A Tribute to Father Hansen

On Tuesday, my pastor died, the pastor who was with me when the Lord brought me from death to life. The pastor who saw God pull me into the ark, safe from His wrath forever.

When I first met Father Hansen, it was over the phone. The Lord had put it in my heart to go to church. (I, of course, didn't know it was Him.) I saw church purely as a social outlet. Since I worked nights, my only friends were the other people working at the paper, a rather unusual subset of the population. (No offense intended.) I liked my friends, but I figured if I went to church I would meet some more "normal" people, too. Of course, the church services were geared to accommodate these "normal" people with "normal" work hours, so I did have trouble waking up to attend. (Being in my 20s and newly out of college also played a role in that.) So while I had made the decision to go to church, I had never actually made it to a service.

On Palm Sunday in 1990, I woke up at about 9:45, and looked in the phone book. I had been raised in an Episcopal church, so I looked under that denomination in the Yellow Pages. I found Epiphany Episcopal Church, billed as "a church in renewal." I had no idea what that meant, but I liked the sound. So I called over there. A jovial voice answered. When I asked what time the service started, he said, "Well, it starts at 10 a.m. but you can be a little late." That sounded like my kind of place, so I flew to get dressed and arrived at Epiphany... more than a little late, but in time to see the congregation parading with palm branches held high and entering the church through the front doors.

Afterward, I found out that it had been Father Warren himself who had answered the phone and offered that grace-filled invitation to come.

Well, I went to that church for several Sundays, and Jeanie and Warren warmly took me in as their own. They called me their "other daughter" and watched over me, since I was single and living alone in St. Louis. The church was full of older folks, only a handful were even in their 30s. But I loved it. Father Hansen made sure the Gospel was preached every Sunday, Old and New Testament passages were read aloud and beautiful old Episcopal hymns that I recognized from the few years I had gone to church as a child were sung. Every week, we recited the comforting creeds that spelled out the Truth of Jesus Christ. We shared Holy Communion, drinking from one cup (which later made my mother-in-law shudder.) Jeanie and Father Warren had me out to their wonderful little home in Cuba, with a woodburning fire, and Father Warren showed me his elaborate model train setup that took up a full room.

I didn't grasp much of the message at first. Why did they seem to talk more about Jesus dying on the cross than living His life? And did they really believe that praying could actually change anything? I didn't understand, but I was just happy to have been taken in and made a part of this family. I loved being Jeanie and Warren's "daughter." They made me feel that I wasn't so alone and that I wasn't totally caught up in the dark netherworld of nocturnal newspaper people. (Now I'm just exaggerating.)

But one Sunday, Father Warren preached the story of Pentecost. And then he did something he didn't normally do. He did an altar call. He asked the congregation if anyone wanted to receive the Holy Spirit, as they had at Pentecost. All that I knew was that I wanted more of what I was tasting at this church. I knew that when we would sing the hymns, I would wish that I could feel like that forever.

So with just that in my mind, I went forward. As I was waiting to talk to the pastor, I had in my mind the story of the woman who was ill in the crowd and who reached out her hand to touch Jesus' robe. That was what I wanted. I just wanted to touch the hem of His garment. My need was enormous, and I yearned for.... something.

Father Warren asked me what I wanted and I said I wanted the Holy Spirit. So he prayed for that. In that moment, the Lord opened my eyes. The Holy Spirit did illuminate the Truth that had been poured into my heart through hearing the Scriptures. In that moment, I crossed over from death to life. Because suddenly I knew that Jesus was the son of God and that He had made a way for me, guilt-ridden and unworthy, to feel the joy of his presence like this forever. Joy mixed with foolish pride.... suddenly I thought, "You mean everybody else knew this all the time? I was the only one who didn't know this?" I actually tried to hide my excitement because I was embarrassed that I hadn't known this all along. Talk about a besetting sin.

Father Warren taught me solid truths from Scripture. During our cursillo weekend in February 1991, I remember being astounded at the simple truths of the faith layed out so plainly, truths that every child in our church today could recite but that I just never knew. Thank you for telling me, Father Warren.

But even more than that, he demonstrated his faith to me. He took me into his life. He and Jeanie showed me a loving marriage -- they lived the parable of Christ and his bride, the church. They were devoted to the Lord and to each other. And out of that came a love that they showered down on me. They freely "adopted" me into their family, when I was lost and clueless. It was Father Warren who counseled John and I before our marriage. (Never go to bed angry, always pray together and laugh a lot, he said. ) It was Father Warren who baptized our two children, one of them on Christmas Eve, the other dressed as an angel on a spring day. They have continued to love me all these years, unconditionally. They even loved me when I left the Episcopal church. Like a loving wise dad, Father Warren did make sure to tell me all the churches that would be acceptable -- and he was absolutely right.

The Lord used Father Warren in my life in a powerful way, and I am so thankful that he and Jeanie gave so freely and joyfully of what they had been given. He is home now and it makes heaven that much more real for me. Father Warren now has -- perfectly -- all that I was yearning for when I went to the altar: He has Jesus. And someday so shall we.