If the UMC canonized people...

Yesterday evening I witnessed a model of hospitality, grace and courage.

I had the privilege of visiting the home of my friend, the Rev. Kathleen Baskin-Ball, who entered hospice care last week. She and her family are opening their home at set times to visitors who want to say their goodbyes. "She is trying to balance her need for rest with her need to remain very connected with others," wrote her husband, Bill, in a Nov. 20 e-mail.

Yesterday, that balance included baptizing 20 babies ("It felt very papal," joked a close friend of hers who watched parents bring their infants to a seated Rev. Baskin-Ball); hearing a performance of her church's youth choir in her home; and welcoming visitors for "an hour" -- which, judging by the line still going out the door at 10 minutes after the allotted hour, looked like it was shaping up to stretch into at least triple the time planned.

It was like a wake, only the person being honored was still there to witness it all and receive the mourning, inviting each person to have a seat next to her on the couch and share a story or photos. In a couple of cases, Kathleen inscribed notes in Bibles that children had brought for that very purpose. At one point, the room lulled into near-silence, and she asked, "Hey, why did everybody get so quiet? Did somebody say 'Let us pray' or something?" She encouraged us to keep talking, and later asked us to cheer her on as she swallowed a couple of medications. We complied, joining together in unison with a hearty: "Chug it, chug it!"

She wouldn't let fatigue get in the way of visiting with each person. Instead, she asked her husband to bring in the oxygen tank and she continued on.

I knew one of the women in the group in line ahead of me, and we hugged as she left Kathleen's side. When it was my turn to sit down, Kathleen asked, "How do you know Kathy?" I explained our connection, small United Methodist world and all. We then moved on to other topics: Kathleen asked about my sister, who had been hospitalized when she and I had last talked. ("Wait a minute, Kathleen," I thought. "We're here to care for you! But this is what you do. You're still a pastor.")

Our conversation was short -- there was still a line of people winding through her kitchen and into the den. I know I thanked her for being who she is, and that we mentioned work done and yet-to-be done at the general church level. And we exchanged hugs a couple of times, which was really all I came for. Tired as she was, she still wanted me to know that I was welcome to come again, and I heard her tell several others the same thing.

Something else I heard from a friend while waiting in line: "You have to go through death to get to Resurrection." Indeed, you do. To see someone so clearly anticipating that Resurrection is all too rare, but I saw that very thing last night. And the darkness didn't overcome that light, not for one second.

Comments

[Andrew C. Thompson]

Thank you for that tremendous post, Amy. I have never met Kathleen, which I consider to be a loss to me. But to read the recent news stories and blog posts about her, it is clear that her life has been touched by the Holy Spirit in a significant way. I consider it an honor to serve in the same order of elders as Kathleen. Her life and ministry are an example to the rest of us.

Peace,
Andrew

[Spencer]

Definitely an awesome post - thank you for sharing.

[Shari]

Beautiful story, Amy. I never had the privilege of meeting her either, but I've heard so many wonderful things about her. My prayers are with all of you in her faith family.
Shari