Meeting again for the first time

Recently I sat with a friend and explained that I felt like I met her twice. Confused by my comment, I tried to explain. There was the first time we met sitting beside one another in an art class, but there was the second time when over coffee she shared a tragedy she endured (and continues to endure). It was as if I met her again for the first time. I met her in the art class, but I started to know her over coffee.

Looking back over my life, I can see many people I have met. One of the gifts of being a chaplain for many years, and then entering the twelve step rooms of recovery, is that I have also been given the gift of knowing a few people as well. It never happens quickly or in a predictable way, but when the doors of a real relationship open it is one of the greatest gifts we are given. It’s like moving from a Hallmark card to someone’s diary.

* My best friend in college was a man named John. To this day, I think back over all the times we spent together and am thankful to have been given such a friend, but our friendship became something profound when he called me one morning seven years after we met. “I need to tell you that I am gay,” he explained. “I have hesitated to tell you, but it’s too big a part of me to hold  back.” As I awkwardly tried to explain to him, the news did not change anything, but changed everything. I met him again for the first time.

* There’s a fellow priest I happened to meet a few years ago. A very likable guy, I was happy our paths crossed. At some point he came to see where I work, and during the tour I explained my personal recovery and how the community I serve is about allowing people to be real an imperfect. Later that day I received an e mail in which he shared that he had stopped drinking five years ago.  When I responded by telling him he was my “new-found best friend,” I was really saying I met him again for the first time.

* He'd been my son for eighteen years. I have known him through diapers and puberty, but over lunch on a recent trip to New York City I stopped our usual conversation and asked "What do you know of me and my family?" "Nothing,really," was his response. What followed was as honest a conversation as we have ever had. He met his father again for the first time.

People carrying diaries surround us, and yet all we give one another are neat and tidy greeting cards. Yes, its easier and safer. Stick with the surface stuff and write the thank you notes for the “delightful evening.” Or . . .

. . . take a risk and read from your diary, not the whole thing, but a page or two. Watch how it transforms the moment and invites them to do the same. Suddenly you will meet someone again for the first time.