Do you have time for just one more quick story? That was the way conversations with Ed always went. Whether you met him coming or going from the funeral home, or at the hospital, or in a phone call- Ed loved to talk, and he always had just one more quick story to share.
so....Do you have time for just more quick story?
My answer was always yes.
Ed was my mentor, my guide in this journey of ministry. Beginning 22 years ago, when I showed up at Jean and Ed's house in Copper Cliff, to stay for the night as part of the Manitou Conference orientation tour to new ministers, to my Sunday night escapes when I would knock on their door, for a meal and a glass of wine and a place to stay, on the way to do some retail therapy, to our wedding in Huntsville, where both sides of our families could not believe that the minister could play volleyball so fiercely, to visits to the cottage on Lake Onaping, to coffee shops and United Church lunches and teas all over the city, Ed shared his love for God through the people he ministered to and with, and all the holy encounters that were forged in conversations along the way. There was always one more funny story to share, one more bit of wisdom to impart.
Ed Erion taught me how to be a minister.
He had a view of the church that was wide and inclusive. If you asked him to do a wedding, a baptism or a funeral, invariably his answer was yes. He was not the sort of minister to prescribe to marriage or baptism policies. To be honest, he never really understood why they were needed in the first place.
For Ed, the role of the church was to be present, as a visible, tangible, living, and embodied witness in the world. Many people, and I must confess,
myself included sometimes, did not understand why he did what he did. I have often found myself wrestling with his notion of inclusion that stands in stark opposition to all the church policies, that tell us people should be part of the church community before we will offer them the symbols of God's grace. While we were busy building our walls, Ed never thought twice about taking God's story into the world.
He would do a wedding or a baptism, partly I suspect because he needed to be needed, and he loved the role of being the officiant. Jean called it working the crowd. He did that part of the job so well. But in our conversations, all those times when he offered just one more little story, I began to learn and understand just what it was that he was trying to teach me.
Ed showed us that ours is the God of welcome, acceptance and peace. Ours is the God who says yes when someone asks. Ours is the God of the open and inviting doorway. So many people, thousands of them in our community, I suspect, knew this. They called on him all the time, to preside at their weddings, to share their joy in the birth of their children, to accompany them as they buried their dead.
One time, I spoke with a nurse friend, who was telling me about all the hours Ed gave to the hospital. He would come in to visit anytime someone called. This nurse said that only God and Ed knew how much time he spent in the emergency department with families, “and God wasn't talkin' and Ed didn't keep track.”
I wonder if this vision of the church, that Ed held, is not exactly the way we are headed today. We are living through a time of deep examination and radical change within our denomination. What we are being told is that the church can no longer stay hidden behind our walls, but that we have to get out and live God's story in our neighbourhoods. We have to bring the good news to people wherever we find them. We need to let go of policies that limit, and embrace the love that God calls us to share.
Ed lived the words of the great commission, that scripture from Matthew's gospel, which Marj shared with us just a moment ago. Jesus told his followers that our call, and our commission, is to go out into the world and train everyone you meet, far and near, in this way of life, marking them by baptism, and then instructing them in the practice of all that is commanded.
When we do that, when we go out and tell what we have seen and heard, what we have experienced and grown to know deep in our hearts and our lives, then we are told that God will be with us day after day after day, right up to the end of the age. Those are the closing lines of Matthew's gospel, and maybe, they are that last little story, that ancient writer needed to share with all of us, who would find ourselves reading his words two thousand years later. I suspect that these words might well be, the closing lines in Ed's life too.
Following the example of our Brother Jesus, Ed helped to showed us all, that whatever we do, we just need to say yes. And when we do, then we can't help but find ways to share good news by our presence, our words of encouragement to one another, our actions and commitment to justice-filled living, and by all the ways we can find to share our gifts and our abundance.
Do you have time for just one more quick story?
Chuck reminded me of this story the other night. It was post 1988, and The United Church had just come out with a landmark decision that was rocking our denomination, and causing a lot of consternation wherever you went. We had affirmed a statement saying that all people, regardless of their sexual orientation, are welcome to serve as ministers in The United Church of Canada.
I remember that time, how angry people were in our congregations, how the voices of exclusion were drowning out all of us who thought it was a good idea. The word had just come back from that General Council meeting in Victoria, and all of us clergy were invited to gather in a backyard here in Sudbury, and try and come up with a plan for how we would deal with the fall-out. You have to remember that in those days, if you spoke up and said this was a good policy, you would likely be writing your letter of resignation. It was time of fear and finger pointing and wall building.
Ed had been one of our delegates to that meeting, and he had been specifically asked to be on that commission by our executive secretary at the time, Stew Bell. People were being hand-picked to serve there, people who were noted for their balanced judgment and ability to weigh all sides of the argument.
Ed told us the story of what happened.
The commission was in deadlock. They did not know what to say or how to bring resolution. They were at the point of returning to the meeting and admitting defeat. They decided to break for lunch and give the whole thing time to percolate.
Ed told us that everyone that day had been given a brown bag lunch, and some of the lunches contained oranges, along with the sandwiches and cookies. Many of the people who had the oranges threw them in the garbage, because they were just too messy to peel and eat without a knife.
Ed looked over and he saw a homeless person digging through the trash, pulling out the oranges that had been discarded, and putting them in his pockets.
Ed believed that he saw Jesus Christ in that homeless person eating United Church leftovers. As he told us this story, he broke down and sobbed.
He said that after seeing this, he found Marion Best, who was also on that commission, and who later went on to be elected as one of our moderators. The two of them went back to the classroom where they were meeting. Ed walked up the blackboard, and with Marion's help, crafted the words that became our 1988 statement on ministry: “That all people regardless, of their race, gender, age, income, ability, or sexual orientation, are welcome to be members of The United Church of Canada. And then the second line of that document goes on to say, that all members are entitled to be considered as ministry personnel within our denomination.”
Standing there in that backyard, hearing Ed's story, I was never so proud to call myself a member of The United Church of Canada.
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