His name was Richard, but he insisted that his name was Stony, on account of his stony heart.
The setting is Sacred Heart, Bellingham, about 20 years ago. Stony went to a lot of churches, and he was kicked out of a lot of churches. He first started showing signs of schizophrenia when he was a young adult in his early 20s. He was in seminary at the time, studying to be a Lutheran pastor. He was clearly paying attention in those years because faith was the central narrative of how his illness would play out. For example, it wasn’t long after attending a celebration of confirmation that he started showing up to Mass with a makeshift crosier. He somehow attached an amber glass ball on the top of his walking stick, representing the chrism. This sets the stage for my most favorite memory of him.
It was a beautiful Sunday during the Easter season. The church was packed. Stony was sitting in the front pew. The Mass was celebrated as usual … until we arrived at the consecration in the Eucharistic prayer. You know how it is at that point. Everyone was kneeling, praying silently and reverently. The moment after the consecration was over, Stony jumped up from the pew with his staff and started dancing in a circle, yelling out “Alleluia!” The expressions on the faces of his fellow parishioners were priceless. Those who didn’t know Stony were visibly uncomfortable, even frightened. Those who did just smiled and shook their heads. I knew I couldn’t power through the Eucharistic prayer, so I went down to Stony and told him, with the whole church captivated, “Hi Stony, I am so glad that you are here, and we want you to be able to stay. However, this is the quiet part of the Mass. Can you please sit down and pray quietly with us?”
His response was classic. He said in a loud, booming voice for everyone to hear, “But Father, but Father … if you believed what was happening on that altar is real … you would be dancing too!”
Everybody lost it. It was so funny that it brought tears to my eyes. All I could say in response was, “Stony, I agree. Sit down.” And he did, thank goodness.
Sadly, he passed away a few years later. However, I was privileged to celebrate his funeral. It was a joy to witness how many lives that man had touched, including my own. Even though he was debilitated with the awful disease of schizophrenia, he was a gift in the Body of Christ. He helped rekindle our love for the Eucharist.
I think of him often when I celebrate Mass. Without question, if we truly believe how wonderful the Eucharist is, our hearts should be dancing too!