Blessed Are the Humble
Beyond the job description • The power of good • Reminders of hope
Welcome, again! Or for the first time! Thank you so much for adding your eyes and brain and soul to this writing and sharing endeavor. I appreciate each one of you.
A year ago this month, my father died. My thoughts have been traveling back (but of course they’ve been traveling back all year). One person who has a presence in my memories of his last months was the chaplain of the senior living campus where my parents had lived. Chaplain P~.
One Sunday morning, about six weeks before my father died, I had gone with him to the worship service in the care center portion of the campus, where he was then living. It was 11 am, and we sat ready for the service to start, he in his wheelchair, me beside him. Yet the service seemed nowhere near starting. The pianist was steadily playing one hymn after another, but only three other people were there. Soon I saw Chaplain P~ come into the room, quietly pushing a woman in a wheelchair and getting her settled. Then he left. A few minutes later, he was back, pushing another woman in a wheelchair and getting her settled. Maybe they were short-staffed that day. Or maybe there was a crisis in one of the rooms that called on multiple staff to attend. Or maybe there was no reason other than he saw that some folks needed some help to get where they wanted to go. He left again. He returned with another person, another wheelchair. And another. And another. Eventually he started the service, led the singing, delivered the sermon, but his gathering of women and men in their wheelchairs had already been a sermon for me.
I’m adding this memory to several others. Some weeks earlier, one weekday morning when visiting my father, I had passed the chapel door when Chaplain P~ was leading a service. He had taken out his viola and was playing along with the piano as the small group who were gathered there, most in wheelchairs, sang, or tried to sing, or just listened. I stood in the doorway and watched for awhile, and listened. I can’t remember the hymn, but it was one that was familiar to me, a hymn for final days, a hymn looking to what was to come. Maybe it was “We Wait for A Great and Glorious Day,” or “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” or “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah.” He’s played his viola at services there for years, and I’m fairly sure he didn’t get paid more for his playing, despite his classical training prior to entering the ministry. It’s doubtful he ever asked, Can I get a raise if I play my viola at two worship services per month? More, if I play at four services? The next hymn then started, and he continued moving the bow across the strings, playing melody, then harmony, then back to melody, back and forth, up a key, down a key.
When my mother died of Covid, in its first wave through our city, Chaplain P~ led her graveside service. It was a windy day in early Spring, and we gathered under a tarp. Only ten people were allowed to attend, and masking was required. He came with his viola. “Day by day and with each passing moment,” he played while we sang. “Strength I find to meet the sorrows there.” The generous beauty of his music helped carry our grief.
I’m so grateful.
Writing this now reminds me of a post I wrote in November 2023 about the book, Fresh Water for Flowers by Valérie Perrin. I hope you’ll click the link and go back and read it. The main character is Violette, the caretaker of a cemetery, and she does so much more than what was required of her. When someone asked her why she did something that was not part of her job, she replied, “If we had to do only what was part of our job, life would be so sad.”
My husband and I have been watching a new Netflix series, "The Residence," featuring a murder in the White House. There is zero political content in this show, so whether you are happy or in despair about our current White House reality, there is no barrier to your enjoyment. The show features a private investigator, Cordelia Cupp, played by Uzo Aduba, who is brought in to investigate the murder of the house's Chief Usher—meaning the person in charge of the household staff and operations—during a state dinner honoring the Australian Prime Minister.
The show features the staff who work in the White House, those who cook and clean and serve; that is, “the house.” One of the characters describes to the investigator the two groups of people in the White House by dividing a pile of cards, each having the picture and name of a person, into two groups. The cards on her left were “the house”; the cards on her right were everyone else.
I don't recall ever seeing or hearing such a vivid description of who works in the White House. The common, everyday people who maybe take a bus to work and have to get home at a good time for their kids and are worrying about their sick mother or have a sore back. Everyday people in the White House.
A few months ago, our church held its Winter Seminar, which featured Dennis Edwards of North Park Seminary in Chicago and author of the recently published Humility Illuminated: The Biblical Path Back to Christian Character (IVP). He described humility, in a Christian sense, as "a way of life, rooted in submission to God, and demonstrated in actions that foster mutuality rather than competition." Unlike secular humility, it is "characterized by peacemaking and mutuality, rather than deference."
Over his four sessions, I took lots of notes and have much I could share with you, but I want to focus on one thing that I've been thinking a lot about since then.
He told the story of a close relative of his who had worked at a Washington D.C. diner that was frequented by the many powers-that-be in D.C. She'd been there for years and everyone knew her. When she died, all the leaders you would expect to see at a state funeral were there for her, a worker in a diner. Who knows what hearts she softened for the good?
It made me think about all the regular people that come into contact with powerful people on a daily basis: the house staff in the White House; custodians in the Capitol; bus drivers and taxi drivers; waiters and waitresses; delivery drivers; nannies; cooks; gardeners; on and on. It made me think of the important role these folks play. It made me think that in my morning prayers when I pray for the President I should also be praying for those who cook his meals and press his clothes; and when I pray for the House and Senate, those who serve them lunch; the Supreme Court, those who clean their offices. You get the idea. The Netflix series has helped me imagine the scores of people who are behind the scenes but daily touch those who are making decisions to shape our world. The story of Edwards’ relative helped me re-imagine the potential of their presence in the crucible of D.C.
A smile. A wise word, spoken. Gestures and glances. Who of us can know where or within whom the power of good resides, waiting to emerge, to encourage?
In honor of Pope Francis, who died the day after Easter, I want to draw your attention to two prior posts that include his writings.
A number of years ago I included in a post this quote from Pope Francis on hope. I’ve often thought about these words.
“Christian hope is not a ghost and it does not deceive. It is a theological virtue and therefore, ultimately, a gift from God that cannot be reduced to optimism, which is only human. God does not mislead hope; God cannot deny himself. God is all promise.”
And you may remember that in January, I wrote about Pope Francis’s document on hope that he prepared for this year of Jubilee. He wrote about the opportunity to be renewed in hope and the immense goodness present in our world.
Do we need hope, long for hope? Yes, I believe we do.
To be renewed in hope. To be reminded of the immense goodness all around us.
When I set out to write the first two sections of the newsletter, the synchronicity of the second section with that of the first section hadn't hit me. But there it is, a thread of humility running strongly down the page. "Blessed are the humble," said Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, "for they shall inherit the earth."
May our eyes be opened to the strength of humility and to those in whom the power of hidden goodness resides. May we ever and always be reminded of hope.
Thank you for reading!
[Photo: New growth of spring. Let’s all show some new growth, shall we?]
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Nancy, love your reflection on work/jobs/calling/and gifts. You capture so well the overflow of care that are part of serving others. I remember well the woman who tended the cemetery. What a beautiful thing. Always love your observations of life and hope and grace!
Thank you, Nancy. Today my father and his twin brother would have turned 95. It's been just over four years since we said goodbye. He always had time for the hidden people of the world.