In case anyone's interested, I sang, instead of read, the two verses of the hymn at the end of these Reflections.
What
can I say?
Many
of you received an email on Friday from Adam Slate, the President of the
Board. For those of you who are new here,
or may not have gotten it for some reason, the email was an announcement of my decision
to step down as Lead Minister effective at the end of this church year (June 30th). It also shared the news that our Director of
Administration and Finance, Christina Rivera, has also made the decision to
resign.
For
some I know this is a shock; some have no doubt been anticipating it. Since the email went out I’ve heard from a
lot of folks who call this their spiritual home. They’ve shared with me expressions of their
sorrow, their confusion, their anger; their feelings of loss and grief; their
fears for the congregation’s future. I
know all of those emotions, because I’m feeling them too.
And,
though no one has said this to me yet, I am certain that there are people who
are feeling something of a sense of relief, hoping that the painful
divisiveness of, especially, the past couple of years may soon come to an
end. If I didn’t admit that I understand
this feeling too, I wouldn’t be telling you the truth — it’s been a hard few
years. And while I do not share these feelings, I have no doubt that there
are some people who received this news gladly, happy that the goal they have
been working for has finally been achieved.
All
of this is to say that there are undoubtedly a wide array of emotions in our
community, our church family right now.
In this sanctuary right now.
There are undoubtedly a wide array of emotions within any one of us,
individually! Emotions are so rarely
clean and simple; most often they are convoluted and more than a little tangled. Complicated, to say the least.
In
the days and weeks ahead, and in the months and maybe even years after I’ve
left, it will be important to remember that everyone has a right to their own
feelings about this. Not only do we not
have to think alike — as the well-known maxim goes — to love alike, we don’t
have to feel the same way as one
another either. Yet if we stay in
covenant with one another — not something we’ve always been able to do, of
course — then the words of the late 18th and early 19th
century Universalist preacher and theologian Hosea Ballou will hold true:
If we agree in love, no disagreement will
do us any harm;
Yet if we do not, no other agreement will
do us any good.
"If
we agree in love, no disagreement will do us any harm; yet if we do not, no
other agreement will do us any good."
Christina
and I are writing letters in which we’ll share our stories about what led us to
the decisions we have made. Those should
be going out early- to mid-next week, and I am sure that after you have read
them both Chris and I will be open to talking with you. We always have been. It is, after all, part of our covenant with
each other.
There
will be opportunities for you to talk with one another, too, beginning after
this service when there’ll be gatherings in several locations — The Parlor, Lower Hall 2, and right here in
the sanctuary. Choose the space that
works best for you. These meetings were
designed in a particular way to help facilitate the immediate sharing of
feelings, the first asking of questions, and the initial expressing of hopes
for the future. There will be other
gatherings, designed in different ways, aimed at serving different needs, in
the days and weeks ahead.
I
want to say another word, to be clear about today’s sessions — they are
designed to gather questions, not
provide the answers. The Board will take
these questions and incorporate them into the FAQ they’re developing that will
go out mid-week as part of the materials for the upcoming Congregational
Meeting on June 2nd. At that
meeting the congregation will be asked to support the Separation Agreement the
Board and I have negotiated (with the help of staff from the Southern Region of
the UUA, and other consulting religious professionals). Throughout these negotiations we kept asking,
“How do we stay in covenant with one another?” and, “What does Justice look
like in this situation?” It took a
while, to be honest, yet we finally came to a place we all could agree was fair
and in keeping with our values. I hope
you’ll come to that meeting on Sunday, June 2nd (following the
service), and with those two questions in your heart and mind I hope you will
vote to ratify this Agreement.
When
people have asked me what I planned to say today, or even why I thought I
should talk at all this morning, I’ve repeatedly said that I believe times like
these need a sermon — times of change, times of a sudden shift in our lives,
times of loss. Even when the loss is
anticipated, even welcomed, it still can be so very hard when it comes. When someone we’ve known and loved is in
hospice, for instance, or has been struggling with an illness for a long, long
time … we know that our parent’s, partner’s, sibling’s, friend’s, child’s death
is coming, maybe even coming soon, yet when it does it is still so very often a
shock. Their death was expected … but
not expected that day, or in that
moment.
The
suddenness of most (actually, maybe all) major life changes catches us off
guard. A pregnancy lasts roughly 9
months, yet after the delivery first-time parents often find themselves feeling
as though the whole world just changed in an instant, that moment they first
saw or held their child. Even women who
have labored mightily for hours to
bring their baby into the world have told me that there’s still a moment after
all that when they suddenly feel the reality of now being a parent, as if a switch
was flipped. And they tell me that even
with all that preparation they’re still shocked and knocked off their feet a
bit by it.
