Leaving Church - Barbara Brown Taylor [85]
Add this, then, to the list of things on the kitchen table that I have decided I will keep: I will keep faith—in God, in God’s faith in me, and in all the companions whom God has given me to help see the world as God sees it—so that together we may find a way to realize the divine vision. If some of us do not yet know who we are going to be tomorrow, then it is enough for us to give thanks for today while we treat each other as well as we know how. “Be kind,” wrote Philo of Alexandria, “for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.” We may be in for a long wait before the Holy Spirit shows us a new way to be the church together, but in the meantime there is nothing to prevent us from enjoying the breeze of those bright wings.
A COUPLE OF weeks ago, a stiff wind blew a homing pigeon off course. I was just standing there in the garden when she dropped from the sky with a whirr and looked at me as if I should know what to do with her. I could see the orange band on her leg, but she would not let me catch her so I could read it. I was sure she would be on her way as soon as the weather improved, but instead she stuck around. For about two weeks she met me every afternoon for a little visit over cracked corn.
She was an entirely different kind of bird from the ones I was used to. She was not wounded, she was not tame, and she was not wild. She did not need me to take care of her. She left me no eggs. When the wild geese flew over, she and I both looked up at them. When the red-tailed hawk cried, we both gave a little start. For reasons beyond my understanding, she seemed to enjoy my company. For the same reasons, I enjoyed hers. She was a message I could not read, but she was sent to me nonetheless, and simply to see her seemed blessing enough.
Now the wind has taken her away again. At least I hope it was the wind and not a fox. The chickens and I are back to our daily routine, which is pleasant enough. Still, I cannot walk down to the garden without hoping to be startled by that descending commotion of beating wings and loose feathers, settling into something like a dove with a message for me. She came once, so I know she can come again.
I keep a handful of cracked corn in my pocket, just in case.
*The Situation and the Story (New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 2001), 135.
Acknowledgments
I am first of all grateful to those who lived with me through the years covered in this book, beginning with the rector emeritus of All Saints’ Church, Harry Pritchett, and my able associates at Grace-Calvary Church, Steve Lipscomb and Rob Wood. For my friends in both parishes who are too numerous to name, I offer thanks for teaching me what I know about being a priest, and for suffering my sometimes exhausting ministry with such grace. Thanks in particular to John Kollock for compiling the history of Grace Church found in Chapter 2 of this book, and to Bennett Sims, Frank Allan, and Neil Alexander for being such good bishops to me. I am grateful to Ray Cleere for giving me my job, toTim Lytle for doing all the real work at Piedmont College for both of us, and to Tommy Mealer for making farm life both fun and possible.
I am also grateful to those who offered words of encouragement while this memoir was in the works, including Nora Gallagher, Diana Butler Bass, Rick Lischer, Deborah Botti, and Bill Brosend. Without the ready humor and steady support of Tom Grady, I would never have made