Jesus in His Most Distressing Disguise

 "Whenever I meet someone in need, it's really Jesus in his most distressing disguise.” -- Mother Teresa

As many of you know, I often visit the Charlotte Douglas Airport Overlook -- a parking lot/picnic area beside the airport's busiest runway. I find it to be a wonderful place to relax, pray, write, and enjoy the magic of watching planes takeoff and land. I also feel a great connection to God, to the Queen City, and to the rest of the country as I pray, welcome and bless planes as they arrive and take off to parts unknown. I'm at the Airport even now as I write this and I just had one of those God experiences that reminds me that Jesus is with us always.

Shortly after arriving this evening it began to rain -- a steady light rain that blurred the view through my car's windshield -- but not enough that I couldn't see the dozen or so jets lined up ready to take off.  The humid air in my car was becoming stale and stuffy, so I opened my windows despite the rain.  That's when I heard it. A woman singing.   Or was it a chant?  Yes, that's what it was --  a chant that sounded like some sort of  Native American prayer.   I could not hear any words, just a woman's voice singing a simple tune with rhythmic note changes that sometimes got drowned out by the roar of planes taking off.  I peered through the darkness towards the sound of the voice and could see the silhouette of a woman with outstretched arms toward the heavens. At first she seemed ghost-like and surreal -- however, with the occasional shining of landing lights on her from maneuvering airplanes, it was clear that she was indeed real, and very human, and in pain.  Despite her outstretched arms, she was slightly hunched over and while her body subtly moved in rhythm to her chant, both her chant and her delicate dance would break into shaking sobs.  Sometimes her emotion would overwhelm her and she would sink into a park bench behind her -- but she would quickly get up and resume her song. She moved me.

Before I could think, or react, or process, I found myself out of my car and standing behind the bench,  off to the side, close enough that I could reach and touch her.  I didn't dare though, as I did not want to intrude nor scare her.  I barely noticed that I was standing in the rain, or that I had walked through a mud puddle. There was only a small moment that I did not know why I was there or what was I to do,  but that uncertainty vanished as I remembered Mother Teresa's words of Jesus in a distressing disguise. I raised my arms to my sides just as I have done so many times before during liturgy and began to pray.  I found myself praying in the same rhythm of this women's voice -- praying for strength and healing, praising God. Praying that Jesus would give her respite from her pain.  I prayed for my Mom who is still suffering from illness. I prayed for the safety of travelers and for those who are unsheltered and hungry, huddled in small places trying to stay dry.  I prayed for those left behind while loved ones moved away from home.  I prayed for the Catawba Indian Nation who's reservation is not far away and perhaps where this woman is from.  Over time the prayer turned into a meditation of just being.  Of being with Jesus.  And of being with this hurting soul.  After unmeasured time, the woman's chants and sobs faded. Before I noticed that she had stopped, she turned and squeezed my arm, in a tearful voice she said some words I could not understand and then, "Thank you." Before I could acknowledge her, she was already in her car and she drove away.

And I thanked Jesus for his presence and distressing disguise.