Mtr Mary Trainor

Pass me not, O Gentle Savior…*

Dear friend,

I had just begun my walk when, three houses down from my childhood home, I saw the rope--laying flat in the parkway. It was dirty white, about a half-inch in diameter. The kind we used for tetherball.

Just the day before, and many days before that, a Basset Hound was attached to the rope in sunshine and on cloudy days. He was skinny and sad, alive with fleas, casting soulful hound eyes at any who passed, as if asking, “Are you the one who will rescue me?

Hear my humble cry...

When I saw the cutoff rope, I knew that someone had finally said yes.

In Mark’s Gospel today, Jesus is once again in trouble with religious experts. This time it is about his disciples eating with unwashed—defiled—hands, a violation of tradition.

Jesus offers a swift comeback. Dirty hands don’t corrupt. Evil, harm, violation, damage, destruction--these all come from within, from the heart, Jesus says.

Each time I encounter the truth-telling Jesus offering a different view of the rules, the laws, I am reminded of the three-legged stool of which we Episcopalians are so fond: scripture, tradition, reason. It’s among the things that distinguish us from some Christian brothers and sisters who, like their Pharisee counterparts, cling to a literal reading of scripture.

In our reading of scripture, multiple translations notwithstanding, we choose--in our effort to live into the Good News--- to observe the commandments of love. It may be worth noting that the commandments clearly admonish one not to steal.

One of my aunts suffered damage at birth that left her developmentally challenged. She had some schooling, could hold a decent conversation, loved to dress up pretty. Still, it was clear to any who met her that she was beset with problems. Her schooling ended when the bullying got to be too much. Her parents kept her at home, except for church.

Ultimately they moved from their Texas home to California, and I got to know her pretty well for a few years starting when I was eleven.

One day, while just killing time, I asked: “So, Aunt Betty, what is your favorite hymn?” The answer was quick from her lips: “Pass Me Not.”

I didn’t know the song then, but when I learned it I understood why it might be the favorite of someone who was overlooked, tormented, left behind: Do not pass me by.

Oh, and the dog? He shared the next twelve years of his life with a family, two beagles, and a cat. He was well nourished, clean, bug-free, slept with his human family, and was, most of all, loved.

Mtr Mary

* "Pass Me Not," Number 139, Lift Every Voice and Sing, an approved supplement to The Hymnal 1982.