Remembering Jim Sell

 

James W.H. Sell was one of the first people to recognize my call to ordained ministry.  He was the rector of Christ & St. Luke's, the church I attended in Norfolk. starting in 1994, a year after moving to Virginia.  At the time I was a "stealth parishioner," slipping in for the 10:15 service and ducking out after Communion to get to my job as a stage manager at Virginia Stage Company.  I participated in some Under the Hill young adult gatherings and a few Christian formation events when I could, but other than that, I didn't have much time for church activities.

I loved going to Christ & St. Lukes - when I discovered it, I fell in love because it looked so much like the chapel at my alma mater, Sewanee.  And the music program!  Architecture and music may not be the best reasons to go to church, but they topped my list.  Once I started attending, I realized the third blessing - the clergy, Jim and Win.  They both gave excellent sermons that spoke to me, and I could feel their warmth and kindness even in my position as stealth parishioner.  At the back door, Jim would greet me with, "How's the play?" and I would tell him that I enjoyed his sermon.  Other than one phone call in which I told him I was too busy to participate in many church activities, we didn't have much one on one interaction.

In the year 2000, I went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land and the Passion Play with my church.  That began my wondering about a possible call to be a priest.  One morning about 7 months after the trip, Jim came up to me as I was walking down the aisle and asked me if I would be part of a "Nudgee" group of women that he was putting together to explore the possibility of seminary.  Speechless that he had read my mind, I simply looked at him.  He told me to call him later that week, and I did.  Thus began my journey to becoming a priest.  It took awhile, and Jim and I got to know each other much better.  He was my priest, not just my mentor.  He was there for me in some really low times.  He read some of my short stories and said I had to get published.  He was always on my side.  He invited me to be part of the pastoral care team, the only thing that happened weekly on Mondays, my day off from the theatre.  I learned so much being part of that team.  

Jim was a presenter at my diaconal ordination.  I hadn't seen him since before Covid, at Bishop Susan's consecration.  We took a selfie that day, and I enjoyed one of his characteristic bear hugs, a chat, and plenty of laughter.  Little did I know that a month later I would get sick with Covid.  I haven't seen Jim since then.   

Yesterday I learned that Jim died in his sleep over night on Friday.  The tears keep welling up in my eyes as I think about all that he meant to me and to all of us who attended CSL during his years as rector there.  I am so grateful I was there then.  I am so grateful for his ministry, his humor and optimism, his big ole heart, his encouragement, and his sermons.  Most of all, I will always be grateful that he saw a call in this shy little theatre person who lurked at the edges of his congregation, and that he invited me to explore that call.  My life has never been the same.  

Rest in peace, Jim.  May your heart and soul now ring out in joy to the One you served so well, the living God, and the God of those who live. You made a difference.  Servant, well done.

View from the DSU Prayer Station - Into the Woods

I prayed for a student with cancer today.

I cannot imagine.  As always when I pray for people with big, scary stuff, the words seemed so inadequate.  I have to trust that God speaks through them because the words seem so small, such tiny points of light to hold in a very dark space.  Like trying to light the way through the woods with a laser pointer on a night with no moon.  Healing does not always mean cure, and God's outcome is not always the one for which we've hoped.  Please, God, speak hope through the words that are too small to carry such a huge burden.

When I was a junior in college, my mother got cancer the first time.  My brother and I found out at Christmas break that she was going for an appointment to learn what it was.  I remember the day I got the call saying that it was indeed cancer.  I think it was a Sunday.  I don't even know how I got there, but I was wandering around in the street outside the old dining hall at Sewanee and I bumped into my friend Giles.  I think I told him.  He invited me in to the Banana-mobile, his big yellow station wagon that often let us know where he was on campus, and he played music for me.  Might have been Enya.  I remember being numb.  I didn't know what to do.  I didn't want to be alone that semester.  But I didn't want to talk.  I remember that I didn't tell my dear sorority sisters at first.  It seemed like I might crack under their love and concern.  I kept trying to hold it together.  I didn't know how to feel.  Though my head knew it was so, my heart had not considered that my parents were mortal. 

I wished.  And wished.  And hoped.  And prayed.  That my mother would live.

And she did.

I remember going to the rooms of friends and just sitting so that I could be close to them.  It was hard to focus on anything, and it was a very challenging semester of work.  I went home one weekend after my mother had her surgery, and all I can remember is how irritable I was.  I don't think I was very helpful at all.  I wanted my mother to be my mother.  I didn't want to take care of her.  I wanted her to take care of me. 

Today I was inside again for the prayer station, under the Into the Woods sign.  I went to see the movie last Friday.  "Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the woods..."  I am grieving for the people who leave us.  My mother battled cancer a second time, and she came out again safe on the other side.  I continue to be grateful for the extra time with her. 

It was very hard for me to cope with my mother's cancer when I was 20.  I cannot imagine what it would be like to HAVE cancer while in college.  I pray that God will lead the student I prayed for through her time in the woods and give her the comfort and strength and courage and support and healing she needs.  I wish...

We are not alone, but sometimes it feels like it.  I wish for this student that she would not feel alone, that she would feel God with her and that all who are struggling right now may feel the peace of God's presence.  There were two prayer requests today, two very big prayer requests, one at the prayer station and one from someone who saw our sign outside the chapel and came in for Eucharist.  "This is how you can pray for me," she said.  Please pray for them.

Prayer Station goes Into the Woods

View of the Student Union from the Prayer Station