Tamed by the Invisible

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince...."What does that mean--'tame'?"...
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."

--from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Around the dinner table of Mary Cowal and Mary Etta Perry, it has been said more than once, there has never been a bad meal--or a bad time. Red-as-a-just-picked-strawberry jam drips from bread fresh out of the oven. Homemade mango chutney complements an array of exotic dishes that hail from South Africa to the far corners of Asia. Shrimp fresh from the Carolina coast rest in a nest of pasta, or bask in coconut milk and Thai spices. Brunch is likely to be crepes with cream cheese and strawberries, or a fresh fruit salad that makes the mouth water.

I have been "tamed" at this table. I have known rich communion here, where a place can always be set for one more and the soup can always be made to stretch. Hospice and home-care patients, friends with AIDS, colleagues in efforts for racial justice, women and their children in desperate circumstances--all are brought in presence or spirit to this table, where the world's suffering is gathered in and given up to God in prayer before partaking of abundant nourishment.

In winter, the meal often ends around the fireplace; in summer, on the back porch with iced tea, made from mint picked out of the garden. If you're lucky, Mary Etta will read one of her poems before the evening is over. But still the experience is not complete--not until the last guest arrives.

HE FIRST appeared one night in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. He crept through driving rain and a blustery wind into the backyard. Mary Etta caught a glimpse, but Mary was convinced it was only a raccoon--or perhaps the opossum that lived that winter in the woodpile.

The following week, Mary Etta put table scraps out in the yard each night. Sure enough, the red fox appeared again. He was a beautiful russet color, with a white patch at the throat. After a few days, a female, a bit larger with gray markings, accompanied him. And before long, a baby fox made an appearance to round out the family.

One or more of the foxes has appeared every night since March 1992. Usually the male comes alone, always waiting until after dark. Sunset brings an aura of expectation at Mary and Mary Etta's home. We wait quietly for the sensor to trigger the floodlight outside.

On my first several visits, I missed the fox. He is very reliable, and at the same time totally unpredictable. He comes every night, but the hour is always a secret. I began to doubt that I would ever catch a glimpse of this visitor who added such a dimension of mystery and awe to every evening at Mary and Mary Etta's. He was a teacher of patience.

Around Pentecost, we reflected that he was much like the Holy Spirit. Even when he went unseen, we believed in him. We saw the evidence of his existence. He came and left as he pleased, but our lives were richer just for knowing that he had passed by that way. And we could trust that he would do so again. For he, too, had been "tamed" by the generosity and inclusion that flow from Mary and Mary Etta's dinner table.

Last Saturday, as we sat finishing up an exquisite crème brulee with raspberry sauce, the floodlight came on. He came delicately from the edge of the yard, from amid a grand array of summer flowers. He approached his dinner, looked up at us, and cocked his head.

He gazed at us for a moment, as if to acknowledge the gift. Then he proudly pranced off, carrying it to his family.

"To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world....And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

Joyce Hollyday was associate editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.