I was amazed to see how concerned people were about me when
I told them about my illness.
Everyone seems to want to help. Some have offered food, or
rides to and from my treatment sessions. (I will probably take some of them up
on these.)
But I didn’t expect to be on anyone’s prayer list.
I am informed that I am on the prayer list of a Episcopal
church in a town in eastern Rhode Island. Also, a Jewish acquaintance told
Partner that she was praying for me. Also, a number of Catholic friends are
praying for me, as is one Orthodox friend.
And I confess (weak superstitious thing that I am) that I recently
dug out my old
Catholic St. Peregrine medal and attached it to my keychain. (Peregrine is the
patron of cancer sufferers.)
I only hope that all of these prayers and intercessions and
magic spells are arriving at the correct destination, and not getting crossed
up by the celestial telephone operators.
“She was buried as a
Jewess since she was buried in my father’s house, and notices were put in the
Jewish Press. Simultaneously my great-aunts announced in the Watford papers
that she fell asleep in Jesus.”
I don’t want to fall asleep in Jesus, or Abraham’s bosom, or
anything else. I don’t want to go anywhere,
for that matter. I’m happy right where I am.
I feel much as did Muriel Spark’s father:
“My father, when
questioned as to what he believes, will say ‘I believe in the Blessed Almighty
who made heaven and earth,’ and will say no more, returning to his racing papers
which contain problems proper to innocent men.”
I am probably less of an innocent man than Muriel Spark’s
father was. But he had the right idea.
Let us occupy ourselves with matters proper to our station.
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