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April 19, 2008

Patti Powell - Homily for Fr. Mike's Memorial

Julie, Mike’s beloved wife, has ordered me to be funny. And short.

Now, I’m a lawyer—and as a race we lawyers are not known for being funny or short. I am profoundly honored to be asked to speak and profoundly sad to speak. A few days ago Julie said she was “fine” and “awful” at the same time. And we all know what she meant. This time together today, to honor and remember our Splendid Spillane---as he was known at St. Brendan’s in the Bronx as the varsity football and baseball hero--is both a greeting, a time of storytelling and getting to know Mike better and a time of letting go—so in the face of these great dichotomies, to help us make sense of them—we have Jesus’ words: “Do not let your heart be troubled nor let it be fearful.”

So Julie & Brendan and Kim—Mike’s sweet Irish mother Kathleen, his very funny brothers Kieran and Brendan, Deirdre, the people they love-- Julie’s family her mom & dad and brother Jack and Holly, Bishop Marc Andrus, Bishop Richard Garcia, Mike’s Clergy colleagues, Mike’s brothers and sisters in Christ & all the rest of us Mike’s faith family—our faith family—that huge group of people who knew and love Mike Spillane we begin this time of greeting and letting go. This time of grateful hearts because we have been blessed by Michael James Patrick Spillane - this time of storytelling remembering that God, is the author of all stories.

A few weeks ago I went up in a balloon. My boys had given me the balloon ride as their Christmas gift, knowing that a balloon was on my list of things to do. So on a freezing early morning in March, lit by a late winter blazing sun I found myself 1300 feet in the air standing in a wicker basket. The views of the Idaho mountains and the Boise river were amazing and it was so quiet—geese honked beneath me. And then the terror. The microsecond of terror—I’m in a wicker basket—standing in the middle of the sky. The ground is so far away. So I looked at the horizon and thought of my boys’ love, and tamped down the fear —and entered into the thrill of the experience.

It was a bit like that last night, about 20 of Mike’s family and friends plus nine kids of various sizes did a hostile takeover of a Palo Alto restaurant. Chianti flowed, stories were told, laughter and love surrounded and embraced the table. The baby was passed among the women, Brendan and his friends bolted their food to make it to the Stanford soccer game and Kim in her new pair of white heels and her friends giggled and charmed the unfortunate people who had been seated near this tribe. I watched—I saw the warmth in Kathleen’s eyes, the love for her son, her oldest and then --like those microseconds in the balloon –the flash of her thought, “What are we going to do without him?” And as Brendan & Kieran told stories, each, for a second, seemed to looked around for brunt of their jokes --Mike. The one who once fell off a moped and claimed to be really hurt and then that same night was mocked by a comedian at a New York comedy club. “Hey, you in the sling? What happened? Mike tried to explain and the comedian stopped him. “ You fell off a moped—and got hurt? The brothers told us that was good for about 20 minutes of New York laughter at Mike’s expense.” And the microsecond look in Kieran’s eyes, “Mike should be at this party.” And then, someone would laugh, and the love would rise again, another platter of food would be placed on the table, and the peace of Christ would save us again.

Bruce Deal said yesterday that in Mike’s essay “My Spiritual Journey”, his gift to Holy Trinity in the search process, Mike seemed to have written his own eulogy. I urge you read it—again and again. As usual, Mike did a better job than anyone can do of giving us the words and stories of his life, a life being chased by the Hound of Heaven—the life that was shaped by Thomas Merton’s life and words. The challenge in the next few moments is not to draft the Wikipedia version of Mike’s life but to prime the pump of storytelling-in the best Irish tradition. So that these stories- what they tell us of him, flow out of this place into the courtyard today and into our lives as we remember and continue learn from and be inspired by this Splendid Spillane.

