TAKING OFF OUR SHOES TO REMEMBER ROGER
by Carl Mazza

When the Lord saw that Moses had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, "Moses! Moses!" And Moses said,"Here I am.""Do not come any closer," God said. "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground."  Exodus 3:4-5

Recently I had a conversation with my friend Abby Miller-Sowers. We were catching up after having not talked for a while, and we discussed a bit of everything from the work she did recently on the ten-year study of homelessness in Delaware to catching up on the news of persons we both knew. Then Abby mentioned Roger.

Roger, a homeless man who died last year, had been our friend for many years. A handsome man in his 60s, he easily made an impression everywhere he went, although remained to the end a quiet, unassuming man. In our conversation, we remembered one particular thing. Roger always worked hard, picking up part-time jobs on farms. He was in demand because he was a hard worker, and a very honest one. He worked almost until the time of his death, when he succumbed to cancer. On his last job he had been cheated out of his wages.

His employer, sensing he could get away with it without reprisal, just kept "forgetting" to give Roger his check. To our knowledge, although Roger stopped talking about it, he died without ever being paid. I have both anger and sorrow for the employer who could treat a fellow human being, a vulnerable homeless man, with such cruel disregard. But Roger's memory is all the more noble for such incidents as these -- if only because we recall in them how exposed, loving, kind, and gentle was his deeply human heart.

We from Meeting Ground helped to conduct Roger's funeral -- along with many relatives and friends who had known him over the years. To our surprise, some spoke of Roger with sadness -- regretting that he had not achieved more in life, as with career, possessions and a substantial home. His youth had held much promise. He was a major league baseball player with the old San Francisco Giants. Something, perhaps many things, had occurred over time to interrupt that steady path toward worldly success, and Roger died much like Mahatma Ghandi -- with only the few meager possessions actually on his person as his legacy.

Those of us from Meeting Ground were surprised because we have always considered Roger a success, and not a failure by any means. His greatest achievement was the place which he gave to each of us in his heart and life. This opening, the ground he created for friendship, the loving relationships he seemed effortlessly to inspire -- were all for us sacred space.

It was true, Roger did not leave behind a wealth of possessions or any other stately monument of career achievement, at least in the usual way we talk about such things. But, in fact, Roger left us a mighty legacy. He bequeathed a treasure of unparalleled value. When you came into a room, he would smile.

Roger would listen when you spoke; he really remembered what you said, and always we felt the keen attention of his hearing. When Roger worked he gave 110 percent. He held many private views deep in his heart, but when he spoke, you knew truly he was giving the gift of himself. Roger's friendship was so very genuine. And if he ever borrowed anything, or owed any money, his word was solid. He always returned more than he was loaned -- perhaps the highest of the great virtues.

The space we allow for others, the relationships of significance in our lives, is most sacred. What becomes holy ground is that expanse, the wideness within us which is open for permission of others to enter. It is the source and ground of all being, and ultimately it becomes the foundation of all love. Relationships build commitments.

The act of removing our shoes is an ancient, honored custom of acknowledging the presence of the sacred. Perhaps it is an outward recognition of the inner response to being connected to another. And more than just another person or entity, it is indeed recognition of a relationship with that which is the ground of all being. True friendship has that flavor. It calls us to consider that which is common to all persons, the vast mystery of our oneness as human beings. As we recognize the removal of all barriers to this sacred connection, we remove our soul's sandals, along with, for a moment, the pain of our isolation to stand, however briefly, on raw ground.

Even so, as Abby and I finished our conversation, we were warm to the recollection of a homeless man, with little to call his own, who left us standing barefoot on a winter's afternoon. But it was like springtime as we remembered.