[MF] Is the pinnacle of human experience...

[Kevin Perez]

On personal relationships as a measure of quality I refer to a short story
documented in the prologue and epilogue of a small book I first read in 1989;
In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership by Henri Nouwen.
   
  Henri had been ministering to the staff and residents of a community for mentally
handicapped people when he was asked to speak at the fifteenth anniversay of
the Center for Human Development in Washington, DC.  He agreed to speak on 
  Christian leadership in the 21st century.
   
  Henri made the trip to Washington with one of the residents, Bill Van Buren.
   
       Bill had listened to me carefully, and when I invited him to go with me to
     Washington, D.C., to speak to priests and ministers, he accepted it as an
     invitation to join me in my ministry. "We are doing this together," he said at
     different times in the days before we left. "Yes," I kept saying, "we are doing
     this together. You and I are going to Washington to proclaim the Gospel." Bill
     did not for a moment doubt the truth of this. While I was quite nervous about
     what to say and how to say it, Bill showed great confidence in his task. And,
     while I was still thinking about Bill's trip with me primarily as something that
     would be nice for him, Bill was, from the beginning, convinced that he was
     going to help me. I later came to realize that he knew better than I. As we
     stepped on board the plane in Toronto, Bill reminded me again, "We are doing
     this together, aren't we?" "Yes, Bill," I said, "we sure are."  After telling you
     what I said in Washington, I will tell you in more detail what happened there
     and explain to you why Bill's presence most likely had a more lasting
     influence than my words.
   
  Henri goes on to describe the next day's events.
   
       But the time for us to bring our good news together came quickly. After a
     delicious buffet dinner in one of the ballrooms decorated with golden statues
     and little fountains, Vincent Dwyer introduced me to the audience. At that
     moment I still did not know what "doing it together" with Bill would mean. I
     opened by saying that I had not come alone, but was very happy that Bill had
     come with me. Then I took my handwritten text and began my address. At
     that moment, I saw that Bill had left his seat, walked up to the podium, and
     planted himself right behind me. It was clear that he had a much more
     concrete idea about the meaning of "doing it together" than I. Each time I
     finished reading a page, he took it away and put it upside down on a small
     table close by. I felt very much at ease with this and started to feel Bill's
     presence as a support. But Bill had more in mind. When I began to speak
     about the temptation to turn stones into bread as a temptation to be relevant,
     he interrupted me and said loudly for everyone to hear, "I have heard that
     before!" He had indeed, and he just wanted the priests and ministers who
     were listening to know that he knew me quite well and was familiar with my
     ideas. For me, however, it felt like a gentle loving reminder that my thoughts
     were not as new as I wanted my audience to believe. Bill's intervention created
     a new atmosphere in the ballroom: lighter, easier, and more playful.
     Somehow Bill had taken away the seriousness of the occasion and had
     brought to it some homespun normality. As I continued my presentation, I felt
     more and more that we were indeed doing it together. And it felt good.
   
       When I came to the second part and was reading the words, "the question
     most asked by the handicapped people with whom I live was, 'Are you home
     tonight?' " Bill interrupted me again and said, "That's right, that is what John
     Smeltzer always asks." Again there was something disarming about his
     remark.  Bill knew John Smeltzer very well after living with him in the same
     house for quite some years. He simply wanted people to know about his
     friend. It was as if he drew the audience toward us, inviting them into the
     intimacy of our common life.
   
       After I had finished reading my text and people had shown their appreciation,
     Bill said to me, "Henri, can I say something now?" My first reaction was, "Oh,
     how am I going to handle this? He might start rambling and create an
     embarrassing situation," but then I caught myself in my presumption that he
     had nothing of importance to say and said to the audience, "Will you please
     sit down. Bill would like to say a few words to you." Bill took the microphone
     and said, with all the difficulties he has in speaking, "Last time, when Henri
     went to Boston, he took John Smeltzer with him. This time he wanted me to
     come with him to Washington, and I am very glad to be here with you. Thank
     you very much." That was it, and everyone stood up and gave him warm
     applause.
   
       As we walked away from the podium, Bill said to me, "Henri, how did you like
     my speech?" "Very much," I answered, "everyone was really happy with what
     you said." Bill was delighted. As people gathered for drinks, he felt freer than
     ever. He went from person to person, introduced himself and asked how they
     liked the evening and told them all sorts of stories about his life in Daybreak.
     I did not see him for more than an hour. He was too busy getting to know
     everybody.
   
       The next morning at breakfast before we left, Bill walked from table to table
     with his cup of coffee in his hands and said good-bye to all those he knew
     from the evening before. It was clear to me that he had made many friends
     and felt very much at home in these, for him, so unusual surroundings.
   
   
  Kevin Perez

			
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