By Todd Donatelli
The patch is about one inch by two inches. It covers the burn mark. I touch it at least once a week.
In an episode of The West Wing President Bartlet is standing in the nave of Washington National Cathedral having a vigorous argument with God. He has cleared the space in order to be alone and is smoking a cigarette while making his complaint to the Holy One. His long time, dutiful secretary has been killed by a drunk driver and he is in deep anger. As well he is wrestling with whether or not to run for a second term. He wants to run but is torn by a promise made to his wife not to. He is also torn by other political realities about which he is not pleased. As he is making his final pronouncement, he drops his cigarette on the Cathedral floor and rubs it out with his shoe.
I remember being engrossed by the scene. I greatly appreciated the honesty and integrity of this prayer clash with God. Too often these types of scenes are predictable and simplistic with some character wondering if God is present because of something they don’t like in their life. For President Bartlet there is no wondering if God exists, he is only too convinced of that. He is simply less than enamored with the way God’s world seems to function. He is only too ready to tell God what he sees as the shortcomings of this universe and God’s incompetence. It is honest. It is the kind of conversation I think a mature faith finds itself having on occasion.
It was only later on a trip to the National Cathedral that I learned the scene was not done is some studio but in the actual nave. As well the cigarette snubbing was not computer generated but done on the actual floor of the Cathedral. The show’s producers had not told the Cathedral of their plans to grind the cigarette on their floor. Suffice to say the Cathedral was less than enamored with the action. As I listened to the Cathedral folks speak of the scene, as I heard their anger about what they experienced as a defacing of the Cathedral, I thought to myself, au contraire, what a great opportunity to show that faith is not simply all sweetness and light. I felt the scene a great moment of evangelism; a scene exploring the hard side of faith, the moments when we run into the frailty and limitations of our world and our rage about it. I felt it actually made faith more compelling and less trivial. I remember thinking, these poor folks, they don’t get the grittiness, the earthiness of faith. Faith is not simply pristine and polished, it is dark and messy at times. Where better for folks to express themselves honestly to God than in our sanctuaries.
A few months later I was in my office at All Souls Cathedral. A call came to me from the reception desk. “The docent has just come to the office as there is a gentleman in the church shouting out loud and knocking things over.” I entered the Nave to find the gentleman had already left. I found booklets and some prayer books tossed about. As I walked up to the altar I found the cigarette butt. It had been mashed into the top of the altar burning a hole through the linen into the wood. The burn is right in the center on the side of the altar where the presider stands. For some moments I was the proverbial liberal who had been mugged. I was angry with what I was seeing. I was angry about this random act of vandalism.
About thirty seconds into my rage, I recalled my judgment of the folks at the National Cathedral. I began to laugh at myself. So, what’s it like to have someone come into your space and express themselves like this? I had to step back and listen to my earlier thoughts. Why had this gentleman chosen to come into the space and act this way? Was it simply that we were open? Was there something in him that needed to be in this space acting this way? Was God not big enough to take what this gentleman had to offer? Is God not big enough to take what we have to offer?
After gathering myself I wondered about the reaction of our altar guild members. The cloth cover over the fair linen was not an issue, but the fair linen under the cover is of some value. Their response was better than mine. “We’ll simply sow a patch on there. It will remind us of the gentleman. He is now a part of us.”
Each Sunday and at liturgies through the week we gather around this altar present with the patch. When I am presiding it is clearly visible speaking in concert with the words of the Eucharistic Prayer. I often find myself touching the patch. It has become a channel to mystery. It reminds me of the way we are all burned, torn apart, patched, and sown back together by God. It reminds me the point of relationship is not perfection or pristine appearance but the real experience of being fractured and restored. It reminds me that all my moments, the ones I would like displayed and the ones I would like hidden, are known and embraced by God, all our moments are Eucharistic: the broken becomes the food.
I don’t recommend handing out cigarettes in churches as a means of experiencing honesty in prayer. Yet the patch keeps me honest. It is a doorway.
The Very Rev. Todd Donatelli is dean of the Cathedral of All Souls in Asheville, N. C.