• • •
Helder had lived longer than many. It seemed to me that it had been more years than he had hoped by the time I chanced to meet him. Not in some sad way, like one finds in those who have not overcome their fear of death, but more like one finds in the wisdom teachers of the Upanishads who fully expected to be able, with joy, to choose the time of their crossing. He and Claire spent years serving the dying and were intimate with grief and suffering. Claire had gone before. When I commented, “You must miss her a lot,” he said, “I miss what she was terribly. I don’t miss the dementia at the end.” Helder was a peace-filled man, not afraid and entirely without guilt. But not because he had no regrets. He said simply, “I don’t do guilt,” and, “I did the best I was able with what I had to work with.”
Now, remembered by few and known by still fewer, Helder was preparing for that point when the river of life took that “little bend” (words of wisdom from Thich Nhat Hanh) that would mean “he had done what was his to do” (Francis of Assisi, on his deathbed.). I thought I detected a slight sadness in him; he had not been born into an honoring culture that made time and space for the elders to speak the wisdom they had hard-won into the lives of the young before crossing. He was a natural storyteller and observed people remember stories, not lectures, which is why Jesus taught primarily through parables.
He observed,
If preaching created disciples, the churches would be full of them.
For a good long time, he was a spiritual mentor to many, devoted to the Christ of Christianity, and now he desired only what he now was—more or less a hermit living in a cabin in the deep woods and living ‘just inside of the outer edge’ (Fr Rohr).
But, as he said,
“There is a learning curve to irrelevance.”
Sliding an enameled steel cup of hot black coffee across the wooden table on his front porch, he said:
“I no longer need disciples, I am no longer interested in converts, not inclined to nudge folks out of their comfort zone unless invited to, having plenty of time for the broken, no time at all for the arrogant, and I cannot resist a seeker whose motive is true.”
“Why are you here, Passerby?”
I learned of Helder from a trusted friend who knew him as her mentor when she enrolled in an obligatory ‘Clinical Pastoral Education’ (CPE) seminar as a part of her ordination process. Familiar with my struggles with Christianity, she put me in touch with him, and since my friend was a former student whose judgment he trusted, he agreed to meet.