Words From The Warden

Most weeks, when communion concludes and our final prayer is offered, Pastor Julia reminds us, “My friends, life is short. We haven’t much time to gladden the hearts of those that journey with us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind.” As someone who often puts things off, these words never fail to strike a chord with me. They serve as a reminder that Jesus calls us to love in the present—today.

Last Thursday, I received a phone call from one of my high school teachers, Kay, with whom I have been friends since the week after I graduated in 1974. We have kept in touch over the years, speaking on the phone at least once a month and visiting in person whenever possible. Kay has been bravely fighting cancer for several years, but she recently shared with me that her condition had worsened and she was now in hospice care.

On Saturday morning, I drove two hours to her home in New London, Ohio, for what would likely be our final visit. Her partner of 52 years, Jim, was there caring for her. He asked me how long I had known Kay and then laughed, “Hey, you’ve known Kay longer than me!” We spent our time reminiscing about my years as her student. Kay taught me American History during my junior year and psychology as a senior. She was a demanding, talented teacher and a fair grader. She recalled a memorable incident when one of my classmates streaked through the school, and my father, who was the superintendent, wouldn’t allow him to graduate with our class. Instead, Charlie received his diploma privately. Years later, when Charlie and I reconnected, he mentioned how that discipline helped him find success. 

Kay also reminded me of a time when I was hypnotized in one of her classes. Jim laughed, when he heard Kay’s concern: “All I could think about was if Henry doesn’t come out of this, I’ll lose my job.” Our conversation turned to our favorite U.S. Presidents—Teddy Roosevelt, Harry Truman, and George Washington—leaders we both admired for doing their best despite imperfections. We also shared a mutual dislike for the current president. She told me about her hospice care givers and the chaplain who was a graduate of Oral Roberts University. I told her the joke about no vinyl records could be played at ORU because the hole always healed itself. She will use that when she sees him again.

Our visit was a special time of mutual happiness. For both Kay and me, it was a reminder that we don't have much time to gladden one another’s hearts. That Saturday, we did just that—maybe for the last time. Julia’s words gave me the push I needed.

Christmas Eve holds a unique significance for me, filled with anticipation, excitement, and a quiet sense of wonder. It brings back memories of my own childhood, the thrill of Santa’s visit, the hope for special gifts, the excitement felt when loved ones opened the gifts I had chosen for them, and when I grew older, the joy of midnight mass and Christmas Eve dinners. One Christmas Eve stands out vividly in my mind.

A few years ago on the afternoon of December 24, one of our painting teams was finishing a job for a young couple, Jan and Paul, and their toddler. They were eager to move into their new home in Canal Winchester on the 26th. I had met them a few weeks earlier to provide a painting estimate. I noticed that Jan’s right arm hung limp at her side. When I arrived for the estimate their house was still under construction. I quoted $4,000 for the job, but I tried to persuade them to delay painting for a year because the contractor would return at no cost in order to address any settling issues. At that time they could do the painting. I even offered to guarantee that the price would not go up. However, despite my fatherly advice, they insisted on painting, so I agreed that we would help. On Christmas Eve Jan’s dad was hanging curtains when he told Jan, “Tell Hank about your arm.” I learned until six months ago that they had lived outside of Washington DC. One day she answered a knock at the door, opened it and was shot five times through the neck and jaw, abdomen and her right arm. Shortly before we met, her jaw had sufficiently healed enough for the surgeons to remove the wires holding it together. They moved to Canal Winchester to be closer to her parents. She was expected to make a full recovery. She explained that she didn’t want to wait to paint her home the colors she wanted because she might not have a tomorrow to enjoy it. Jan told me, “Life is full of unexpected things. I want to enjoy what I have today. We may not have a tomorrow.”

Each Sunday the recessional ends and we hear Deacon Mary, “Our celebration is over and our service begins.” Doesn’t that take your breath away? Our service begins! Our service may be painting someone’s house so that they can enjoy it or fixing a car so it is useful. Our service may be supporting Market Street Pantry or putting clothes on kids in need. Our service may be as simple as helping someone cross the street. Service need not be big. Service is an act of love. Our service is “swift to love and make haste to be kind.” 

Do not wait. Love now! Merry Christmas!

Peace,
Henry Zaborniak, Senior Warden