Saint Pauls Parish, Bantam, Connecticut

Grumpy Old Men & Refreshing Bread

Liturgical Day: Easter 3 B (2000)
May 7, 2000
Canon Richard T. Nolan

    Perhaps you can imagine how wonderful I feel being with you this morning! I bring warm greetings from Bob Pingpank, who is at home caring for the dogs! We are admittedly too attentive to them and will not leave them with anyone else. It's rather amazing that yesterday morning I was in West Palm Beach and that I'll be back there tomorrow afternoon! Also, it is a true reality check to comprehend that it was 26 years ago that I became a part of St. Paul's, and that 12 years have passed since I withdrew from active participation. It has been enormously satisfying to know that you have Fr. Kilbourn's caring leadership!

    As time goes by, I'm frequently tempted to join those seniors who have become Grumpy Old Men. Health concerns large and small visit and sometimes stay on. Three years ago right after my 60th birthday I was rushed to a nearby hospital where I was well taken care of. It is tempting to go into detail about such matters, as everyone seems to do when we old people gather for just about any occasion. Many years ago I wondered why old folks talk endlessly about their illnesses. Now I know! In fact, at times it seems as if we compete with each other regarding the quantity and severity of our maladies. To be sure, truly dangerous afflictions do invade our lives. Adding insult to injury, we wrestle with health insurance providers to acquire what they have promised. Then there is the matter of diet advisories, which offer contradictory statements. Manufacturers of various products capitalize on the wisdom of the week! A vitamin producer has recently offered a series of daily multivitamin pills - one especially good for the heart, another for bones, and so on. I think I need them all!

    Grumpiness is written all over the faces of some of my fellow residents. The community in which I live is made up of about 18 neighborhoods that total about 1,000 households. It is a gated/guarded, beautifully land-scaped setting which accidentally has become primarily an over-55 residential community. Throughout the day you can see men and women walking for exercise on safe sidewalks; most of them look strident, sour, and even angry. Our housekeeper, a wonderful woman who has become part of the household, speaks Spanish; she has no word for sourpuss, but refers to many of the walkers she sees as lemon-faces! She graciously accepts that she will never have the resources to live in this or a similar community and wonders why so many people look so dissatisfied and grouchy. Actually, many are combat ready, too! Needless wars in Florida condominium and homeowners associations are legendary! As a friend said recently, South Florida has such an enormous concentration of both wealth and misery.

    I still need some professional activity, so I teach two courses just 2 days a week in a local college and help out sporadically in some churches. In one recent class I referred to the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. One of the brightest students came to me after class and asked what that reference meant; he had never heard of them. Within the past month another asked whether the Jewish Passover was the celebration of Jesus' Resurrection. I will not give essay exams, because most are unable to write standard English, and I refuse to take on the responsibility of being a grammar teacher, another demanding job entirely. A good portion see themselves as consumers who at registration have purchased credits; they assume further that they are entitled not to just a passing grade, but an honors grade. These days there is always the possibility of a lawsuit against a professor for not giving the desired grade or for having phrased some comment in a supposedly insensitive way. I carry professional liability insurance in case this, or some awful accusation, should come my way.

    Churches are relatively young - as is everything in Florida. A 25th anniversary of anything is regarded as a momentous occasion! Most congregations seem to be preoccupied by recruiting names for budgetary reasons under the guise of evangelism. They have actually become public utilities providing form rather than sub- stance. Ceremonial excess has lengthened Services so much that only the most pious and isolated attend regularly.

    Issues of health, employment, and churchgoing, apprehensions about the future, as well as assaults from as much bad news as television reporting will allow, seem to be factors contributing to grumpiness among financially comfortable retirees. The entrenched problems are not imaginary. Effective solutions remain elusive or truly impossible. The easy slogan "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem" is unhelpful. I sometimes wonder whether my destiny at this time in my life is to become a deeply committed, grumpy old man!

