Harry

Rev. Harry V. Moratto went to heaven a few days ago, and today is his memorial service. I wanted to write a little bit about this man and the complicated relationship he and I shared, especially the last 2 or 3 years.

But first, a word about Harry's wife, Marjorie. She left us a little more than 2 years ago, and the role she lived woven throughout almost 20 years of friendship was one of mentor, advisor, friend, coach, cheerleader, encourager, teacher-she was all these and more. She was truly one of the wisest people I've ever known. But one of her other roles, unseen, came to light after her death.

Although Harry gave his life in service-he was a pastor and his last place of service was chaplain at a local youth facility for 24 years- he was loudly heard in issues of church management. He was bold, confrontive, and freely gave his opinion on any matter to anyone who would listen. Many times, he did not agree with things said and done, and would let people know how he felt. In doing so, Harry often upset people. He was not the most tactful person.

While Marjorie was living, she was the soothing oil that balanced Harry's sharp-edged personality. He often would temper his comments if she were present, and she, the ever gracious wife would always understand him with grace. I looked at Harry as I would a father figure in my life, and I felt that he loved me as a daughter-while Marjorie was here to smooth ruffled feathers and add perspective to his blustery personality.

But when God called her home and it was just him, there was no soothing oil to heal the rough edges. Within a few weeks of her passing, he and I worked together on a project at church and became at cross-purposes, as they say. He was characteristically rough and straight-forward in his assessment of the situation. My feelings were hurt and I withdrew. Without her here to facilitate communication, Harry and I became estranged. We went to the same church, sat in the same sanctuary, met in the hallways with stiff hellos, and ignored each other. After many weeks, I confronted him one day after church and asked him to forgive me for whatever I did to make him upset. He didn't want to talk about it, and didn't.

From that point on, I let him go, I let everything go, I gave up. There was nothing more I could do to heal the gulf. And, I prayed about it-I got no further word from God about what else I could do to make things right. It was up to him to do so or not.

I decided that no matter what happened, our relationship would be healed. If he came forward to discuss things with me, we'd reconcile. If he went to heaven, we would reconcile there. No matter what, we would be okay.

I can play at his funeral today, knowing that things are okay between us. I have a great deal of respect for him and the work he did-but a few battle scars, too. I would imagine many people would describe knowing him in those words. But, all is well now.