In Memory of Martin OP - A Story for All Souls' Day
The first impression I had on seeing Martin was, “that guy knows God.”
There was something about Martin that made him hard to miss. He stood around six feet tall and wore a white and black habit, a medal pendant of a cross with a broken chain hanging over its horizontal beam hanging around his neck, while a large rosary hung from a leather belt around his waist. His small, round, wire framed, John Lennon style glasses and somewhat shaggy haircut were the only tells that Martin had come of age in the 60’s. Otherwise, he just looked like a monk.
That said, it wasn’t his religious clothing that elicited my impression that this was a man who knew God. My earliest memories are interconnected with the sights, sounds, and smells of St. David’s Episcopal Church in Feeding Hills, Massachusetts. I’d seen men, and women, wearing various vestments since before I was able to crawl. Even after my parent’s divorce separated them from one another and our family from St. David’s, my life steeped in religious circles. Meeting a man in religious raiment was normal but meeting a man who seemed to know God… that was something profoundly different.
At the time I wasn’t sure I wanted God. Growing up in a pastor’s home, I was exposed to the dark underbelly of ministry. There were power plays and petty rivalries, difficult people, and dangerous ones. There were kids, my age, who died too young and grown adults who behaved like children. These experiences, along with others, made me want to distance myself from the church, if not from God.
On the other hand, I’d experienced enough of the truth and beauty of life with God to hunger for it too. There’d always been glimpses of something vital, something essential, and something transformative about the way of Christ. I saw this in people who cared for me through difficult seasons. I saw it in some of the leaders and creative people who came in and out of our family rhythms. I experienced it in a church community I joined for the semester our family lived in London.
Seeing Martin, and experiencing that sudden confidence that he knew God, drew out these questions. Could a Christian life be beautiful? Was Christian commitment desirable? What would commitment to the way of Jesus cost?
Martin became a friend. In the course of morning prayers and morning coffee, prison visits and retreats, gardening and playing guitar, the questions gave way to a desire to know and love the God Martin did. By the time Martin died, suddenly, just a few years later, the compass heading of my life had been set. Like Martin, I wanted to know God in a way that was visible, tangible, and beautiful. Like him, I wanted to help others know God in that same way.
For the last 24 years I’ve sought to help students and faculty discover life with God in the liberating and humanizing way of Jesus. While certainly not the only influence, Martin’s life redirected mine in foundational ways. Ministry to students and faculty was not an aspiration my 22-year-old self would have imagined. And yet, viewed from the perspective of my friendship with Martin, this vocational journey has a sense of symmetry. Martin helped me discover the beauty of a life with God in college. I’ve sought to help others do the same.
Today marks the end of the three-day celebration where Christians remember the faithful departed; All Hallows Eve (Halloween), All Saint’s Day, and All Souls’ Day. These days invite us to remember those exceptional people whose lives and example point beyond themselves, inspiring us to hope. These days invite us to reflect on the ordinary saints whose presence communicated God’s love to us in simple ways. These days encourage us as we remember the conflicts, challenges, and changes that confronted our forebears, learning from their examples. These days remind us that we are not alone but connected to a story that began in a past eternity and will cumulate in a future eternity. These days allow us to steep ourselves in gratitude for the women and men who have loved us into being and commit ourselves to loving others as well.
This week in the midst of a polarizing election, an ongoing pandemic, and the urgent need for connection and hope, we pause and remember those women and men who have gone before us. Take a moment now and reflect on the questions below:
1. Who are the “Martin’s” in your life? Who has inspired you to pursue life with God?
2. Sit quietly for two minutes and allow the names and faces of people who have loved you well to come to mind. Who comes to mind? How did they love you deeply and well?
3. How would you like to express gratitude for those ordinary saints, imperfect as they must have been, who have shaped your life?