I texted a friend of mine a few months ago. He is an 83 year old priest and a deep, critical thinker whom I love to have discussions with about the meaning of life. I knew Christmas was coming so I asked if I could please drive to his town and sing a song that means a lot to me at one of his services. The song is called “Breath Of Heaven” and was written by Chris Eaton and Amy Grant. Father Michael texted me back.“Absolutely! Come sing it at all three services!” 

I’m Jewish, so if anyone wonders what I’m doing at a Catholic church at Christmas time, it’s a fair question.

The answer is: I don’t know. I just know that I love Father Michael. When I hear him speak, I leave a room more inspired than when I entered. And I needed some inspiration. I also needed to sing. I’m primarily a songwriter, but when I find a song that resonates so deeply with me, it makes the actual experience of singing other-worldly. That’s what “Breath Of Heaven” does for me.

I met Father Michael 27 years ago at a lakeside party. It was my first “date” with Daniel and Daniel had driven me two hours out of town to his brother, Chris’s 50th birthday celebration. (Actually, I followed in my car ’cause you know, it was a first date!) Everyone at the party seemed to know each other and since I didn’t know anyone there, I felt a bit out of sorts. Daniel had gotten caught up in a conversation so I walked around, made my way into a few conversations and then wandered over to an empty picnic table. I sat down and prayed that either this would be over soon or that someone would come over and talk to me. That’s when a white-haired man with an Irish accent and collar around his neck appeared and asked if he could join me. 

“Absolutely,” I gratefully replied. Father Michael and I immediately began talking about that feeling of not fitting in…and in the first five minutes, we pinpointed where that feeling first showed its ugly teeth in our broken pasts. The cracks and crevices that come with being human and always having to start over, again and again and again.

He was also really funny.

I ended up dating the lovely Daniel for the next eight years and since he came from a big Catholic family, I would go to Mass with them when we visited his parents. It was so fortunate that Father Michael was the priest at their parish.

Well, my relationship with Daniel ended in 2006 and I never saw Father Michael again. He did cross my mind a lot though and a ping of sadness ran through me when I figured he was now across an ocean somewhere delivering his messages. I felt lucky that at least I got to know him when I did.

So you can imagine how delighted I was to reconnect with Daniel again in 2016 and find out that Father Michael had been assigned to a parish in Crossville, TN. Two hours away from me!

Which brings me back to my Christmas story this year.

I wanted to get to the service early, so I found an empty pew near the piano. As I sat there and realized that everyone was talking amongst themselves, I was suddenly hit with that sharp wave of loneliness again. At the service the night before, Daniel’s brother Chris had driven down from Spring Hill and sat with me. It was so good to see him again. I had been part of his family for 8 years and sadly, when he and Daniel lost their father to cancer in 2003, I had the privilege of singing “Breath Of Heaven” at their father’s memorial service. It was Christmas time and their dad had loved that song.

So now it was 22 years later and I was sitting alone…once again, feeling like I don’t fit in. “This must be what an immigrant feels like,” I thought to myself. 

I watched mothers and fathers talking to their children and I sat quietly while the two women behind me went back and forth: “I had lunch with Suzanne the other day…did you finish your Christmas shopping yet? By the way, have you seen or talked to Margaret lately?” and I took a deep breath. The air was full of community but I didn’t feel part of it. 

Just then, a certain white-haired man with an Irish accent and a collar showed up and asked “Can I join you?” 

“Absolutely,” I replied. 

Kindness. Right on cue.