Ordinary People

"They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi. But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted."Matthew 23:6-12
Yesterday I picked up copies of my medical records from one specialist, in order to bring them to another specialist. As I walked to my car I started reading the report, which began by saying, “Mr. Trench is a very pleasant 63 year old man . . .”

Ouch.

Of course, it could have been worse. Pleasant is better than unpleasant. In fairness to the doctor, he meant no harm. And I guess I could be happy about the “very.”

But I don’t think I have ever been described as “very pleasant.” It was a humbling moment to recognize that in the eyes of this specialist, I was just a “very pleasant 63 year old man” with a collection of symptoms. Even on the basis of a short interview, I would hope to be more than that.

Shortly after I went through the defense of my dissertation and received official confirmation that I had earned a Ph.D., I shared the good news with my grandmother. Her first question was when can you use it? I told her I could use it right away, and asked if she wanted me to explain Kant’s Categorical Imperative. “No,” she said, “I mean when do people start calling you ‘doctor’?”

Three are at least two lessons here. I am one of the privileged ones. I am often “greeted with respect in the marketplaces.” Within our church family, I tend to avoid formalities. I tell the adults to call me, “Bill,” and the kids to call me, “Pastor Bill.” I don’t want to be introduced as “Reverend” or “Doctor.” But giving up a title is very different from having it taken away. The first lesson is, it’s probably good for me to have that experience.

The second lesson is that lots of people go through life without getting much respect. Some do jobs where they get very little affirmation. Others live with disabilities. Some are faced with circumstances which deny any possibility of what we call success. I was experiencing something that others experience for a lifetime.

The truth is that no one is ordinary. Each of us is special and unique.

Years ago I was asked to do a funeral for a man who did not belong to our church. I went to the calling hours at the funeral home, out of respect for the family and because I know that during that time I can often get a sense of who the person is. I stood in line to pray at the casket and to greet the family. When I knelt at the casket I could hear the family talking with friends about this man whom I had never met, and about how special he had been to them. And I prayed silently, “Lord, do not let me trivialize this life.”

Humility, Regret and Rick Pitino

Remember the long way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, in order to humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commandments. He humbled you by letting you hunger, then by feeding you with manna, with which neither you nor your ancestors were acquainted, in order to make you understand that one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.Deuteronomy 8:2-3

Kentucky is the only surviving team among my picks for the Final Four, and I picked them to win it all. But tonight I will be rooting for Louisville.

Partly that’s because of my loyalty to the Big East, which goes back to Dave Gavitt, and the years that the Big East was primarily a basketball conference competing (and beating) bigger conferences and bigger schools. And partly it’s because of what Rick Pitino did with Providence College twenty-five years ago.

It doesn’t really make much sense. The Big East of today bears little resemblance of the conference Dave Gavitt put together. And soon they will add Boise State, just to stamp out any lingering thought that it’s a regional conference based in the Northeast.

The other reason I will be rooting for Louisville is Rick Pitino. And that goes back to 1987, that special season when he took Providence College to the final four and it seemed like, at least in college basketball, anything was possible. Billy Donavan became a star and Providence was, if only for a moment, a national power.

A lot has happened since then. He won two titles at Kentucky and failed twice in the NBA. His 6 month old son died of heart failure, and his best friend and brother-in-law died in the Twin Towers. And then there was the extra-marital scandal.

In an ESPN article, Rick Reilly talks about his new perspective. He is “not the bug-eyed screamer, the arrogant New York know-it-all. He has swallowed too much heartache to be that man anymore.”

Looking back, Pitino reflects, "My biggest disappointment isn't that I didn't put somebody on the passer in that [1992 Duke] game. It's that I didn't live humbly all those years. I try to now."

The Guy in the Flannel Shirt

For the LORD
takes pleasure
in his people;
he adorns the humble
with victory.
Psalm 149:4

Today I am wearing a red plaid flannel shirt in honor of Joe Garrahy who passed away yesterday at the age of eighty-one.

I was not a big fan of Governor Garrahy when he took office in 1977. The idea that our governor was a former beer salesman who never finished college, and worked his way up the political ladder by not offending anyone seemed like the punch line to a bad Rhode Island joke. Looking back, the ability to get along with people seems more valuable in a politician now than it did then.

Those of us who were here for the “Blizzard of ‘78” remember Governor Garrahy’s daily updates on television wearing a plaid flannel shirt. His steady and reassuring presence was an important part of guiding the state through that emergency and that is the image that most Rhode Islanders will remember.

Possibly in the spring of that same year, I was in my office at Mathewson Street Church in Providence late in the afternoon when the phone rang. The voice on the other end said, “Hi, this is Joe Garrahy, is this Reverend Trench?” At that time, I chaired the Social Action Department of the Rhode Island State Council of Churches. We had taken a stand in opposition to something that the Governor was advocating, and he called to discuss the issue. He explained why he was taking the position that he did and I explained the concerns raised by the Council of Churches. He did not change my mind, but he did change how I thought about him, and the conversation led me to reflect more deeply on the issues.

In an overwhelmingly Catholic state, the Council of Churches has never been a big player in state politics, so I was amazed that he would call at all. And he didn’t have is secretary set up the call. And he did not introduce himself as “Governor Garrahy.” He was just “Joe.”

Later the Council worked with the Governor to pass a hand-gun safety bill and I was invited to his office for the signing. On that issue he stood up to considerable pressure from the gun lobby and went against many in his own party. In many ways he was the ultimate political insider and the consummate party politician, but he had principles and he did not like the wheeling and dealing that goes with the political games.

As he prepared to leave office in late 1984, he was asked how he wanted to be remembered. He said that he hoped Rhode Islanders would remember him as "conscientious" and "sensitive."

"I hope they remember me as a governor who worked hard and tried to do the best he could for his state, and that when I made decisions, I always tried to make them in what I thought was the best interest of the entire state."

I have seen Governor Garrahy twice in the last few years. Both times he was attending funerals for former members of our church. On each occasion he was careful not to call attention to himself. With his wife, Margherite, he was there for friends. It was not about him.

Joe Garrahy was not a great political theorist. He was not a policy wonk. He was not a charismatic public speaker. He was not a crusader. And he was not without his faults. But if we remember him as just “a nice guy,” we miss the point. He was a good person, who simply wanted to do the best he could for his state. He did good things, and he had no great sense of his own importance, and that is rarer than it should be.