You have all probably heard these: If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one to hear it, does it still make a sound? or…If a husband comes home with a new power tool and there is no one there to complain, is he still wrong?
But here is another: If a writer has no one to read what he’s written, is he/she still a writer?
This week, there is one less reader of these posts than in the past. So in some way, I am now less of a writer.
This reader was special. His place in my life was a primary reason why writing became an avocation. And his place in my life was greater than that.
Robert Graham “Bob” Kemper died last Monday. He was Senior Minister of the First Congregational Church we love in Western Springs, IL and a primary reason we were drawn to that church. He became much more after we were in the door and had taken the pledge of membership.
Bob was a liberator. It amazes me that people with personal physical limitations (his was blindness via macular degeneration) have the inner strength and gifts of communication that help others transcend their own limitations.
He freed me to develop a spiritual life of my own – without the guilt associated with the biblical illiteracy that remains with me.
He freed a dramatic story of family life from my wife, Elsa. Shortly after we’d joined the church, he called and asked if she’d be willing to present the story of her family’s life in post-war (WWII) displaced persons camps and their immigration to the U.S. That experience led us on a multi-faceted journey of exploration and presence among others that continues to this day.
Bob was a teacher, deep thinker – philosopher and theologian. Yet he had a remarkable way of communicating his deep thoughts to others in a way that was understandable, practical and not intimidating.
The church had formed a writer’s group under associate minister Leslie Ritter-Jenkins and I joined in. Bob was not part of that group directly, but we met in the church library that was named in his honor after he retired. Books he had written rested on the shelves. Encouragement from the group and the aura of being in “his” library inspired me to continue writing.
At the time of the formation of the writer’s group, the concept of personal mentoring was popular and I sheepishly asked Bob if he’d serve as my writing mentor.
“Let’s go out to lunch and talk about it” was his response. We went to one of his favorite restaurants in the Chicago ‘burbs – “Little Joe’s.” In spite of his dear wife Margie’s concerns for his diet, Bob loved to find reasons to go there. Little Joe’s is a greasy little hot dog and Italian Beef joint that caters to blue-collar, factory workers and other serious gastronomers, such as Bob and I. Bob took to Little Joe’s like a little boy would take to a candy store. He loved the Chicago style hot dogs and the greasy fries. He was a fry dipper and so am I.
Bob tactfully declined to become my writing mentor yet, he remained interested in the path of cyberspace, paper and ink that lay ahead for me.
Simply knowing Bob might read my offerings in the newspaper and/or on the website was inspiration to me. He was a strong role model in many ways – he voice was clear in his writing and his message was concise. I strove to find my voice in my writing in the same way.
But most importantly, Bob was the quintessential Minister. He was a conduit between me and the mysterious higher power to which mankind has assigned many names. He was a conduit between people – helping them connect. He explained the church’s moniker that featured one blank quadrant representing “the truth of faith that will only come when we die.”
Bob’s benediction continues to be an inspiration to me and countless others.
And now, Bob is filling-in that blank quadrant of the church’s moniker and I paraphrase his benediction for him:
Bob,
God go with you…
May He walk where you walk,
Guide where you must make choices,
Comfort where you hurt,
and Surprise you
by His continued love for you
and what you were
and what you did.
Thank you, Bob Kemper, for all you have been, and will continue to be, for me.
How fortunate to know such a man….. N