Lexington, KY - by Bob horine | spirituality Columnist
A couple of months ago Robert and Ann Burton came to Lexington to celebrate their 35th wedding anniversary. On Sunday morning at Christ Church Cathedral's 11 o'clock service, they stood at the chancel steps as the dean said a few words and gave them blessing. It was a good weekend and my wife and I were happy to have a chance to visit with them. They now live in Akron and we see them seldom.
Bob, for so he is called, was for years choirmaster at Christ Church (before it was the cathedral). A few of those years I was an assistant to the rector. One of my pastoral duties was to take communion to homebound members. Among them was a poor, elderly couple who lived in a tough, inner city neighborhood and had care of a young grandson. They told me the boy, who must have been 9 or 10, was beginning to get into trouble and they were physically unable to take care of him.
I felt sorry for them and tried to think of something that would help. One day I went to see Bob and told him the situation and asked if he could use the boy in the men and boys choir. He said he would do that.
Not long afterward I left Christ Church to be canon to the ordinary (assistant to the bishop) and didn't know how things turned out for the boy. Then, a few years ago at a diocesan convention, a young man introduced himself to me. He thanked me and said getting him into the choir had saved his life. He had his own business in Central Kentucky and was senior warden of his parish.
During the Burtons' anniversary weekend, I told Bob about the meeting and he was obviously moved. He told me a part of the story I didn't know. Bob enlisted the help of a member of Christ Church who was well known for strong opinions, a sharp tongue and, at times, ill temper. Bob called her "feisty." One time she called another member with whom she was having a disagreement and said, "I want to apologize for causing you to be rude to me."
She didn't like incense and one high holy day she took the thurible away from the thurifer as he passed her pew. Her pew -
no one who knew her ever sat in her pew and we prayed that visitors wouldn't innocently stop there.
Back in those days, before people began calling clergy by their first names, Episcopal priests were usually called mister or father, and there was some disagreement over which was more appropriate. I had come from a "father" parish to take the job at Christ Church. Bob's feisty friend was very, very strongly a "mister" person, and made sure I was aware of it. Then, one day on the way to a wedding reception, she had a wreck in a bad neighborhood. I came along a few minutes later, parked my car, stayed with her until police and wrecker arrived, and drove her on to the reception. Ever afterward she called me Father Horine and emphasized the honorific.
When Bob asked her for help with the boy, she provided clothing and money and saw to it that transportation was provided. Bob said this was not her only good work; when she quietly did these things she passed them off as her "works of supererogation."
As I write this I think of a description of the ancient church's greatest biblical scholar, St. Jerome: "A militant champion of orthodoxy, an indefatigable worker, and a stylist of rare gifts, Jerome was seldom pleasant, but at least he was never dull."
She left this world years ago, still lives in the memories of many of us, and is, I trust, now safely in heaven.