Many of us know the facts of Mike’s journey. He grew up – tough using that phrase. Not sure Mike ever did grow up. He spent his first 11 years in Manchester, England. He lived and breathed the red and white of Manchester United. On Sundays after mass he’d carry his little autograph book down to the practice field of his idols hoping one would sign his book. When it was time for his family to move to American in 1964 Kathleen tried to book passage from Liverpool the closer and less expensive port. With the family’s tickets bought and in her hand, Kathleen heard the travel agent said, “ah, Manchester United to sailing to New York on the Queen Elizabeth out of Southampton. None of your family happens to follow Manchester United do they?” Kathleen sighed and simply handed back the tickets from Liverpool and rebooked the family on the more expensive Queen Elizabeth. And each day, 11 year old Michael, in his own private heaven, stood on the polished teak deck as his heroes strutted and kicked & scrimmaged in front of him. So very close.

Over the past few months after the second service Mike would sit outside in the courtyard with parishioner Chris Golker, who experiences the same type of brain cancer as Mike. Their heads would be together in quiet talk, and a circle, almost an aura would surround them and people thought, “what pastoral words must go be going between these men. What thoughts of God.” Actually, the conversation usually consisted of Mike saying, “Dammit, Manchester United lost again last night.”

A couple of years ago, when Mike was serving Holy Nativity in Meridian Idaho, Deacon Paula Egbert (you may remember Paula, she gave the homily last September at Beth’s Ordination & Mike’s installation as your rector)—Paula was officiating at a wedding at a rural farm house. The key to this story is that the farm house, the wedding was about 25 miles from the Simplot soccer fields in Boise. Paula could do the ceremony but only a priest can do the nuptial blessing and the couple wanted the nuptial blessing. Mike had agreed to share in the service with Paula and do the blessing for the couple. Now, you almost have to close your eyes for this one. Paula is standing in the home’s large living room filled with well dressed people—charming couple in front of her. She’s nearly finished with the vows and the prayers and there’s no Mike—Brendan had had a soccer game. So Paula starts to speak slower and slower as if her power was being shut down. She could see out the back window which none of the wedding party or guests could see—and suddenly out of the corner of her eye she sees Mike’s car, throwing up dust as it roared into the driveway and braking. Mike leaps out of the car, pops open the truck and grabs his black trousers and pull them on over his soccer shorts. He grabs his robes and is vesting on a dead run up the walk way, enters the house looking cool, greets the young couple, smiles at the gathered loved ones, patted the shoulder of Deacon Paula to get her blood pressure down, pronounces the nuptial blessing over the couple, leaned over to Paula, whispered in her ear, “See you later. Brendan’s got another game, bye.” Paula watched him thru the window pulling off his vestments as he trotted to the car. It looked like the film Paula had just seen was being rewound and she was watching in reverse. Ripped off his trousers –jumped in the car and drove, probably like a maniac back the 25 miles to Simplot soccer fields in time for Brendan’s second game. That was Mike. So caring as a friend to Paula, so dedicated as a priest, so loving as a father.

There’s one more “pants” story. As a London Bobbie, one day this American Mike Spillane was chasing some miscreant who had made the erroneous decision of acting badly in front of Copper Spillane whose beat was the Paddington area. As Mike ran he punched the shoulder radio’s button to call the matter into the station. “In foot pursuit down Elgin Avenue, suspect wearing blue pants.” The response came over the radio, “you mean the man’s not wearing any trousers????” Mike had forgotten that in British speak “pants” means underpants. He was a long time living that one down with his police friends.

Images of Mike—especially during children’s sermons--sometimes you couldn’t see Mike for the sea of little doll baby faces—shiny little faces that listened to his stories and after church followed him around like little magnets drawn to his iron faith and his iron love.

Mike was rarely on time for anything—although strangely he was constantly aware of time. If someone else was preaching, a Bishop perhaps—Mike would start to get nervous—he’d push back the sleeve of his alb and look at this watch and the longer it went—first the toe would start to tap and then the whole leg would move and by the time the sermon was finished, Mike’s leg would be bouncing up and down like he was doing his own liturgical dance.

