I was in my late teen-age years, in the early 1970’s. It was early evening at my grandparents’ house, and a movie I really wanted to see was coming on the television. I wasn’t sure my grandfather, sitting in his usual chair in front of the TV, and beside the lit fireplace, would be receptive. But he said, ‘OK, put it on.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAoIYDxNefU
I Heard The Owl Call My Name.
He and I watched it. I don’t recall anyone else being around. I was quite spellbound by the story of a young priest, dispatched to minister in a wilderness town amongst the American Indians… he became very sick, and when he heard the owl call his name, the indigenous elders explained the meaning to him. His time had come.
At least that’s how I remember the story…. I will watch it again and see if my memory is intact.
But here is the lesson: Milt was a churchgoing and deeply religious Methodist man. He and his multitude of brothers and sisters always met at the church in downtown Chester on Sunday. Frequently, I would go with him and my grandmother. After the indigenous elder said his peace, Milt turned to me and said:
“There are many ways to find God. There are many paths. It matters not so much how we get there, but that we do.”
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