S-S is for Shalom Sharing

That much of the story is factually true and, I might add, that is all there is to the story as far as I know it. I have no idea how the priest dealt with the pain of his conscience, but I have a good idea of what might have -- should have! -- happened, had I been aware of the problem earlier in the story. A better ending, as a Christian imagination fantasizes it, might have gone something like the following.

I left the metropolitan area to return to my previous home in the suburbs to look for work. In the process I couldn't remember the address I'd had in the city. (I had been one of the homeless housed in the apartment the little priest rented as a "halfway" house for his immigrants). To find it, I thought I'd call the synodical headquarters to find the priest or someone who knew the halfway houses's address. "Oh,!" the secretary says, recognizing me by name. "Father has absconded with all the money!"

"What!?" I shout in utter shock, " I can't believe it! Where did he go?"

"Nobody knows! Its like he escaped off the face of the earth."

"I'll bet I know. Tell the bishop that I didn't know anything about what was going on around there but I have very good reason to believe I know where Father probably went. Tell him to give me a call. I'll tell him why I think I'm right."

The reason I knew the address is that he had once taken a vacation there. Its attraction for him was that, being a Caribbean island, it was quite similar to the Cuba of his boyhood. He also had told me that there were Lutheran convert clergy out there who'd previously been Disciples of Christ or some other non-liturgical church and that they ate out of his hand when, as a guest, he preached his social gospel.

Now to make the biblical Crossing, we need to highlight that the priest's embezzlement was the speck leading the rest of us to our own logs. But on with the story.

The bishop called at my house, first to say that he thought I'd known all about it, and possibly had run off with the man. He was vastly interested in how I knew where he had gone and wanted to know if I'd been in contact with him. I told him what I knew and what I thought and why I thought it. Next the authorities are called and the priest is arrested in a Territory of the United States, and brought to justice in the city where he'd been known and loved as an advocate for the poor.

I had not been close to the bishop at all but I used this opportunity to get close. I knew that he had felt protective and supportive of the little priest and now felt betrayed. We discussed gathering as many of the members of the congregation as could still be found, as well as representatives of the mission board, pastor, and secretary at the church where the original falling out had occurred.

(My fantasy continues.) The bishop counseled with the pastor. In fact, the two of them had come together in sharing their own bitter feelings, the pastor from his professional jealousy and racism, the bishop from the blow to his pride over having been made a fool. Both recognized their own illness in this. Then the bishop delivered an impassioned sermon to the little group of mostly immigrants. (He never knew which ones were illegal). A young student at the state university, a son of missionaries to Guatemala, acted as interpreter.

"Before we're finished with this service," the bishop said, "we will have had a whole Communion service. The first part, the Service of the Word, we'll have right here in the church. Then we'll be going to the jail, where we'll see Father. That's where we'll be passing the Peace. It's going to be real, though. That will be the place to share your feelings about the issue. Be sure to be aware of your judgment, not to give voice to it necessarily, yet don't be afraid to share how you feel. In fact, if you aren't willing to go through with all of this, it won't work. Most of all, be sure to let the judgment come back on yourselves -- quietly -- and confess that, too. After that, I'll start in the middle of page 5 of SBH: "The Peace of God...!" And then you pass the Peace to each other. Remember that for you to give Peace, which you have every right and power to do, is to relay the very Peace which God gives you."

(The fantasy builds to its climax.) So we all went to the jail, the bishop carrying his portable Communion set. When we see Father behind bars, he wept. We all did, but we all remembered what the bishop had said. Each in our turn, but gently so as not to overpower, we told Father how we felt, how we realized our own inadequacies in life, our own dishonesties, our own greed and pride and desire to help beyond our means and inability to ask for help. We confessed, and we wept. The bishop intoned, "The Peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

Hearing this, one at a time we looked each other in the eye and, each to the other said, "The Peace of the Lord be with you."

The bishop surprised us with, "Is the congregation at peace!?"

"Oh, yeah!" or "Si, si" we said. We hadn't been prepared for a liturgical response.

And he proceeded with the Offertory.

Too bad it didn't happen that way. But it could have. Really it could.

richard leigh