I’m not sure some writers’ descriptions of heaven as ‘eternal rest’ fit our Splendid Spillane. Mike’s heaven is an action filled one. Meeting people and playing games and running marathons and eating lots of bread—his favorite food. There was motion in Mike. He constantly moved the lectern. Didn’t matter where it was or how it was set. He stood behind it and moved it. Even if he had pre set it, on the rare occasion when he would have time before a service to do something—he’d still move the lectern when he stood behind it. Yes, there’s motion in Mike’s heaven.
Mike described his spiritual auto biography as “one we are writing each day of our lives recognizing at each moment or at later moments how God is present in our lives. And how we respond to God’s presence. This day is part of Julie and the kids’ spiritual autobiographies; it is part of all of ours, this faith family of Mike Spillane. It’s also part of Mike’s. Throughout Mike’s writings, his homilies, his conversations he wrote and he knew “God is calling me”. “God is calling me.” Mike responded to hearing that call with passion. He took chances. He took risks. He made that leap of faith each day. As a son, a brother, a priest, a husband who fell in love at first sight, a dad, a friend. A man who could do two soccer games and a nuptial blessing in a Saturday afternoon and do them with joy.

God’s call continues. For us. For Splendid Spillane. God’s call has simply taken him closer and nearer to that still small voice. It’s simply the next answer to God’s call. And as Paul wrote-- just for us today-- “We are of good courage and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord.” Amen

April 13, 2008

Beth Foote - April 13, 2008

John 10: 1-10, Psalm 23, Acts 2: 24-47

Last week we gathered here at Trinity and heard from my good friend Katie Evenbeck, Director of St. Dorothy’s Rest retreat center in Sonoma County. Katie wove the story of the 12 Mile Hike to the Ocean, with the Road to Emmaus story as a metaphor for carrying on, and being transformed by the experience of the journey. This morning we “go pastoral” again, returning to the countryside with our readings from the Gospel of John, and the 23rd Psalm.
Over the course of the week, I learned that today, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, is traditionally known as Good Shepherd Sunday. However, today, we do not actually hear Jesus say “I am the Good Shepherd” because the Lectionary, or plan of readings appointed for each Sunday, cuts the Good Shepherd reading into separate pieces. But we do hear the 23rd Psalm, which I am so glad about and hear those beautiful words, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

Today we read the first part of the passage from John, which includes an elaborate metaphor. Jesus talks about shepherds, gatekeepers, thieves and bandits. It’s hard to know who is who. Reading it this time I noticed that John says the disciples did not understand what he was talking about, so Jesus, the consummate teacher, shifts gears and tries to get his point across again with a simpler metaphor, saying “I am the gate.”
It sounds simpler, but is it?

My son Colby and I just returned from a quick trip to Eugene, Oregon to check out the University of Oregon one last time before committing. (He decided to go there and accepted their offer…Go Ducks!) I was thinking about this sermon during our trip and I was amazed by how many gates we passed through: Security gates, boarding gates. Car rental return gates. It got me thinking, what is a gate? A gate is an opening, an official point of controlled access which guards something of value behind it. By passing through the gate we access whatever is within, and often must pay some sort of price to pass through.

Gates were a big deal in the ancient world. Cities were surrounded by walls, and gates in walled cities like Jericho and Jerusalem controlled access to the cities, and earlier in the Gospel John we hear about the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem. Maybe Jesus knew this gate? Jesus’ knowledge of gates also might have something to do with his talking about “thieves and bandits.” In those days, only thieves and bandits got into a walled city without going through the gate. By pointing to a commonly understood situation, Jesus is able to get across a point to his listeners, that the Gate in his metaphor is important.

Walls and gates continued to be key throughout the medieval and modern times. Siege warfare, moats. The Brandenburg Gate and Checkpoint Charlie in West Berlin. And of course, gates are still all around us. Besides the airport, I can think of many everyday examples: gated communities, tollbooths, border crossings. Usernames and passwords on websites. And we can’t forget Bill Gates as well. You will have to make your own connections there.

