Mtr Mary Trainor

Dear friend,

“Then you have to do it afraid.”

These words or some very near to them circulate periodically on social media. It’s a response to someone who, when confronting some basic fear, says, “I can’t. I’m afraid.” What would a response to this look like? “Then you have to do it afraid.”

It caught me off guard the first time I encountered the phrase, yet in it I found something liberating: Fear need not stop me from proceeding, nor is it permission to not go forward. I, too, could do it.

The Daily Office Gospel today brings this phrase to mind. Jesus’ disciples--without Jesus--row a few miles from shore on their way to Capernaum. There are rough seas with strong winds. They see Jesus walking across the water toward them. And they are terrified.

Do they not recognize him? Even if they do, he isn’t to be striding across the sea, is he? When I see something familiar, yet in a different or unfamiliar context, it can frighten. Maybe this happens to you, too.

***

I was sixteen when my Grandmother Trainor died. She was my champion, my biggest fan. She called me her Little Red Rose. Her death was my first big loss, and I grieved deeply for her.

My family came from a tradition of funeral home services and caskets open for a viewing. So that is what confronted me at the mortuary. We all approached the casket to see Grandma up close. I was shocked. Grandma did not look at all like herself.

Her face was severely distorted. The funeral home did its best. What I saw was not at all like her loving visage, and it was deeply disturbing. And I was terrified. For weeks and weeks. I saw someone I had known and loved, but in a new and frightening way.

***

The funeral was the next day, and I did not want to go. But my mother made me go. She knew I would one day regret not saying goodbye to this most important person in my life. The woman who gave me my first frizzy permanent as a child (who knew I was too young?) Who sewed all my dresses for first grade. Who made me a special quilt. Who always had my back in any dispute, even against my parents (I am sure they were thrilled.) Who taught me how to make Parker House rolls and pie dough. This woman was now gone.

So, reluctantly, at my mother’s insistence, I went to the funeral. Afraid. And, to be honest, I remained afraid for a very long time. But from where I stand now, I see the opportunity to say goodbye to Grandma was a gift. Even though--like the disciples seeing Jesus walking on water--I had to do it afraid.

Mtr Mary