Anyone
who’s ever changed a tire knows the experience of pulling, straining with all
of your might, trying to loosen a lug nut that seems to have been welded in
place. You know the thing’s going to
move at some point, but … until … it … does … Andthensuddenlyitdoes! Wham!
I’ve smacked my knuckles more than once when that nut finally let go.
Sudden
change can hurt. It can hit us upside
the head, kick us in the gut, knock the wind out of us, or make us weak in the
knees. Sometimes it’s all of the
above. Even when it’s a change we’ve
been looking forward to, its sudden arrival can leave us feeling disoriented. Because change — even welcome change — is
hard. And hard change — change we didn’t expect or want — is even harder.
The
change we’re in the midst of here is even more complex to navigate because
there are so many moving parts to it — so many people involved, so many
different understandings of just what brought us here, so many different responses
to it. Some people see things this way, others see those same things that way, and others aren’t looking at
those things at all but are looking at different things altogether.
And
there are so many tempting places to place the blame. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if only you
hadn’t …” or, “… if only you had ...”
It’s human of us to want to find a cause, to identify a reason, to, in
short, seek a place to place the blame for the change we wish we weren’t in,
and all the cacophony and chaos, all the pain
that comes with it. A week or so ago I
heard about a tee shirt that says, “I’m not saying that you’re
responsible. I’m saying that I’m blaming
you.” Right? I’m seeing more than a few heads
nodding. Of course we get it; it’s so human
of us.
It
doesn’t do us any good, though. There’s
hardly ever — and I think I’ll go so far as to say that there isn’t ever — one person who is entirely at
fault, or even a group of people who are entirely in the wrong. It’d be nice if life were that clear cut, but
it’s not. It really isn’t. This is not to say that none of us should be
accountable for our actions — people do
make mistakes, and people do consciously make decisions and take actions that
are … problematic … and cause harm. I’m
not saying that we should always accept every kind of behavior in the name of “getting
along.” I am saying that blaming
people is not helpful. In fact, it can
make it harder to hold them accountable.
Blame
is easier, of course. We get to distance
ourselves, create a comfortable buffer of righteousness around ourselves. Lovingly holding someone accountable, “lovingly
calling them back into community” (when that’s possible), is harder and
infinitely more uncomfortable because
we have to stay engaged, have to bring our own selves right there into the
midst, the mess of it, have to acknowledge that there are no angels and no
devils. Not even us.
In
the days and weeks, months and years ahead I encourage you to stay engaged, to
stay connected. Don’t write anybody
off. Don’t give up or give in. This won’t be easy, but living authentically
in covenanted community never
is.
There’s
one other thing I’d recommend — don’t let this
become everything. This morning had been
scheduled as far back as the beginning of the church year to be our annual
Music Sunday. When it became clear that
Adam’s email was going out this past Friday there was discussion about whether we
needed to postpone Music Sunday to some future Sunday because people would very
likely want to and need to focus on … this.
In those discussions the words of a hymn kept echoing in my head. (It’s #108, “My Life Flows On In Endless
Song,” otherwise known as “How Can I Keep From Singing?”)
My life flows on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentation.
I hear the real though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing.
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
What through the tempest ‘round me roars,
I know the truth, it liveth.
What through the darkness ‘round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I’m clinging.
Since love prevails in heav’n and earth,
how can I keep from singing?
As
a congregation, as a community, a people … as individuals … we have just
received news that even if we kind of expected it, even if we wanted it, signals
a sudden shift from things as they’ve been to … something else. And some of us are sad, or confused, or angry;
feeling the pain of loss and grief; fearing for the congregation’s future. (Or all of the above.) These feelings are real, and we should pay
attention to them. Yet we should not allow
ourselves to be overwhelmed by them.
Through all this tumult and
this strife, though we may feel a tempest ‘round us roaring, let’s not keep
from singing. For, my friends, love does prevail “on heav’n and earth.” The Love on which, in which, this congregation
is grounded is stronger than any disagreement, any discomfort, any struggle,
any loss. That Love calls on us — each
of us individually and all of us collectively — to be our best selves, to
bravely follow where it leads, and … whatever else we do or don’t do … to keep
on singing.
Pax tecum,
RevWik
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2 comments:
This hurts my heart
This hurts my heart.
Rev. Danielle
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