Gates are often symbolic or decorative as well as functional. Think of the Golden Gate Bridge, the ornate gate at the entrance to Chinatown. Or the Arch de Triomphe. English church traditionally have a Lychgate that marks the entrance to the sacred ground of the churchyard. And until recently, St. Dorothy’s had a Lych Gate, too.
Getting to St. Dorothy’s is part of the fun of the place. You turn off the Bohemian Highway in Camp Meeker up a one lane path that winds up the hill. There are several heartstopping points along the way where you are so close to the edge you can only pray, curse, and look straight ahead, and God help you if someone is coming the opposite way. Finally, you drive up a rise and with a flurry of gravel under the tires, you’ve arrived. That is where you used to see a rustic structure that spanned the entrance to the camp, the St. Dorothy’s Lych Gate. Two summers ago they had to tear it down because it was rotting away. This summer they’re rebuilding it in grand, Arts and Crafts style.

My oldest daughter was very upset when the Lych Gate was demolished. I think she was upset because it was an important landmark in her young life. Andrea first came to St. Dorothy’s as a camper when she was 10. The Lychgate symbolized for her a her passage into a new world of being away from home and having cool adventures away from Mom and Dad.

So, we can think of gates as landmarks for transition points in our lives. As we all know, there are times in our lives when it feels like a gate swings open before us, or shuts behind us. I’m sure you can think of your own gateway experiences when your life is forever changed. Perhaps it was going away to college, getting married, starting a new job, having children, retiring. There are others, too, that we don’t talk about as much: diagnosis of a serious illness, an accident or injury, divorce, estrangement, death of a loved one, losing a job, depression. These are all experiences we pass through that are difficult, and we must carry on through the transition and beyond it.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures/he leadeth me beside the still waters.”

In the Gospel of John, Jesus says many other “I am” statements like today’s “I am the Gate.” “I am the light of the World.” “I am the Way, the Truth and the Light.” There are also many passages where Jesus says “the Father and I are one”, “the Father has sent me,” which is the closest we get to an explanation of the Trinity in the Gospels. In John, Jesus is tightly bound with God the Father so that in looking at Jesus, we are encouraged to see God.
In Trinitarian theology the three persons of the Holy Trinity are all in conversation with each other; it is a dynamic, circular, social, loving relationship that models how we can interact with each other as people of faith in community. Orthodox Christians picture the relationship of the Trinity as a dance.

Perhaps as “the Gate,” Jesus is our access point to this way of living in the Trinity as community. By knowing Jesus, we enter into the Gate, like the sheep, in our passage today, and enter into the life of faith, the ever changing web of life in community, the dance. Our reading from Acts today describes this shared life well.
He restoreth my soul/ he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his Name’s sake.

As we enter this Gate that is Christ, we trust in the Good Shepherd even “though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for thou are with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
Today we’re at the threshold of one of those gateway transitions in the life of our parish, as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death with Father Mike and his family. This is a difficult time for all of us. There is much uncertainty, sadness, helplessness, and uncomfortable feelings of “Why, God?” and “what ifs?” Our souls are tender. We have all had experiences with loss in our own lives that reemerge in times like this. I’ve been reminded once again of the loss my family experienced twelve years ago when my brother died at 35 of alcohol abuse.
Yet out of that tragic experience, something new emerged. It was during that time of walking the path of shock and grief, through the valley of the shadow of death, that I learned to pray and ask for God’s help. How could this be happening to my family? Out of desperation, I learned to offer it all up to God. And God took it and held it for me while I walked through that valley. It was during the trip up to Arcata where Mark died under sad circumstances, that I found the Good Shepherd walking with my parents and me. And it was some time after that experience, maybe five years later, that I began to feel the first stirrings of a call to ordained ministry. Out of great pain, God brought forth something new and life-giving in my life.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies/thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”

We do not know what seed God has planted in the heart of our parish during this difficult time at Trinity. Father Mike’s ministry has been a seed of change and growth. He is part of our story at Trinity and he is in the dance of the Trinity, the web of relationships that is Trinity parish.

Father Mike is on a journey to the resurrection, and is still traveling in the shadowlands. The Shepherd is with him, as the Shepherd is with us as we live through this experience as a parish. The Shepherd’s rod and staff, the disciplines of prayer and worship comfort us today as He guides us onward.

We are in the shadowlands with Father Mike and his family, yet we see the green pastures, the still waters beyond the Gate. Together, let us break bread and drink from the cup that runneth over and remember:
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” Amen.