Often it’s possible to find extraordinary religious and spiritual experiences when we give ourselves chances to get outside our comfort zones. "Comfort zones" usually have some pretty strong boundaries of habit and tradition surrounding them.
Throughout the years, it’s been an interest of mine to realize what’s the same and what’s different about how people worship together. As a child, I recall attending worship in the building that’s now the Camelot apartments in Annandale, on Cedar Street across from Petty Brothers Meats. I recall being grumpy because according to family tradition, I had to attend worship even on those calm incredible summer mornings when I wanted to be out on the lake. Usually by the end of worship I wasn’t grumpy any longer but still impatient ready to get back to the water.
A very somber man, by the name of Brown, used to sing solos at worship. He rarely smiled when he sang. It wasn’t until later as an adult, the link came together in my mind to Brown’s Ice Cream. What a delectable treat! Later when I would run into him in town, I recall him as a kind and warm. I was surprised by what a sweet and bashful smile he possessed.
So how come it was the United Methodist way and not the Evangelical Free way that captured me? It’s a long story for another time. However, my point here is to challenge myself and my readers, to enjoy and celebrate the church that in my opinion is larger, broader and deeper that any one community of faith, no matter how one wants to define it.
To have the Benedictines nearby is also a gift. It was my privilege to actually be ordained in the St John’s Abbey Sanctuary. Back then for the Methodist celebration of ordination, we would rent the space from the Order. Everything was in place but the cross was turned around. I can recall my father telling a story of religious ecstasy with joy and laughter in his voice. He loved to sing. So when the Methodists in a Catholic Abby sang a rousing version of "O For A Thousand Tongues," Wilbur Nordell, this staunch and loyal "E Free" man, sang with great gusto on that night when his youngest was ordained.
Others have helped me envision a universal church as much larger than any particular denomination or ecclesiastical structure. There was a contemplative, Thomas Merton. This Trappist monk traveled to India to address some Buddhists, Christians and others gathered there. Tragically it turned out to be his last address. A terrible accident ensued. The story goes, that following this last address, most likely still wet from bathing. Merton touched an electric fan with a "short" in it. He died by electrocution.
In that final address he left us with this:
"The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another."
-Statement from Merton’s final address during a conference on East-West monastic dialogue, December 1968
More than the Methodists
So could this community also include the trees, the butterflies, even the mosquitoes? Maybe, I’m not sure. It sure includes more than just the Methodists. The day my father died, the family had gathered but I made a error in priorities. I wasn’t present. I thought it was more important to prepare to preach than gather with everyone to mourn. That seems pretty stupid now. However, I do recall my grief that day and being profoundly supported.
First of all I went for a good walk amongst pine trees. Even now, more than a decade later, when I listen to trees moan in the winter wind, it still brings me back to my father’s dying day. What was more important, though, was a phone call to a good friend, who lived his recovery out in so many ways. He used to tell the story that he decided to put the "bottle" away when he realized that "one in the trunk was no longer enough." My friend is a priest who was serving in the local parish. I told him what happened and that I needed to worship that day and would be present at the Mass. He welcomed me so warmly. As I write this, tears still come.
Early in worship that Saturday evening, during announcements he said something like this. "My friend, Mark Nordell, pastor at the Methodist Church, is with us tonight. His father died today and he called this morning to tell me that he needed to worship. Please remember him as he mourns …" Then he hesitated for a moment and added, "Oh! By the way, he’ll be joining us for the Eucharist."
Yes, I know the rules! His willingness to include me was profound. Ironically, later on, he gifted me with the Buddhist text, The Tibetan Book of the Dead. How wonderful for the Methodist clergy to receive a Buddhist book from a Catholic priest. He’s old now, but I think he’s still alive. It’s time to visit him this spring.
Traditions and our doctrines can keep us separated as we try for certainty, wanting to be so clear that "we’re right!" How anachronistic! All these separations that belong to other eras can get in the way.
"O God, help me, help us to let go of what separates us. Amen!"
The Rev. Mark Nordell and his family have had cabin on Lake Sylvia since the 1940s. Nordell is a retired United Methodist minister. He has been writing on Lent the past few weeks.