    Within the past two weeks the Bishop of Southeast Florida hosted retired clergy and their spouses, partners, and survivors at a semi-annual luncheon. Less than two dozen people gathered for a Service and fellowship; some others were ill at home or in nursing homes, and several had journeyed northward for the summer. Thank goodness for the name tags, as many of us struggled to recall names of people we seldom see. As we gathered for the Eucharist, I heard one priest say to his wife, "I just had my medicine, so I'd better sit near an exit." One clergymen could play the piano, so we sang some hymns; with one of them he got so carried away that he played an extra verse - which he vigorously sang all by himself! A short time into the Service, the Celebrant, who will retire in September, began the Collect of the Day, and interrupted himself with, "Oops, I'm a week behind". There was an empathetic moment of silence while he found the right prayer. Just before we began the Service, the bishop had asked me to lead the Prayers of the People (Form 6), and as that time approached I glanced ahead, saw the place at which we pray for bishops, and realized with horror that I could not recall the Presiding Bishop's name! In these retirement years I know well my dogs' names, but not necessarily names of bishops. Priorities and interests change. (Ah, yes, it came to me in time: Frank!) At the time of Communion canes assisted some, some assisted each other; one terribly bowed priest received Communion seated in his wheelchair. I was struck by the seniority and apparent fragility of many in this group.

    After the Service we had cheese, crackers, and fruit - which probably should have been served before the Service. Here we kibitzed, as older people are likely to do, about the regional non-retired clergy. Then, within minutes a delicious luncheon was served. The table at which I sat included Bob, the bishop, another really old clergyman and his wife, and another priest. The bishop asked Bob about some health issues he had learned about during our crises, so last year's coronary scare and this year's prostate biopsy - both Bob's, both with excellent outcomes - were chronicled; the priest on my right then filled us in on his cancer treatment. Two of us compared notes about our diabetes, blood tests, along with my mother s December death; I never got to my feet problems and sporadic wheelchair use. I noticed that the seemingly ancient cleric across the table from me was saying little, and I wondered if he were still in deep grief over a recent family death. But suddenly his wife shouted something at him, and I realized his seeming disengagement stemmed from poor hearing, even with his hearing aides.

    I was suddenly struck by the good-hearted laughter that flowed with the humor interjected between our medical stories and the bursts of laughter coming from other tables as well. I suspect that each of us had a valid list of burdens that had come our way. Each there had cause to become chronically grumpy. Yet, unlike those lemon-faced neighbors eager to whine and to wage war over the color of lawns, size of pools and shrubbery, and the shape of mailboxes; unlike those who focus exclusively and negatively on their circumstances, the seniors gathered for the Bishop's luncheon were fundamentally upbeat, accommodating gracefully their burdens and sorrows. Why?

    Recall those familiar words of Jesus: "Come unto me all ye that are travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you." I don't pretend to know how it happens, but when people gather to share the blessed Bread, refreshment can occur among willing recipients. A rest and ease from weariness, from sorrow, needless guilt, and even religious pretentiousness, can rescue us from despair. We experience the Spirit to cope with adversity. A sense of peaceful security and a quieting of life's inevitable storms flow into our hearts and minds. This is not a magic that controls us; we must be open to God's rejuvenating power. And, all this occurs around shared Bread - the ancient symbol of nourishment, social bonding, hospitality, respect, and concern; the primary Christian symbol of the life-giving power of God, the Way lived and taught by the Risen Christ.

    I'm not denying that similar effects can come from other settings: psychotherapy, A.A., precious moments anywhere with beloved people. How can anyone limit the workings of the Spirit of love? But in this very place, sacred over the years to hundreds of witnesses to these things you and I are provided this morning with extraordinary, commemorating Bread that refreshes. In an email I received last week from a clergyman friend, he told of his 3-week visit to the Holy Land from which he had just returned; he commented: In light of what happened in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, we have no reason to do anything but break the Bread and shout Alleluia!

    My friends, you and I cannot choose everything that happens to us, and we cannot remedy all the world's problems, but we can choose to a large extent how we respond: as grumpy individuals or as an Easter fellowship - scarred, coping, and refreshed together to carry on.

    And, now a post script. A week from tomorrow we set out with the dogs on our annual 3-week pilgrimage to northeastern Georgia, a beautiful area reminiscent of Litchfield County. However, in May of 2001 we hope to take an entire month and return to New England. All four of us hope to see you then!