Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun: On Mary Miller and Ted Lasso

To begin: I **promise** I won't reveal any Ted Lasso spoilers. (But I do write about a scene without giving anything away.)

The wonderful show ended this week, and I really loved it. I loved Ted Lasso because it was such a treat to have a feel-good show with depth, with well-written characters, and with heart when there are so many shows out there that I can't watch too close to bedtime because I won't be able to fall asleep after.

One scene in the finale hit me hard.

During a meeting of the "Diamond Dogs," the coaches and friends are in the locker room before a soccer match, and Roy seeks advice. (The "Dogs" meet when someone in the group needs a bit of counsel.) Roy, a character who has gone through considerable change throughout the three seasons, asks if change is possible, if we can become a better version of ourselves.

One character chimes in that change doesn't really happen, but "we learn to accept who we've always been." Others disagree; they say that people can change both for the worse or the better.

And then, another character offers an opinion: "Change isn't about trying to be perfect. Perfection sucks; perfect is boring."

This leads to some light joking about the way things can be perfect, while humans can't. (A thing like The Shawshank Redemption, for instance, is obviously perfect.) They all agree, and Higgins sums it up: "Human beings are never going to be perfect, Roy. The best thing we can do is to keep asking for help and accepting it when we can. And if you keep on doing that, you'll always be moving toward better."

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When I started working at Emmaus Ministries in 2019, Sister Mary told me that working in the ministry would help me with my own striving for perfection. "You're going to lose that, Val. There is no perfection at Emmaus. Not when you work with the poor." I can only imagine what her commentary to me would have been about those lines in the show.

It's now four years since Mary and I began having conversations about coming to work at Emmaus. I didn't begin there until December 2019, but I had shadowed her at the soup kitchen and met with her multiple times before I "signed on the dotted line."

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I found out not long before Sister Mary died that she both watched and loved Ted Lasso, too. I don't know how the show came up, but I was sitting across from her at her desk having one of our "morning chats", and we got to talking about it. This would have been in April. After that conversation, she watched only one new episode before she died. She texted me after watching it, wondering if I liked it or not. (For the record, I did—it was the episode set in Amsterdam.)

I'm very aware that I haven't written here since the unexpected death of our dear Sister Mary Miller on May 14. I haven't really written anywhere...because it's really hard to write about this loss.

Working with and for Mary Miller has been one of the greatest gifts of my life. It's hard to write about how much it means to watch her walk into the office each day where you work together, have her greet you with her sweet smile, and wish you a "Good morning, honey."

That was the gift of Mary, among myriad others—her presence. Just yesterday I was listening to someone talk about Mary while looking at a picture of her and say, "That's the face she always had when she was listening to you. I can still see her looking at me—like I was the only person in the world." She had that power, Mary did, the power that allowed her to look at you and make you feel completely unique and special—the holy power to look at you and see you the way God sees you. Beloved and beautiful.

To be able to work in her presence—to have her offer her presence to me and to watch her offer it to others, especially the poor—I repeat, it feels nearly impossible to articulate the gift.

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She and I would return to that perfectionism word often, as she continued to remind me that I didn't need to do anything else, to work any harder, to get anything "more right" to be perfect. I was beloved and beautiful just the way I was. Mary would text me quotes that she read about perfectionism; she would stop me when I got too caught up in trying to make something perfect, and she would often go back to the line, "Emmaus is going to help rid you of that nasty perfectionism."

And it has. You give up control when you work with the poor, when you work at a soup kitchen, when you work with kids, when you garden. You give up any chance at having things pan out just the way you envisioned them unfolding. It's the blessing and the challenge of human messiness, of journeying together. And Mary was a model for that journey. She delighted in others; she accepted and had compassion for their messiness. And the same way she felt about me—that I was just fine just the way I was—she felt that way about everyone. She welcomed everyone just as they were... unless, of course, you weren't sensitive to the suffering of the poor...then she might try to teach you a bit.

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We sometimes sing a song at prayer called Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun. I feel like I am in that space more profoundly than usual —in my life, in this moment. When Mary and I began talking about me taking on the role of Director of Emmaus, I'm not sure how real it felt. She had done it for 42 years; the name Sister Mary was synonymous with Emmaus. But, after 42 years, it was time. She would step back; I would step in. We would have regular conversations about the transition, though we never really worked out too many details; I think I began to trust that it would work itself out as it should.

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But, sometimes it's hard to trust the reality of her death. The word "perfect" hasn't entered my mind in weeks. But, I look at the words to the song Journeys Ended, Journeys Begun written by the monks at Weston Priory.

Refrain: Journeys ended, journeys begun:

to go where we have never been,

to be beyond our past,

moments of lifting up, transcending death,

rising in transparent light

to the fullness of God’s presence.

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

1. Do not let your hearts be troubled:

trust in God and trust in me, you shall not be alone.

To prepare a place for you I go but shall return

so that you may be with me

in the mystery of rising to new life.

2. Loving one another in truth,

choosing clear the many deaths of going beyond self,

living in the spirit of one who gave his life

so that we might come to know

how profound the gift of God in Jesus Christ. 

3. There can be no greater love than this:

to give our lives for others: our joy will be complete.

I have told you all this so that you may find peace

in the sharing of your life and know the depth

of love to which we’re called.

And they do feel pretty perfectly-fitting of this moment and of Mary Miller's life. One journey has ended; another is beginning, for both of us. I am humbled to carry on the ministry she cultivated and that centered her for 42 years. And, like Higgins said, I am grateful that there are so many wonderful people who love Emmaus and who are willing to help when I ask. I am grateful that I am learning to accept the help and to not feel like I have to or that I can do it all on my own. I am grateful that Mary taught me these lessons.

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Furthermore, I am so grateful that my life intersected with Mary Miller's; I am so grateful for warm, easy shows when the days are sad and hard; I am so grateful that Mary was right because Emmaus is, indeed, helping me let go of perfectionism; I am so grateful for the journey.

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Let us walk in the holy presence.