Beyond Helping, You Inspired

It is a beautiful Saturday morning and I have just returned from the memorial service for a dear and amazing friend, Ed Dahlstrom. Sacred Heart Catholic Church was filled with people from every lifestyle and economic situation.

As Catharine and I sat there, singing the entrance song, the priests and acolytes made their way down the aisle carrying the communion bread and wine, a familiar sight. But then a man walked in carrying a cooking pot at least three feet in diameter, large enough to make soup for 100. Then a woman came in with a large ladle and gently placed it in the pot. She was followed by a young man who looked like he might have been on the street for some time. He placed two loaves of bread beside the pot. Others brought a soup bowl, a saucer, a spoon, a napkin. This unfolding scene brought tears to my eyes and a catch to my throat. We were seeing the concrete symbols of Ed’s life being reverently placed in front of the altar by representatives of the thousands whose lives he had graced. As a recovering alcoholic, clean for years, Ed had a courageous love and gentle strength that allowed hundreds of men and women to reclaim their lives. We met Ed when he was helping to launch The Interfaith Hospitality Network, which brought churches together to care for people who needed a place to call home while they got it together to move forward again.

Anyone who witnessed Saturday’s procession would instantly grasp who Ed was and what his life had meant.

Through the tears I found myself realizing that a transformational drama was being enacted. Then a thought came: What people and what symbols would be present at your memorial service, John?

That question lingered around the edges of my heart. I will need more time to see the answers clearly. But already, Ed’s service has caused me to reflect deeply on what game I have been playing. My faith in God and commitment to be of divine service is ironically largely absent from my consciousness as I go about my consulting work of transforming lives and organizations. It’s as if what is most dear to me has been relegated to the background, too tender or too precious to risk thinking about.

Ed never would have done that. His faith was what propelled him, not his income or signs of status or even his perceived impact on other people.

So thank you, Ed Dahlstrom, for living as you did and now for dying as you did. Your way of walking your talk is inspiring at least this colleague on the journey to re-examine his life and follow your example of simple service wherever it leads.