a single human being and how many times he’d shared that with others.

See, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

The Lord’s peace be with you.

Jerry+