In Honor Of My Mentor: Bruce McNab

On June 19, 2011, my friend, mentor, and spiritual father retired from active ministry in the Episcopal Church after 30 plus years. The Rev. Bruce McNab first entered my life in service to my parents who in 1977 were struggling with my reckless and dangerous lifestyle. So it was that Bruce knew of me by reputation, through their stories, until in 1979 he first met me in the parish hall after worship services at St. Andrew's in Panama City, Florida. I remember his first words being something like, "O you are Greg Powell." The face conveyed, "Hey, you don't look as scary as I pictured you."

Bruce said, "Come see me this Friday afternoon." I did so and continued to do so for two years. At that time I was lost and didn't fully know it. I was full of hurt and pain--this I knew--but was clueless as to what to do with it. Today, I offer my heartfelt gratitude to God for his servant Bruce McNab and the way he gave of himself to one who had nothing to offer in return. On February 26, 1992 I named my first born son Michael Charles Bruce Powell in recognition that I understood the gift given by God in my relationship to Bruce.

I learned many valuable lessons from Bruce. Yet, one stands out as being especially precious. Bruce once told me, "In ministering to families there will come times when they will close the door to the world (i.e., death, divorce, imprisonment) but leave a crack in the door through which you are to enter. What you do when you enter will be the most important work of your priesthood."

That wisdom has borne much good fruit in my life and in the lives of those I've served. There have been times I was afraid to enter the crack for fear of what lay on the other side. There were times when I didn't feel worthy or equipped to enter. Early in my ministry I entered the door laden with words--helping words, rescuing words, feel good words, and pithy platitudes offered in anxiety. It was years before I learned to properly respect and honor the events behind the door with presence and silence and touch. Early in my ministry I entered thinking I carried God with me. It was years before I came to understand that Jesus was always waiting for me inside the narrow door. Early in my ministry people had to leave quite a big crack in the door as I hadn't yet learned to see. Today, I'm more attuned to the very subtle ways by which people invite me into their lives. I credit Bruce with introducing me to the door and to sacred life inside it.

This door is the doorway to the heart. It is not left open for priests only but for all whose hearts have been touched by Jesus who is both the Door and the one who knocks. This door is described by Sam Shoemaker in his poem I Stand By The Door (see here). I first opened the door of my heart, a heart full of sorrow, anger, confusion, and pain, on a Friday afternoon in 1979. I thank God that Bruce knew what to do upon entering it.

Bruce, you have given 30 plus years to working in this part of God's kingdom we call the Episcopal Church. Well done thou good and faithful servant. I join with many others who rise up to bless you.

Shalom, Greg Powell