Theodore's light
I was surprised to hear that he was 85. Then again, even if he had been sixty when we met, and I was sure he wasn't a day younger than that, with his snow-white hair and mustache, he still would have been very close to 80 when he died. As children, though, it's very hard to judge people's ages, and so one tends to make rough groupings - kids, big kids, adults, old people, and really old people. To me, even in my earliest memories, my great-grandmother was already a very old person because she had passed the realm of being a "brown-haired grandma" to being a "white-haired grandma". As we grow older, though, we see what age does to a person's body, and by these indications, we have a much better idea of what age a person is. As we grow older, too, at some point, thirty isn't the end of the world, and forty is hardly "over-the-hill".
That being said, as one gets older and experience makes it easier to guess a person's age, there are fewer people whose age would surprise me. The thing is, despite the white hair, Theodore had an air about him that made him seem much more youthful - a sparkle in his eye, a spring to his step, a joy that was always apparent and unquenchable. In some ways, he reminded me of Dick van Dyke. He was tall and trim, with posture that neither carelessness or age could bend. I'm quite oblivious to what people wear, but he seems the type of person for whom the button vests of yesteryear were designed for. Maybe I think this because he wore them, but I don't know if he did or not.
I met Theodore at church. Specifically, I met him at Holy Trinity. He belongs to the cast of characters that was my introduction to real people who were Orthodox Christians. A convert himself, he was always very kind to newcomers; he would find a way to say "hello", and if a person didn't seem too scared, he'd strike up a conversation. With me, there was the similarity in Protestant background and interest in Germany in common. He remembered people, and his eyes would always light up to see a friend. And he was good at making people his friends.
In another life, he had been a pastor - probably of a Lutheran church - and he loved music, especially organ music, and he was himself an accomplished organist. In a church dominated by people of Slavic background, discussing with him little bits of the Protestantism we left behind felt almost like a guilty pleasure, a secret just between the two of us. He loved being an Orthodox Christian, but he did love his organ music, and left himself on the rotation of "fill-in" organists at one of the Lutheran Churches near his house. And so, occasionally, he would miss Liturgy on Sunday because he had been asked to fill in at the Lutheran Church, and he was happy to serve there in that capacity every once in awhile. Again, because this was Theodore, if he would mention this, it would be very quietly, as though he were a kid who was admitting to playing hooky from school and wasn't exactly feeling bad about doing it.
Over the years, as I passed in and out and through Holy Trinity, we spoke many times, though I can't remember much in particular about the conversations. I certainly don't know a whole lot about his life, though it seems he never married or had children. It always seemed as if he were managing well enough, though I don't know how much he would have let on to me if things weren't good. However, the joy he had always seemed real, even on the not-so-great days.
Louis Sullivan designed Holy Trinity with amazing "modern" stained-glass windows, which don't depict Biblical stories, but rather geometrical designs which turn the light shining into the Cathedral into gold. In the days since I first wandered into Holy Trinity, many of that cast of characters who were there then are there no longer; many have moved on, and others are no longer with us in this life. However, as little as I am over at Holy Trinity these days, I can hardly imagine the place without him, because his joy was like the light coming through Sullivan's windows, and the physical light and the spiritual light do get stored away in the same part of my memories of the place. Without Theodore there, it seems impossible that the Cathedral can be nearly as full of light.
I certainly realize that we all do get called from this world sooner or later. 85 is pretty good, all things considered. I feel sorry I couldn't make it to his funeral, which happened to be during a terrible cold snap earlier this year. Still... Death is not the end now, is it? Sure, I will be sad that Theodore's light is no longer with us here, we should also remember that God is often described as the "True Light", and we have hope that we all, in the world to come, shall be joined in that Light there.
Memory Eternal!
https://usobit.com/2019/01/wyman-theodore-kurtz-may-8-1933-january-29-2019/
That being said, as one gets older and experience makes it easier to guess a person's age, there are fewer people whose age would surprise me. The thing is, despite the white hair, Theodore had an air about him that made him seem much more youthful - a sparkle in his eye, a spring to his step, a joy that was always apparent and unquenchable. In some ways, he reminded me of Dick van Dyke. He was tall and trim, with posture that neither carelessness or age could bend. I'm quite oblivious to what people wear, but he seems the type of person for whom the button vests of yesteryear were designed for. Maybe I think this because he wore them, but I don't know if he did or not.
I met Theodore at church. Specifically, I met him at Holy Trinity. He belongs to the cast of characters that was my introduction to real people who were Orthodox Christians. A convert himself, he was always very kind to newcomers; he would find a way to say "hello", and if a person didn't seem too scared, he'd strike up a conversation. With me, there was the similarity in Protestant background and interest in Germany in common. He remembered people, and his eyes would always light up to see a friend. And he was good at making people his friends.
In another life, he had been a pastor - probably of a Lutheran church - and he loved music, especially organ music, and he was himself an accomplished organist. In a church dominated by people of Slavic background, discussing with him little bits of the Protestantism we left behind felt almost like a guilty pleasure, a secret just between the two of us. He loved being an Orthodox Christian, but he did love his organ music, and left himself on the rotation of "fill-in" organists at one of the Lutheran Churches near his house. And so, occasionally, he would miss Liturgy on Sunday because he had been asked to fill in at the Lutheran Church, and he was happy to serve there in that capacity every once in awhile. Again, because this was Theodore, if he would mention this, it would be very quietly, as though he were a kid who was admitting to playing hooky from school and wasn't exactly feeling bad about doing it.
Over the years, as I passed in and out and through Holy Trinity, we spoke many times, though I can't remember much in particular about the conversations. I certainly don't know a whole lot about his life, though it seems he never married or had children. It always seemed as if he were managing well enough, though I don't know how much he would have let on to me if things weren't good. However, the joy he had always seemed real, even on the not-so-great days.
Louis Sullivan designed Holy Trinity with amazing "modern" stained-glass windows, which don't depict Biblical stories, but rather geometrical designs which turn the light shining into the Cathedral into gold. In the days since I first wandered into Holy Trinity, many of that cast of characters who were there then are there no longer; many have moved on, and others are no longer with us in this life. However, as little as I am over at Holy Trinity these days, I can hardly imagine the place without him, because his joy was like the light coming through Sullivan's windows, and the physical light and the spiritual light do get stored away in the same part of my memories of the place. Without Theodore there, it seems impossible that the Cathedral can be nearly as full of light.
I certainly realize that we all do get called from this world sooner or later. 85 is pretty good, all things considered. I feel sorry I couldn't make it to his funeral, which happened to be during a terrible cold snap earlier this year. Still... Death is not the end now, is it? Sure, I will be sad that Theodore's light is no longer with us here, we should also remember that God is often described as the "True Light", and we have hope that we all, in the world to come, shall be joined in that Light there.
Memory Eternal!
https://usobit.com/2019/01/wyman-theodore-kurtz-may-8-1933-january-29-2019/