AIDS and GRACE

On a recent Seinfeld rerun, Elaine, young perky and perfect, interviewed for a job at the publishing office in Manhattan where the late Jackie Kennedy had worked.

One of the requirements, the interviewer demanded, was that the potential employee have "grace."

"Do you possess grace?" asked the interviewer sharply. "Grace is something that is acquired," stated the matronly woman as she looked over her glasses and glared at Elaine. "It is not just something you can pick up at the local grocery store, you know! It cannot be bought." Her fist pounded on the table.

Elaine had a "What is it wit this woman!" look on her face. She was perplexed to say the least.

Ironically, the interviewer was making a judgement about the virtue of grace. Although her statements were correct, the interviewer was being very judgemental about the acquirement or requirement of grace itself.

"Grace in itself is not, mercifully, judgemental; it is larger than our prejudices", says Dr. Susan Ford Wiltshire, who has written a book called Seasons of Grief and Grace: A Sister's Story of AIDS.

In an article in The Tennessean Wiltshire has been quoted as saying that important work is being done in connection with AIDS, medically in research, and in communities where support for victims is wide and strong. " The great opportunity for growth now is within churches as our prejudices give way to compassion and active understanding of those who are suffering either from isolation or from illness," Wiltshire said.

Grace may not always be found inside the church, but perhaps in other unexpected places. For me, it was in a classroom. I was taking a writing course and my teacher happened to be Debbie Runions. Her life had taken a tragic turn and she informed our class that she was HIV-positive which later turned into AIDS.

Her candor and openess inspired me. Tragedy had been no stranger in my house either----I had survived 31 surgeries. I was now at a crossroads in my life. Writing became the right path to follow.

Debbie's non-judgemental attitudes, her humor, her directness stroke a cord in everyone. She said that in one of her classes, a woman spontaneously announced that she had been a victim of incest. Others chimed in and it turned out that everyone was in a support group of some kind.

In Debbie's class people seemed to announce to the world their incredible triumphs over tragedy. " A common occurance," said Runions. And not such an easy feat if you have ever tried it.

Runions is not bitter or resentful because of her tragic circumstance, but you can tell that every day is not rosy for her. That each and every day presents a challange, a challange to remain open and feeling. A challenge to stare fear in the face and to bat a homerun each time at the plate.

Tibetan monks often speak of the quality of impermanece, which is often demonstrated by the painting of a beautiful intricate sand mandala. It takes hours, days to create but it is blown away by a breath of air once it has been completed. This simple actions shows that nothing in life is permanent. That change is the only constant.

It is a fact that most of us cannot choose when or where our time on Earth will end. It could come at any time. Perhaps all of us should be batting more homeruns.

"Don't seek others pain as the limbs of your own happiness." is an ancient Tibetan Buddhist slogan. It means that you shouldn't make someone else's misfortune your reason for being happy.

Many people seem to measure their happiness according to "Well, it could be worse" philosophy. And then they close themselves off from other people. But is only in feeling and sharing our pain that we begin to understand the pain of others. Suffering is the common denominator and reducer. It reduces us down t our own humanity.

Yes, Elaine was a bit naive on the subject of grace. Grace is acquired but not easily. Nor is it something once can aspire to or even choose to do. Tragedy is the intrusive irrational stranger at our door. Suffering is a swift and strict teacher of unwilling students. It teaches you to grab the moment.

I asked Debbie if speaking about her life ever got any easier for her. She said that each time she speaks she feels "terrifed and vulnerable."

"Has anyone ever said anything negative to you?" I asked. She said simply "No, Never." But how could one say anything negative in her presence? Because people around her are in the presence of grace, Amazing Grace.

ADDENDUM: Debbie went on to speak about AIDS at the 1996 National Democratic Convention and served on President's Bill Clinton's HIV/AIDS Advisory Council. She visited the famous AIDS quilt in Washington, D.C. which was deeply moving to her since she never thought she live to see it. I had written the above article in 1994. Debbie Runions passed away at the age of 55 from AIDS-related complications , October of 2005. When I first met Debbie she talked in terms of having two to three years to live. In actuality she lived 15 years with AIDS. One time the doctors told her that she only had a few more months to live. She said all her goodbyes, visited a place in Europe she had always wanted to see, made out her will, and made final arrangements. Surprisingly she didn't die. She then wrote an article about how this was quite a difficult adjustment for her. She was going to get to live afterall, in fact she lived many years after that. Runions had planned a memorial service where she wanted people to share stories about her life. Everyone who knew Debbie, had a story about her....some pretty outrageous...Runions had an incomparable zest for life and a talent for elicting infectious laughter that seem to spout spontaneously all around her. She had wanted the service to be a celebration of life with laughter and with no tears for she had lived life to the fullest and had no regrets. At the service, the designated speakers/friends told their stories. I sat in the pew with tears streaming down my face. Afraid to move thinking I would start to bawl out loud. Debbie had touch me deeply and had given me the courage and strength to write about my own tragedy. At one point I lifted up my head and looked around, there wasn't a dry eye in the packed house. A doctor sat weeping silently nearby. Perhaps we were not as brave that day as Debbie had been throughout her lifetime. Going to that service was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. But I wasn't the only person in life that Debbie had touched deeply, profoundly and forever more.