Never Enough

A visit to the other church

Bill died earlier this year after a long fight with cancer. He was the Commander of the State Police Barrack where I am Chaplain.  I got to know him pretty well while he was here and we shared a few things in common. We both rode Harleys; we both had an affinity for wolves and the deep spirituality they represent; and we both saw many different ways to experience God. We shared some differences, too, the main being he was pretty conservative and I am pretty liberal. We had some good talks as a result.

Bill was the kind of person you liked to spend time with. I always had the sense that the time we spent riding together was never enough; when we talked it was never enough; we jumped in the lake together in the dead of winter with a few hundred other nut cases and it was never enough. So many of his friends and colleagues said the same thing: time with Bill was never enough.

Bill had a unique understanding of life. Since his diagnosis and treatment for lung  cancer six years ago, he took each day one at a time and lived life to the fullest. One of his gifts was that he never tried to impress his own thinking upon others about how things should be, even if they asked pointedly. He had the ability to talk with people and allow them to reach their own conclusions and was happy to live with whatever they landed on.

When my own cancer was diagnosed two years ago, Bill was one of the first I told. He got up from his desk, closed the door to his office, sat down again and we talked. We talked about riding, we talked about the upcoming Dunk at the lake, we talked about state police stuff. Not a word was spoken about cancer. We talked about life and living. He could have told me all about how he had overcome the disease and gotten a grip on life, but he didn't. He inherently knew that a lesson like that was something I would have to learn for myself and he was happy to wait for however long it took, gently guiding me through the maze. 

I visited Bill about a week before he died, and we talked about life again. His cancer had recurred a few months prior and had manifested itself as a brain tumor. His speech and motor functions were impaired but we still talked about riding and getting out one more time when the weather was good. But this time he paused for a moment and looked over at me, teared up a little and asked if would be a pall bearer and say something at his funeral. Through my own tears I said of course I would and then we went on talking about riding

As I thought about what I would say at his funeral, it was clear to me that I knew Bill probably the least of all the people who would be there and it was senseless to try to share our experiences together with his police colleagues of twenty or thirty years. As I pondered the irony of someone like me with so little time spent with Bill standing in front of so many who had spent much of their lives with him, some in life and death situations, it became clearer to me just how appropriate it was. Appropriate because I had a fresh sense of what it meant to not get enough of Bill and to consider what that meant: that none of us could get enough of Bill because he could never seem to get enough of us. He was so interested in what others were about and enjoyed being with people so much, everyone was simply drawn to him. This was the wonder of Bill's life.

I have preached so often about how we experience the presence of God through each other in this life and Bill's life is a glowing example.  God wants us to be loving and all that we were created to be. When we believe this: that God loves us and really can't get enough of us, we discover why, when we experience his love, we can't get enough either. We can take the lead from Bill Lucas and see each other as he learned to do, and as God does always; as unique, valued, and loved. Perhaps not getting enough of each other is the first step to seeing God living life right alongside us.

With love,

Fr. Bo 

4:34:45 PM
Make a Comment []