The Butterfly
Tomorrow we fly to California for a memorial service.
Dreading this trip and being sick have kept me from writing. What is there to say but that I feel as if my heart will never again be whole? How many ways can I say that he was special? Am I the first person to lose someone? Indulge me in just sharing a few words frommy grandfather, they demonstrate his wisdom, candor and impishness.
An excerpt:
RESURRECTION NOW
Easter Sermon preached in Smith College Chapel
19 April 1981
by
Davie Napier
I have a granddadughter in second grade named Amanda who recently wrote an essay entitled, THE BUTTERFLY. It runs all of a hundred words, and I think you will agree that it is an achievement -- in the way of second grade achievement -- in brevity, in clarity, in simplicity. Had she written more than the hundred words, she might well have engaged in the dubious art known to all of us in academia by the two letters also used to abbreviate the degree of Bachelor of Science. But that art is not really cultivated, assiduosly and with sophistication, until we come to college. THE BUTTERFLY. I am thinking of attaching copies of Amanda's essay to long papers and exams in themselves worthy of the B.S. degree.
He was a preacher, a professor and an activist.
Professor
Preacher
Activist
Yet none of these means as much as he was my grandfather and I love(d) him.
I think I'll heed his advice and stick to the second grade version for now -
I am going to say goodbye.
There is an ache.
I have no words.
I'll be back when I do.
Labels: Mama Sap
posted by Amanda at
9:15 AM
9 Comments:
i'm so sorry, sweet lady. i'm sorry for the loss, for the ache, for the lack of words. i know there's nothing i can do from here, but i want you to know that i'm thinking of you. your grandfather left a wonderful legacy.
March 15, 2007 4:15:00 PM PDT
I am sorry. My grandmother was also a indescribably special individual. When she died, I wanted to shout her name from the rooftops so that she wouldn't be forgotten. But she hasn't been forgotten, and your grandfather won't be forgotten, because he likely touched so many, many people in his multiple roles.
March 15, 2007 5:22:00 PM PDT
I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my Grandfather a few years ago and it hurt oh so much. Hugs.
March 15, 2007 7:32:00 PM PDT
Wishing strength and wisdom at this tough time.
March 16, 2007 8:57:00 AM PDT
Aw, it's so tough to lose a grandparent. They are so special. And saying "special" isn't even the half of it, I know. Bless you....
March 16, 2007 12:18:00 PM PDT
I loved him too, Amanda. Here's what I wrote about him:
My surrogate father died last month. He was Rev. B. Davie Napier, President Emeritus of the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, former Dean of the Chapel at Stanford, former Master of Calhoun College at Yale, and a true Christian.
Though he was renowned as an Old Testament scholar, nobody I ever met embodied the loving spirit of the New Testament as well as he did.
He took his marching orders from the Sermon on the Mount, which commanded him to love his neighbor and champion the meek, the poor and the oppressed.
"My first memories of my father are of him going to civil rights marches in the South," his daughter, Anne, said.
I first met him at Yale, where he and his wife, Joy, who died in 2003, took me and many other lonely students under their wing.
One of my classmates wrote me last week, "I will always remember how important it was to me that I could count on Rev. Napier and Joy to provide comfort and understanding when they seemed to be the only people on earth to whom I could turn for advice."
I think the secret of their success was their childlike innocence. They seemed unaware of the cliques and the petty cruelties we inflicted on each other.
Instead, they assumed we were good boys who treated each other with kindness and respect, as they treated us. And none of us had the heart to disillusion them.
So we had no choice; we had to act like the good guys they thought we were. And since practice makes perfect, that’s what we eventually became.
I’ll never know whether they were naive or very, very clever. But either way, it worked.
Before each school year began, they would memorize the names and faces of all the incoming students so they could greet the newcomers by name on the first day – a practice they also followed at Stanford and PSR.
The highlight of each week was the Napiers' Friday afternoon teas. Whether at Yale, Stanford or PSR, the menu was always the same - Constant Comment tea, finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off, and sherry liberally flowing.
"The sherry was important," recalls Doug Adams, Professor of Christianity and the Arts at PSR. "Whenever the Jesuits threw a party, everyone would attend because they have the best bar in town. But nobody ever came to our parties because our previous president was a Methodist, and he was a teetotaler. Joy and Davie changed all that."
When the Napiers moved to Berkeley, one of their best friends was Huey Newton. Huey had little patience with most white liberals, but he adored the Napiers because he sensed their utter goodness.
Davie and Joy were childhood sweethearts, and they loved each other deeply until the day she died. But unlike some devoted couples, they still had plenty of love left for other people.
Once, I was at their house, crying on their shoulders about breaking up with a girlfriend.
They were very sympathetic, but then Davie said sheepishly, "We'd like to be more helpful, but we really don't understand what you're going through. You see, Joy was the first person I fell in love with, and I was the first person she fell in love with. So we don't know what it feels like to have your heart broken."
But I'll tell you one thing: My heart is breaking now. I loved him like a father, and I'm proud to say he loved me like a son.
Every week, I'd e-mail him a copy of my column. And he'd always e-mail me back and tell me how proud he was of me – which is what every son wants to hear from his father.
Davie died Feb. 24 from complications of a heart condition. He was 91. Condolence messages can be sent to his daughter, Anne Caffery, at 816 So. 17th Ave., Yakima, WA 98902.
March 18, 2007 10:35:00 AM PDT
Oh. I am so sorry, Amanda. Your Grandfather sounds like someone I would have like immensely. Hugs to you...
March 19, 2007 4:11:00 PM PDT
Wow, Amanda. It sounds like a whole lot of people loved your grandpa, and with good cause. But I know he was extra, extra special to his family... to you.
Wishing you some peace in your time of heartache.
March 20, 2007 6:29:00 PM PDT
It's evident where you inherited your way with the word. Every time you write something that brings a smile or a tear, you're keeping him alive.
March 27, 2007 8:14:00 AM PDT
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