A Lovely Story about Lovely People

 Do you like stories about solid, beautiful friendships? That is what this blog is about? Are you pleased when wonderful things happen to wonderful friends? It is of that which I write now, in a quiet moment, when spring has finally introduced itself to us here in Minnesota. The trees are threatening to bud and the snow has receded and disappeared everywhere except in the densest parts of the forest. My mind is on Paris, and Claire and Louis. I read the note again and again, and throw my head back each time and laugh at the wonder of it.

by Charlie Leck

I wrote years and years ago about my infrequent friend, Louis Aumont, a Parisian who I met over 35 years ago. I don’t see Louis and his beautiful wife, Claire, very often because the distance between Paris and here is quite an obstacle to such visits. I think of them frequently, however, and always wonder about their state of health and happiness. We exchange occasional letters that remind us of the warmth of our friendship.

We did not realize, then, that we were young and probably in the best years of our lives. We could not have imagined now then. I was living for a time in Paris and had gotten to know them and spent such fulfilling time in their home and in their company. Now we have become solid seniors and we look into the narrowing and shorter futures we have.

Here’s a little of what I wrote about Louis way back then (in one of my Christmas Books, called My Town)…

“I love Paris, but not the Paris that most travelers know. I like the little streets in Cité Trévise, near Gare du Nord, where tenacious, persistent men of labor dwell. And I like the little garret on Boulevard Voltaire where my friend, Claire, lives. I return to Paris again and again so I can argue with Jean Marie, who lives on rue Lecourbe, about this and that. Le Musée d’Orsay. I love it. He does not. The new pyramid entrance at Le Musée du Louvre. It descends a few stories down to a magnificent wonderland of marble and stone, mixing modernity and the ancient, original walls of the outer city. Breathtaking! Jean Marie shows disdain for it. His lips flutter and sputter and pulse like a motor boat as he dismisses the gigantic achievement.

 “One must climb,” he says. “A grand entrance is always above. You enter and go up to be astonished, as the old entrance did. To go down is not right. You must believe me!” Jean Marie knows. He is certain. He speaks from his soul – from deeper than his soul. He pours me more wine and laughs at me.

“You are a real American!” He says it affectionately. It is not criticism. “So you can not understand!” 

This is the Paris I love. I could sit quietly near Saint Sevérin for hours with big Louis. He speaks no English and I can say nothing in French. Yet, he laughs with me and slaps my back and breaks off another hunk of fromage for me. He lifts his glass of wine and points to a big piece of sky. He winks long and hard. I nod, to explain that I have that same chunk of sky at home, in my town, down at the end of my dusty farm road. And, that cloud! I point it out. I have seen that very cloud form over my farm before.

“Oui, he says, “j’ai compris.” He laughs and, with an open hand, slaps my leg firmly, just above my knee.

But now news come from Paris that Louis, my non-religious doubter friend who believes more in the moment than in idle promises of eternity – my friend, Louis, who I called le communiste – he has gone to England and met Archbishop Justin Welby and had front row seats for the installation of this prelate to the position of head of the Church of England.

The letter from Paris said it well…

“Can you see Louis, the socialist, non-believer and the most generous man in the east of Paris in the Cathedral with all the behatted ladies and friends of the new Archbishop?.

I read the account and threw my head back in laughter.

It turns out that his wife, Claire, the beautiful, soft, angel of life, once, as an au pair, more than fifty years ago, cared for the child now become a man and the central figure in England’s official church. As a teenager, she had gone to England to learn English and, for one year, took care of “the darling 5 year old named Justin Welby.”

Claire was reading a magazine and came upon the account of the man now to be ordained as protestant Archbishop. The name rang bells and sent alarms off in her head.

“It cannot be,” she thought, “but it appears to be – as certainly as I sit here.”

She wrote to the magazine and asked them to forward a letter to his Holiness, Father Welby. She was totally surprised by the letters she got in reply. Of course he remembered! How could he forget the greatest au pair of all time? In another letter he invited Claire and her husband to his investiture.

Indeed, Louis and Claire attended and they had front row seast and they were greeted by His Holiness during the very ceremony.

Oh, my! Some stories are just thrilling and bring tears to my eyes. Two of the most real people on earth – so kind, gentle, loving and sharing – right there at Westminster, sharing in Justin Welby’s ultimate moment. It’s no fairy tale  It’s downright true! I’d give anything to have seen Louis’ face during the ceremony – during the standing up and sitting down and recitation of prayers and sacred singing!

Louis and Claire… such kindness and love they shared with me. They are among the great saints of my life.

No one understands un bon moment better than Louis! No one has such love as Claire!

What a remarkable story! Remarkable!

