Desmond Tutu helped bring me to California.
When I was leaving graduate school, I had six different offers from six different companies in six different fields. The one I ended up going with was a high-powered airport consulting shop based out of San Mateo. When I flew out for the interview, a friend and colleague graciously spent his whole weekend showing me the town, showing me what it’s like to live in San Francisco.
Because I didn’t know if I’d ever be back, I dragged this friend along with me to Grace Cathedral. (If you’ve never been there, go.) We were just inside the great big doors in the back of the nave, and I was looking around at the paintings and the stained glass and the ceiling, waaaaaay up there far away, when my friend said “hey, isn’t that Desmond Tutu?”
The celebration took two and a half hours. Three choirs, two bishops, absolutely packed house. No word on whether my friend has ever darkened the door of a church since.
At the end of the service, Bishop Swing asked the visiting archbishop to bless the congregation. I remember him saying “I will give the blessing in my own language.”
Now I don’t know what his native tongue is, and I didn’t recognize it or understand a word, but I do remember that prayer. It was a long string of words, beautiful and rhythmic, rhyming, almost musical in its quality. I have no idea what he said, and I couldn’t even see him. But I do remember the feeling of awe and wonder, remembering that God’s langauge transcends our human understanding; that God speaks with an eloquence and power that we can’t touch.
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2 comments:
Was the possibility of entering the ministry already in your conscious mind at that stage of the game? I'm wondering how much Bishop Tutu can take credit for. :)
Well...I had considered it, but also had not spoken a word to anyone. At the time, I was a year's salary in debt from school loans, and I had a different perpective on what my ministry would be.
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