TLDR: A Call at Midnight, a Frantic Drive to a Local Hospital, Holding the Hand of a Beloved Parishioner, and Saying Goodbye to a Dear Friend. Read for More Below.
There was such stillness in the air this early morning of January 1, 2024, that I found it both strange and sacred at the same time. The strangeness came from the realization that life can change at a moment’s notice, and there is nothing we can do about it. At around six in the afternoon on New Years Eve, a dear church member was having a joyful supper with two of her sisters, one of her brothers in law, and one of her nieces. They had been together most of the day, playing cards, telling stories, laughing as they always did when they got together, and cooking supper. At around 6:00pm our friend collapsed to the floor. The sisters thought she had swallowed something wrongly. They called the ambulance immediately and transferred her to the local hospital, where medical personnel fought valiantly to save her life.
At six in the afternoon on that same day, I was at a hotel in Houston, waking up from my post Sunday-Church nap. In the next room of the suite, my wife’s guests were arriving to get ready before the New Year’s Eve party my wife had planned for us at a local club. I remember mentioning to her how strange it felt to be “home” on this day. For seventeen years, my wife and I have taken off right after Christmas service and have gone somewhere for the last week of the year and the first few days of the new year. Even during the Pandemic we went away. But this year, I decided to give both of my Associate Priests the week off and to be on-call. I now know that there are no coincidences, but God-incidences. I was meant to be here this holiday, looking at my phone every half an hour, to make sure everything was well with the church.
I received the first text at 7:40 that evening. It read, “Please pray for _____. She just had a heart attack. In Hospital. Family waiting to talk to doctor.” Another message came at 10:45pm. It stated that although the situation seemed bad, “Sounds like they might have things under control for the immediate with intubation and drugs.” At 12:40 in the morning, a more urgent message arrived, it ended with, “Her sister does not want you to be in danger driving through the party traffic tonight… If you can come in the morning that would be great.” I had been deeply worried since 10:45pm and this message found me in an Uber, driving towards the hotel to pick up my car. I arrived at the hospital at 1:35am. I don’t remember much about the drive from the hotel to the hospital, other than praying aloud for our friend and her family.
Holding her right hand in mine, my mind wandered through the many occasions this beloved sister entered my life: She was one of the first to welcome my wife and I to Saint Dunstan’s and the only person in the church I never corrected when she called my wife, “Chris Anna.” There was always such kindness in her voice when she said the name that I never had the heart to tell her my wife prefers just “Chris.” She was my eyes and ears to Hope Center Houston, a ministry she loved above all other ministries in which she was involved. As my eyes and ears, she always informed me of the most current need of the center and I always tried hard to satisfy the need (Backpacks, Manna bags, belts…) She re-introduced me to Cursillo in 2023, ending the hiatus I had taken from that ministry since 2014. She was deeply involved in Episcopal Church Women and Daughters of the King, and she was one of the original members of Coffee with the Clergy on Tuesday mornings, almost never missing a session. She was crucial to our Altar Guild ministry as the second to Gwen. She was a faithful member of a reunion group I used to visit over Zoom on Saturday mornings when I first arrived here. She was a devoted member of a home group. She volunteered as a driver for Ground Angels, driving people from the airport to MD Anderson Cancer Center. She was one of the few people I called when I needed context on issues pertaining to the church or the Diocese. In so many words, she was a friend to many.
I started praying for our friend extemporaneously because my phone was almost dead and I did not have a Book of Common Prayer with me. (I can almost remember my Liturgy professor in seminary, “Always carry a BCP in your car, you will never know when you are going to need it!” Sadly, I didn’t have one at this moment.) I thanked this beloved church member for her service and I told her how much we all love her at Saint Dunstan’s. She tighten her grip on my hand gently when she heard my prayers and our gratitude. I used the last two minutes of my phone and read her favorite Psalms. She and I had a lengthy conversation at Camp Allen on Psalm 91 and I remembered us reading this beautiful prayer as a friend was doing her talk.
“You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust.’ For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence; he will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler…”
I can’t remember how often I have prayed this Psalm at the deathbed of dear friends! Such is the life of the minister. We enter into people’s lives and invariably fall in love with them. They become fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, near relatives, friends. It has always been an honor to hold their hand as they travel to God’s own presence. Their death always leaves a space in my soul that becomes a bit deeper with every loss. It may sound cliché, but “I contain multitudes,” as Whitman once said. From Psalm 91 we moved to Psalm 23 and Psalm 46.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake… God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult…” I then said some extemporaneous prayers for comfort and peace.
Throughout those hours, her beloved sisters and her niece voiced their love for her, and from time to time relayed messages texted to them by various family members. “So and So says he loves you! Or cousin such is praying for you…” As one of her sisters and I were holding her hands, our friend breathed deeply several times and I noticed her blood pressure continued to plumet. I prayed what I remembered of the last rites service by memory, “Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant ------ Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.” Several minutes later, our friend breathed her last and peacefully entered into God’s eternal rest. The scene was extremely sad, and yet mysteriously comforting. She truly did not suffer at the very end. Hearing holy scripture and listening to the voices of people she grew to trust and love brought her much comfort. This is the great comfort of the familiar rhythms and sounds of our faith. God speaks profoundly through the loving words of family members and friends and the sacred words of Scripture. For this, I am deeply thankful.
Please continue to keep our friend’s family in your prayers and join us in a grand service of thanksgiving for her life this coming Saturday. Visitation will be from 1-2:00pm, service at 2:00pm and reception in the Price Fellowship Hall following. Until then, love those in your life a little deeper this week. Life is but a brief moment on this earth, but we will one day wake up to eternity. May our Lord continue to bless you,
Fr. Roman+