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Seeing the World Pregnant with God

Wealth is the sum of one’s loving relationships with people!
by Charlie Leck

Sometimes when I begin writing a blog, I do so with one or another of my regular readers in mind. I don’t know why! It just sometimes happens. As I typed out today’s thoughts, a local councilwomen, who flatters me by being such a faithful reader, was firmly in my thoughts. I’m about to introduce you to someone with whom I think the Councilwoman would be very comfortable.

I was motivated by one of my favorite bloggers (David Williams at Van Peeples Land) to learn more about Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury. David led me to one of the Archbishop’s sermons. I was fascinated by it. The remarkable blogger also provided a lovely poem by the Archbishop.

He will come like last leaf’s fall
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to bone
and earth wakes choking on the mould
the soft shroud’s folding

The good Archbishop is following the Wall Street Occupiers attentively. A New York Times article by Paul Vitello explains that the clergyman thinks there is confusion about wealth – some think “money is equated with wealth.”

A terrible misunderstanding.
Money is not wealth, Williams tells us. Wealth, Rowan Williams insists, “is the sum of one’s loving relationships with people.”

I like that! I don’t think it will make sense to greedy people – the people, the Archbishop says “see the world in terms of themselves.” They won’t understand it even if they get hit over the head with it, but I think it touches truth very deeply and sensitively.

I’m terribly interested in Rowan Williams. I have a grandson named Rowan. “Odd name,” I thought when my daughter informed me what we would call my first grandson. A pretty name, but odd!

Then I began reading about this brilliant theologian and pastor with the same name as my grandson – Rowan. I began to devour information about the Archbishop. I read one of his sermons – and then another.

The New York Times article says that Susan Lee, an economist, doesn’t think that theologians get it. She says this in reaction to some of Rowan’s comments:

“They assume that there can be profit without private property, work without incentive, enterprise without income inequality.”

Oh, balderdash! The Archbishop gets it all right. He just knows there are several different ways to see the world (see sermon explained below).

Archbishop Rowan Williams is ten years younger than I. He’s from Wales. He studied at Christ’s College in Cambridge and received a doctorate in philosophy from Oxford (Wadham College). He’s taught theology for many, many years. He is fluent in reading-and-or speaking 11 languages. He’s more a teacher than a pastor (though there are plenty of people who would disagree with me on that).

The Archbishop of Canterbury gives off the impression that he is very liberal. Indeed and in fact, he is not. When he talks about the resurrection and the empty tomb, he is not speaking allegorically or mythologically – he means it literally! It’s obviously where he and I part.

I will keep my eye on this fellow named Rowan and read a bit more about him and listen to a few more of his sermons. If you’d like to listen to one of his Advent sermons, you can do so here.

“The diabolical way of seeing things is to see the world in terms of you!”

“…Yet, again and again we insist on seeing it (the world) in terms of ourselves.”

“…Our human way of seeing and knowing things has to be more and more peeled away from that temptation to the diabolical – more and more aligned with the angelic way of seeing things… look at the world and see it pregnant with God… that this is something you will never contain or control… all you can do is open your eyes, draw in your breath and receive what is to be received and step forward.”

“…And at the end of that four week journey (Advent), what happens? We’re faced with the greatest, most shocking paradox of all. The power, the love and the energy that made and sustains the universe – speechless, helpless, cold, homeless, a baby!

The man has a marvelous voice and a magical way of delivering his words. He’s very easy to listen to, in other words.

And, anyone named Rowan must be a pretty neat guy. Right, Grandson?

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We are Made to be Artists

"We are made to make a difference..."
by Charlie Leck

I have unabashedly stolen this from another blogger – David Williamson at Van Peebles Land. My apologies to him!

The Anglican Church's answer to Gandalf was in Cardiff at the weekend to give a talk on the global economy. When asked what life was "for" he referenced the Westminster Confession but continued:

“I would say we are made to be artists...
We are made to make a difference to our environment - not to be just passive, but to make something communicable, beautiful, compelling about where we are and who we are. Second, we are made to be politicians. I don’t mean we are all designed by God to stand for parliament... We’re made to work creatively at our society, to make it reflect more fully that pattern of interdependence, interrelation, which God willed for us. And thirdly, we are made to be what I call contemplatives. We are made, that is, to be capable of reflecting, digesting, absorbing the richness of reality, without immediately asking ‘What use is it?’ I think these three things suggest a fairly robust, I would say rather joyful, picture of what humanity might be. For me, they are anchored absolutely in my religious commitments, but I don’t think they are wholly alien to people who wouldn’t necessarily share them.”

One of my favourite writers on religion, Paul Elie, has an excellent essay on Williams in the Atlantic. And as for his views on the world economy, click here...

Thanks, David. I keep very close track on your blog and continue to find it most stimulating.