by Lori Randall
Late in April, I said goodbye to a dear friend. He was, in fact, the friend whom you can thank (or blame, depending on how you feel about my reflections) for the fact that I am sitting in my house in central Wisconsin writing a reflection for the St. Anthony Spirituality Center. Without the efforts of Brother Dave Schwab, OFM Cap, it’s unlikely that I would have ever visited central Wisconsin, let alone settled here after a year of volunteer service brought me to Marathon County in 1998.
Dave knew that I had been accepted into two volunteer programs that summer- CapCorps and the Christian Appalachian Project, which was confusingly called CAP. He worked pretty hard to steer me away from CAP towards CapCorps. He was persistent, thoughtful, joyful, and a delight to chat with. He also knew exactly what ministry I would undertake if I chose CapCorps. Years later, when I told a fellow CapCorps alumnus that I had served at the Capuchins’ retreat house in Marathon, Wisconsin, he stared at me and said, “A retreat center? That was your ministry?”
My initial reaction to the placement was similar, especially when I found out that all my cohort-mates were doing gritty things like teaching in inner-city schools. The whole retreat center deal seemed to pale in comparison. I was a little grumpy about my apparently cushy and probably insignificant ministry, and Dave knew it. In his always joyful and never judgmental way, Dave reminded me that spiritual hunger is just as devastating as physical hunger. And a retreat house is a place where people go to satisfy their spiritual hunger, sometimes before they even know exactly how hungry they are.
I was skeptical of the idea that spiritual hunger could be such a big deal. But a year in community with the friars and other lay volunteers helped me re-evaluate my stance on spiritual hunger. First, I learned about the gift of presence. Two of the retired friars who lived at St. Anthony’s during my CapCorps year frequently noted how nice it was to have a young person in the house. They never said, “Gee, it’s nice that you do [fill in the blank].” This made no sense to me. How could I be a gift to others by simply existing? Didn’t I need to do something to be a blessing in someone else’s life? I pondered this question for years.
The decades passed. I left my ministry at St. Anthony’s. I went to grad school. I spent time teaching. I came back to St. Anthony’s. And somewhere between the going and the coming, I noticed that our fellow travelers on this planet sometimes just want someone to walk with them in companionable silence. And maybe my unique combination or your unique combination of faults and merits is exactly what that fellow traveler needs. Sometimes, the act of simply existing really is the only gift we need to give.
Second, I learned about the gift of sight. I don’t mean the literal gift—as precious as it is—of using our eyes to perceive the world. I mean the gift of being able to see one another—and, indeed, all of creation itself—as a brother or sister. This type of sight is too often clouded by insecurity or fear. From local acts of road rage to global acts of war, we see how fear and insecurity instead of love and grounded-ness in our own sense of self, color our responses to one another. Until each of us can see ourselves for the beautiful and unique acts of creation that we are, we will surely struggle to recognize the kinship we share with all of Creation. In turn, we will surely struggle to understand—let alone serve—the needs of our brothers and sisters.
Moving from fear and insecurity to love and grounded-ness in our own sense of self is not an easy task. The shift is a spiritual one; a transition from constant spiritual hunger to growing spiritual nourishment. Retreat ministry, as Dave so wisely pointed out 28 years ago, is a ministry that helps
each of us move along this trajectory from hunger to nourishment, from fear to love. I never told him that I’d figured it out but he probably knew. He was perceptive that way.
I saw him about three weeks before he embraced Sister Death. The last thing I said to him was, “If we’re not here for each other, then what are we even doing?” If he hadn’t known it before that day, he definitely recognized in our parting moment that I had figured it all out: the gift of presence, the devastating effects of spiritual hunger, and the deep, dignified value of the work I had done at St. Anthony’s all those years ago. I’m glad I had a chance to tell him. I’m glad I had a chance to be a good and faithful servant to him through my gift of presence, just as he had spent his life being a good and faithful servant in so many ways to so many people.
May we all be good and faithful servants to one another, mindful of the fact that some of us are called to feed those who struggle with physical hunger and some of us are called to feed those who struggle with spiritual hunger. All of us are called in all ways and in all places to love.