On one end of his life -- the first half -- Ed Hotchkiss pictured himself in white linen and silk brocade, celebrating Mass as a priest of the Catholic Church. At 12, he thought he had that calling.
On the other end -- at 60 -- Hotchkiss is a Quaker. He never became a priest. Instead of the vestments of the faith that awed him as a child, he wears jeans and T-shirts. Instead of communion, which he helped serve as an altar boy, he dishes out supper to the homeless. He attends Sunday services in a Quaker meeting hall that sometimes go by with no prayer spoken aloud.
Before Ann Haendel retired and began volunteering for humanitarian missions around the world, the only religion she knew well was Judaism.
But at 74, she has found that exposure to other religions brings a deeper understanding of humanity, of shared needs and values. Bit by bit, in people's homes, in villages, in temples and mosques, she has discovered other ways of life, different expressions of religious belief.
Life experiences, impending mortality, a reconsideration of needs, or a yearning for completion can cause older people to look for new avenues of spirituality.
Sometimes they look for total change. Sometimes they look for something extra — not a new religion, necessarily, but a deeper layering of beliefs, maybe just a better way of living.
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Ed Hotchkiss never became a priest, but he spent most of his life in the Catholic Church. As a parochial schoolboy, he was fascinated by the ritual of Mass, the vestments of ancient celebration. As an adult, he was enchanted by the music.
But there was always that big missing ingredient.
"I'm not sure I ever made a connection with God."
His wife, Connie, became a Catholic when she got pregnant, so their son would have some kind of faith. They enrolled him in Catholic school.
She became a regular churchgoer, while Hotchkiss became a Christmas/Easter Catholic. Mother and son went to Sunday Mass. Hotchkiss went alone to the beach. Walking on the sand at dawn on Sundays made him feel closer to God than anything else.
He told his wife, "That's how I get my religion."
Four years ago, he read an article about Quakers and was curious enough to try a service at the Quaker Society of Friends Meeting House in St. Petersburg.
He and Connie found about 30 people seated. No one prayed aloud, no one said a word. Some had their eyes closed, others simply looked at the floor. Hotchkiss closed his eyes, too, and it felt to him like group meditation.
"I felt everything stripped away. I was waiting on God."
He and Connie became Sunday regulars. That led them into Quaker activism. They joined other Quakers on Friday night to feed the homeless at Williams Park in downtown St. Petersburg. He discovered a passion for the hands-on nature of the work, helping others directly. When that ended, he and Connie volunteered to bring food and serve meals to the homeless at the Unitarian Universalist Church of St. Petersburg on Friday evenings. They dish out home-cooked food, then go to McDonald's for their own dinner.
Last November, he was laid off from his job with a condo management company. He got word while attending a Quaker retreat in Pennsylvania. He didn't take it as bad news.
"I felt like the world was lifted off my shoulders. I heard a voice that said, 'It's okay. Now you can do the work.' "
He volunteered at the Pinellas Hope shelter for the homeless. Five months later, he was hired to work full time there — by Catholic Charities.
Now he serves both the Quakers and the Catholics. It feels like harmony.
"I feel closer to God than I've ever been."
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A concept in Judaism seems to cover reaching out to people from other places and cultures. The concept is tikkun olam "repairing the world."
Ann Haendel's travels have helped her form bonds with people half a world away -- followers of Buddhism, Hinduism, Confucianism and Islam. Her lifelong Judaism helped her get there.
Before 1999, working in Washington in federal agencies, she had little exposure to religions other than Judaism and Christianity. But in retirement in St. Pete Beach, Haendel became a hemisphere-hopping volunteer, primarily for the American Jewish World Service, an organization that provides humanitarian aid in Africa, Asia and the Americas. She has volunteered in Senegal, Zimbabwe and Uganda, as well as Cambodia, India and Vietnam.
While recovering from an illness she picked up in India in 2006, she founded Project Prosper, an organization that provides loans and financial education to immigrants in Pinellas County. That expanded her contact with other cultures.
Years ago, she picked up a paperback copy of Huston Smith's 1958 classic reference work, The World's Religions. But personal experiences, she says, have taught her more than anything she has read.
"I'm less interested in dogma than the practices of individuals."
Such exposure didn't replace her Judaism. She found more similarities among practitioners of the great religions than differences.Such exposure didn't replace her Judaism. She found more similarities among practitioners of the great religions than differences.
But often the differences were the most meaningful.
"My point is, from each religion I learned something -- Islam's focus on hospitality, Buddhism's acceptance of many paths to spirituality, Confucianism's respect for elders, and the joyous and colorful celebrations of Hinduism."
An example: In Islamic tradition in Africa, if someone comes to visit during a meal, you stop eating or invite the guest to join you. Muslims in Africa won't eat in front of someone else.
"If they bring a snack aboard a bus, they'll offer to share it with other passengers, no matter how meager the portion."
Another example: The concept of revenge or retribution is foreign to Buddhism. Karma takes care of that. Each is who he or she is because of past actions.
"You don't have to concern yourself with getting even," Haendel says. "I try to remember that in conflict situations."
Perhaps more than anything else outside of Judaism, the teachings of the Dalai Lama have helped Haendel to define the kind of life she wants to lead.
He says this in Ethics for the New Millennium:
"My call for a spiritual revolution is thus not a call for a religious revolution . . . rather, it is a call for a radical reorientation away from our habitual preoccupation with self. It is a call to turn toward the wider community of human beings with whom we are connected, and for conduct which recognizes others' interests alongside our own."
John Barry can be reached at jbarry@sptimes.com or (727) 892-2258.
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