Sighs too deep for words

From the moment I heard that Bishop George Councell had suffered a stroke, my heart ached and my spirit hurt.  It was difficult watching (admittedly from the sideline) this incredible man deal with the physically debilitating affects of Parkinson’s disease, but the cognitive diminishment was worse.  For anyone who has had to witness a loved one loose themselves by inches with the loss of mental acuity and memory, I stand in awe of your courage, patience and fortitude.

I met George at General Theological Seminary in NYC during my first year.  He was the newly elected, although not yet consecrated, Bishop of New Jersey.  The Committee on the Priesthood had brought him up to meet those of us in seminary that he was “inheriting.”  We each had about half an hour in a small room to talk with him. I offered my story, to which George patiently listened.  I mentioned that my father, a great man himself but brought up by a stoic German to be stoic himself, had told me, when I told my parents that I believed I was being called to ordained ministry, that I had to learn how NOT to cry.  I was crying while I was saying this to George, and as I was saying it, George started to cry.  I couldn’t believe a man that had been elected as Bishop was crying with me.  And then George said, “I don’t say this lightly, but don’t listen to your father, at least about this. It is OK to cry.  Your people need to see you cry.  Not all the time, but it lets them know you love and you love deeply.”  I’m not sure George ever realized how important those words were.  It has helped my ministry in deep and profound ways, allowing me to be all I am to those whom I serve.

George also shared a birthdate with my mother, who died in 2006, less than 3 months after George ordained me to the priesthood.  Every October 4^th, when I would wish George a happy birthday, he would say he was thinking of my mother.  That was the kind of man he was, remembering details and making it about someone else rather than him.

I had the great privilege of traveling to Jerusalem in 2012 with George.  I remember walking in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher to the place where the Church remembers Christ was crucified.  We had arrived just when a couple of other large tour groups came in and there was a pulsing mass of humanity inching our way toward the altar.  It was crowded, hot and emotional.  George was right in front of me and I was following him like a sheep.  Suddenly, a very large man plowed his way through the crowd, pushing up to the front as if no one else mattered.  Many of us thought this was a rather rude action and completely inappropriate behavior considering the circumstances. 

We eventually made it up to the altar and had our moment to touch the rock of Golgotha.  A couple days later, George reflected on this event, even mentioning his not-so-gracious inner dialogue about this man. But then he told us that he saw that same man helping two of our trip-mates (both of whom had on a “boot” due to broken bones in their feet) navigate the rather steep steps down from that space. George said, with a quaver in his voice, said, “I saw Jesus.”  I had not seen this man’s great act of kindness and was ashamed of the thoughts I had toward him.  In the space of a few minutes, George acknowledged the true-ness of my feelings, as he had had them as well, and that that did not fully define who this man was. We don’t know why he shoved his way forward, but he did help when help was needed. Finding the extraordinary in the ordinary was one of George’s great gifts, and he preached them.

George went with the group to South Africa in 2016, and the change in him was difficult to bear witness to.  He still was able to offer a witty comment here and there, but he was much slower and tended to wander.  I walked with him to a bookstore in the airport because the book he had was not keeping his attention.  He looked for a long while but didn’t buy anything.  I fear that his ability to keep up with a story was an issue at that point. 

The last time I saw George was at our Diocesan Convention in March.  He was delighted to be there even if it was a physical and mental challenge.  I have a tendency to stay away from high profile people at high profile events because everyone demands their time and attention, but I did kiss him on the cheek and told him it was so good to see him. He said it was good to be seen.

You saw me, George, in ways I probably don’t even understand.  Thank you for all you did for me and this diocese on behalf of our loving God.  Although I have written many words, the Spirit is interceding for me with sighs too deep for words because I cannot express all of my grief at your death.  But I have the consolation that my mother and father are welcoming you, with Jesus, to the heavenly banquet table.  I hope you all share a good cry and laugh together.

In the Spirit of Truth,

Rev. Valerie+