Stuck in my prayer book, there is an unofficial, personal calendar of saints I have known. They are people whose lives, touching mine for awhile, have left me spiritually enriched. Many are now safely in heaven, but some still live in this world.
I put in my calendar only people I've known personally. If I included others, I probably would make a place for Lyman Woodard. Frederick Buechner wrote about him.
Buechner, a preacher and writer, was asked to speak at the 200th anniversary of the Congregational Church in Rupert, Vt. Reading up on the church's history he found that, in 1831, the church was repaired and some additions were made. One was a steeple with a bell. When it was finished, Lyman Woodard stood on his head in the belfry with his feet toward heaven.
There was nothing else known about the man. Buechner wrote, "I love him for doing what he did. It was a crazy thing to do. It was a risky thing to do. It ran counter to all standards of New England practicality and prudence. It stood the whole idea that you're supposed to be nothing but solemn in church on its head just like Lyman himself standing upside down on his. And it was also a magical and magnificent and Mozartian thing to do."
I will leave Lyman there on his head in the belfry for awhile and tell a bit about two saints who are in my calendar.
Sometime between the ages of 18 and 22 I attended, off and on, Park Methodist Church near Woodland Park. That's where I met both of these saints. When I was a teenager, I got little to nothing from Sunday school. Part of the problem was Sunday school and part was me. I don't know what moved me to attend an adult class at the little church, though I suspect I was led there by a girl.
Anyway, the leader was what I considered at the time an elderly woman-a sweet lady and a long-time teacher. One Sunday the lesson had to do with Jesus praying in Gethsemane before his arrest and crucifixion. As the teacher contrasted his fear with his resolve, nevertheless, to do God's will, I suddenly realized that this was real to her. This was like a family remembrance passed down the centuries from one generation to another all the way to this Sunday morning at High Street and Clay Avenue.
I've forgotten her name, but I'll never forget her. Another story throws light on this experience. It's about a gathering in which a great actor and a venerable pastor were present. Someone asked the actor to recite the 23rd psalm. He began, "The Lord is my shepherdÖ" finished it beautifully and everyone applauded. Then, as an afterthought, the pastor was asked to do the same. When he was finished there was no applause but silence-and not a few moist eyes. It was, someone said, that the actor knew the psalm; the old pastor knew the shepherd.
The other saint I remember from the church was the pastor, William Fryman. Even semi-heathen that I was, I still liked and respected him. My first year at the university I was having trouble with a teacher and he was having trouble with me. We seriously disliked each other. I groused about the situation until someone suggested I talk to Dr. Fryman. I decided to do it; maybe he could help.
What happened wasn't what I expected. He listened to me carefully and he may have asked questions or made comments; I don't remember. What I do remember is that at last he said, "Let's pray about it," and the next thing I knew we were on our knees.
What a concept! Have a problem? Open a conversation with God. Before that semester was over, the teacher and I were getting along well. Something changed; I imagine it was me.
Back to Lyman Woodard. Buechner wrote, "If the Lord is indeed our shepherd, then everything goes topsy-turvy. Losing becomes finding and crying becomes laughing. The last become first and the weak become strong. Instead of being done in by death in the end as we always supposed, death is done in finally by life in the endÖ"
Meantime, there's a lot to do here. Buechner wrote, "Bear each other's burdensÖpray for each other..weep with each otherÖrejoice with each other" and "sometimes we must just learn to let each other alone. In short, we must love each otherÖ"
Buechner would like us never to forget Lyman Woodard, "silhouetted up there against the blue Rupert sky. Let us join him in the belfry with our feet toward heaven like his because heaven is where we are heading. That is our faith and what better image of faith could there be? It is a little crazy. It is a little risky. It sets many a level head wagging. And it is also our richest treasure and the source of our deepest joy and highest hopeÖ"