Faith Works 11-6-21
Jeff Gill
A great soul, a mentor in faith
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I learned a week ago from old friend and mentor Rick Powell that Marilyn Hotz died in September; Marilyn was an elder in the church where he had been senior minister in Indianapolis and where I had come and served as student associate. In her usual no fuss sort of way she had no services, which likely would have been the case even without the pandemic complications. When it was time to go, Marilyn just went.
When it was time to go to prison, Marilyn just went. I showed up a callow and youthful seminarian at Centenary Christian Church in 1985, and I hadn't been there a month when she said "time to go to prison," and before I could say "whaaaa?" off we went.
When it was time to make God's promise of redemption a practical reality, Marilyn just went. I hadn't been there much longer beyond my first visit with her to the Indiana Women's Prison (IWP) when she brought a pretty notorious recent inmate to church, someone who had committed murder and . . . it's not important. The point was this was not someone the community in general was sure they'd forgiven, even though she'd served her time. Marilyn was having NONE of it, no sir. She'd been to Alabama & Mississippi a couple decades earlier to join with Martin Luther King in talking to voting registrars about their limits on God's grace as well as federal voting rights, and large men with unholstered weapons and barely leashed dogs hadn't slowed her down, so a few sidelong glances from the back pews weren't going to give her pause.
When it was time to take Christmas gifts to the state mental institution, Marilyn went. It's all gone now (and the prison as well has been moved out of the Near Eastside), but in those last days of Central State the long halls still held some lonely remaining residents, and she assumed my first December working with the church youth I'd want to take them to the asylum. She went, and so did we.
Marilyn went to be visitor for those at IWP who had no visitors, but they only allowed her so many (there were some rules even she couldn't work around), so she went up to me, twice her height and less than half her age, and said "you need to become a prison visitor." Let's just say I wouldn't know as many convicted murderers or as much about professional prostitution as I do if it weren't for Marilyn. I wasn't sure I had time to make the regular commitment being that kind of visitor required, but if Marilyn went (for five or six a month) then I could figure out how to keep up with one or two.
And whether her turn on the schedule, or if an elder designated for a Sunday didn't show, Marilyn went to the table. I rarely do a prayer for communion where I don't think of her. She could pray in public for any occasion better than any ordained person I've ever known, myself most emphatically included. Marilyn went to the table with delight, but with a sense of holy purpose, that in our prayer we remind everyone of the radical nature of God's invitation. Years later, I'd hear John Dominic Crossan talk about radical hospitality & open commensality, but Marilyn had gotten there first.
At my ordination, we had to hold it under a tent since the church building I'd grown up in had just been condemned. Since Marilyn had been part of our having burned down the church we were all part of in 1986 (accidentally, I assure you, but perhaps also providentially), she loved it. LOVED it. All elders, preaching and teaching elders (aka clergy) and congregational elders alike, were invited to sign my ordination certificate. The number of living signatories to that document is getting shorter, but I always smile to see Marilyn Hotz's signature on it. That's an affirmation of the church I celebrate.
Marilyn went to heaven last month, and didn't tell us. Figures. She's already been up there a while, sorting out St. Peter's intake procedures at Pearly Gates Central, and no doubt has found a small hidden door off to one side to sneak a few in quietly whose presence might surprise the larger number of the redeemed. She'd chuckle at the idea, but in this season of All Saints and All Souls, I know in Heaven there's a new saint of the church in residence to be mindful of, because Marilyn Hotz went home.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's thankful for a great cloud of witnesses who keep us all aimed at heaven while guiding our steps on earth. Tell him about your mentors and role models at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
