Holy Hugs... and holy huggers

He always stood at the right front of the church after worship. I watched him handing out hugs like Halloween candy. All you had to do was just stand within grabbing distance of his long arms and you would be gathered in and gently held or gustily hugged, whatever you needed he seemed to instinctively know.
I was newly widowed, moved to a big city where I knew two people, and enrolled in the seminary. This church, Crescent Hill Baptist Church, was the largest one I had ever attended. Every Sunday I sat in the center, three rows back and cried discretely all the way through worship. As I gathered myself together after the benediction, I could never get by Grady without a hug. As a non-hugger, this was a frightening exercise at first even though he was careful to only give me gentle, one arm sideways hugs. Slowly I began to relax and look forward to the welcome blessing of touch that he offered. I was seen, welcomed, important enough to be hugged and the warmth of that hug often sustained me through the lonely week to come. As I wandered in the wilderness of widowhood, Grady’s hugs once a week after worship became a part of my new growth towards connection and wholeness.
Grady was an "humorist", an observer of the human condition, much like Will Rogers. He entertained at churches, conventions, companies and was a regular on the t.v. show Hee Haw. His humor was rooted in the church and his religious upbringing. By laughing at himself, he taught us how to laugh at ourselves. He was a big man, tall in stature and extra large in presence. There was no way to ignore Grady, even when you wanted to. This time of the year I always remember Grady. He was killed in a plane crash in Alabama not far from where we were visiting family during the Thanksgiving holiday . His funeral in our church was full to overflowing... little children, starchy old ladies, friends from his youth, country music stars, grizzled old men, young adults who had been in the Sunday School class he and Eleanor taught, friends from far and near gathered to mourn and laugh together, remembering Grady. We sang the Crescent Hill hymn, our theme song as a community of faith, that he had co-authored for our church. One little girl, at the end of the service, turned to the pastor and asked, "Who will hug us now?"
Our Minister of Music has set up an Afrinda (an altar for mementos, pictures and other items) to help us prepare for All Saints Sunday. I will carry a picture of Grady to set up there, tell his story and give thanks for this exuberant man who taught me how to give and receive hugs. Because of him, I now can offer hugs that connect body and soul, heart and mind, with gusto and gentleness, holy hugs. I now watch at our church to see who the holy huggers are. Ed Torrance always has a hearty holy hug. Ninety some odd years of living has not dimmed his hugability. The McMahon kids, Caleb and Katy, are wonderful huggers. Ben Herman, Stan Harris, Leslie Boyd, and Dianne Harper are huggers. After Celebrations and Concerns are shared in worship I see many of us reach out and hug those who are hurting, those of us who are flying high. I see Grady’s face and feel his arms reaching out to me once again, becoming the loving arms of God, holding me close in an embrace that welcomes and heals. Thanks be to God for loving arms that hug us and draw us closer to the Loved One that is waiting to be hugged back.