Good bye Mr. van Laer

A Reflection on the Occasion of a Memorial Service for Nick van Laer                 June 9, 2014

All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Southern Shores, N.C.                      Thomas E. Wilson, Rector

Romans 8:14-19, 34-35, 37-39       Psalm 139:1-11       John 6: 35-40

Nick van Laer                              Nov. 13, 1928 - June 6, 2014

One of the difficulties of being in a church for a period of time is that you start to care about people. When I was a therapist or a counselor, it was easier because I had to keep a professional distance. I would see people in my office after having made an appointment, and it was only for a set period of time and on a particular agenda item. We might set up another visit for another set period of time, then they would leave. After they left, I would write up my notes and reflect on Counter-Transference, which is inappropriate feelings and emotions about the client. If I were to see them on the street at a later time, I would not make the first move because that might betray that I had a professional relationship with them. Outside the office we would never talk about the problem that brought them to see me, and inside the office, if we talked about things outside the problem, then this was seen as resistance to dealing with the problem. I remember once when a young boy client who was coming in to see me talked about pitching at his Little League team's next game, and I impulsively showed up to cheer him on. His pitching that night was horrible because I had stepped outside of my therapeutic role and, by so doing, fulfilled his transference fantasy of my being a replacement for his absent father. His symptoms returned and my Psychiatric Consultant gave me “what for” about my crossing the lines.

In seminary we were told to keep a professional distance with parishioners, lest I be accused of encouraging a clique of personality or other kinds of inappropriate relationships. We were told that a good Priest would be able to leave and people might miss him or her for a little bit, but then they would say, “Well enough of that; who is going to be the replacement?” William Blackstone in his Commentaries on English Law wrote: “He is called parson, persona, because by his person the church, which is an invisible body, is represented; and he is in himself a body corporate, in order to protect and defend the rights of the church (which he personates) by a perpetual succession.”

Nick and Helen were one of the couples in this church who were determined not to treat me as a “personator” of the church. They believed that there was a full person behind the role and, over the years, I ate a lot of his food (and he mine), drank a lot of his liquor (and he mine), swam in his pool to get away from the summer heat, laughed with him at his jokes, talked with him about our shared interest in history, resonated with his gripes, didn't try to bully him away from his doubts, avoided church politics as unproductive, listened as he shared his frustrations and sadnesses, mourned at his losses, and marveled at how much he loved Helen. Nick was not a client; yes, he was a parishioner but, more importantly, he was a friend.

You see, Nick had no truck with roles; he wanted to know what was behind mere personas. What you saw in Nick was what there was; and, God help us, he approached God in the same way. He wasn't all that sure about an afterlife, but he was bound and determined that this life was important. Faith in God was not about “getting into heaven” after he shuffled off this mortal coil, but faith in God meant that God was walking with us each day. For him, when Jesus in today's Gospel lesson said that he was “the bread of life”, Nick interpreted it to mean that the Spirit of Christ was the Spiritual nourishment to make it through each day. Nick liked to share that bread when he would talk with newcomers, and especially when he fed the homeless and helped host them in this church.

Nick knew he was an adopted child of God as Paul urges us to see ourselves in today's lesson from Romans. Nick knew something about adoption. He was adopted by this country when he became a naturalized citizen and was not content to be a mere “summer soldier or sunshine patriot” but served his country with dedication and love. The vanLaer house is a place of adoption of stray cats and racoons, creatures that showed up and found feeding and caring and love, like some Priests I know. Ted Bishop, for instance, stayed in their house when he was interviewing as an interim at St. Andrew’s decades ago, long before All Saints’ was even considered. Nick's sense of duty carried over to his church attendance. He was always loyal to the churches to which they belonged in their travels throughout the world, but I think he saved his passion for All Saints’ when he and a group of parishioners at St. Andrew’s came up north and started to have Episcopal services at Duck Methodist during the summer months. He generously threw his energy, his time, his talents, his treasure into this church. He was one of the people who created a sense of wonder about what we were doing here long before I showed up and how he wanted other people to join him in his love for this place.

One of the things the founders of this church did was to have two long banners proclaiming “Alleluia” in the Easter Season which they hung up behind the Altar Table, and people were invited to write their names on these white banners as an outward and visible sign of their invisible and spiritual New Life in the new church. It was Pentecost yesterday so the red Pentecost season banners were hung as the white banners were taken down, and new people were invited to sign their names. As we were taking them down, we reflected on all the names of people that we saw who were no longer living, and we remembered their names and realized that, while their bodies were not here, their spirits were with us every time we gathered together. They were on the other side of the table as we all had communion together as the Priest would say the lines inviting the congregation to sing the praises of God in the Sanctus, the “Holy, Holy, Holy”, “and now with Angels and Archangels and all the company of heaven . . .”

As we were taking down those Alleluia banners, it hit me that Nick indeed was now on the other side of the communion table with a lot of his other friends. Nick has had real problems getting to church for the last several years as his body was letting him down. Yet, while his body was letting him down, that stubborn old Dutchman's heart kept beating so strongly - until finally it stopped and gave him rest. On the anniversary of D-Day, Nick crossed the other channel to land in a deeper and safer harbor to join all the others who have gone before.

Many of you know my addiction to old movies, but high on the list of my favorites is the 1939 version of “Goodbye Mr. Chips” with Robert Donat and Greer Garson. In that movie, there are series of montages as the young boys file by the instructor Mr. Chipping as they check in for the new school semesters over the years. Nick, while his spirit will continue to be an integral part of the fabric of this religious institution, his body will not be here to check the new people and new priests into this fellowship of seekers of a deeper truth and be part of the informal orientation team. Nick has graduated from this school and enrolled in something much higher. Nick was never sure he believed in something further, but we think he was pleasantly surprised as he checked in to a joyous “Hello Nick”, and we on this side say, “We will see you again when our school term ends. Good bye Mr. Van Laer.”