“Message from Jan”
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
February 8, 2009
Greetings on this Sunday morning of being together in worshipful community.
It’s gratifying to imagine you clustered in the Meeting House on this day that promises a balmy 40-something. You could be out walking on the beach; you could be out breathing the scent of a promised spring in air that has been sub-freezing for so long; you could be somewhere other than here. Of course some of you probably are walking on the beach right now; some of you probably are outside inhaling the promise of spring at this very hour. You are where you are, but there is something about gathered community in worship that is sacred. You’re affirming your need to consider the intimacy of religious community and the ultimacy of those matters about which we sing and pray and speak and ponder. And there is much to sing about, pray about, speak about, and simply ponder, as we move through a winter that is trying body and soul.
What if we turned this winter upside down? Some of you might think: “Aha, the Southern Hemisphere sounds pretty good about now!” But I believe you know what I’m talking about—the hurdles of illness and injury, the heartbreak of loss, and the harrowing dynamic of our nation’s economy that has become the high uncertainty of our global well-being.
The Preacher of Ecclesiastes was right by half: “There is nothing new under the sun.” The other half? Everything is new under the sun. It’s a new morning, a new hour, a new moment, a brand new breath. We bring into our “now” all that has happened, for good and ill; and we bring into our “now” all the possibility, all the vision, all the hope for what and how we might be.
A case in point. One among us suffered a serious fall this past December. For a perilous while, her life hung in the balance. An ambulance was called. Emergency surgery was performed. Surely it was the longest night for all who know and love her. Then slowly but surely the waiting and the wondering stretched into the knowledge that recovery is happening. In the words of her husband, “Baby steps, baby steps.” Our dear friend is healing.
Baby steps are how we all learn to walk, however slowly. There is much yet uncertain; there are no certainties for any of us. Yet healing is happening; recovery is in process. And from that fall to the astonishing steps she has taken, you have been there for our beloved friend and her husband and their family. You have been there in caring community. You have visited; you have sent cards; you have prepared meals for her husband; you have brought flowers to brighten the days of our dear friend who is returning, step by step, word by word, smile by smile, hand clasp by hand clasp.
So many of you have known the harshness of this winter through injury and illness and for some of our families, through the loss that is death. In just a few weeks, we’ll come together to celebrate the life of a young woman whom we have known and loved, a young woman who has for so long suffered from a debilitating illness. We miss her, and our hearts go out most especially to her husband at this time. Once again, you have been there with your love and support—not just this winter, but for many many winters of body and soul for this family.
“There is nothing new under the sun,” and everything is new under the sun. Every illness, every injury, every round of surgery, even each passing has marked an exquisite opportunity for us as a community of faith to practice our faith, to reach out, to listen, to know most of the time that we can’t fix whatever is ailing whomever, but we can be there. Healing and loving presence are at play amid a winter when the winds have blown harshly and the snow has fallen bounteously and the ice has sent us spinning sometimes out of control. What good is a faith if it doesn’t take practice? What good is a covenant of love if we aren’t there to hold hope for each other, when, as the song goes, “Hope is hard to find.” We find it in each other.
Be assured, be absolutely assured, that you have reached out and been there in the most loving way for me and my family through my autumn diagnosis of early stage breast cancer, through two initial surgeries and then through this major surgery just over a week ago. You have sent notes and e-mails of care and concern. You have brought meals to warm heart and tummy. You have sent flowers with the promise of spring. You have picked up the slack that I’m leaving in my four weeks away from you so that I might return in the best possible health. And you have shared your delight at my news that all that blankety blank cancer is gone. You’ve even laughed with me as I talk about my “brand new breast,” beyond embarrassment at talking to a congregation about my bust line, old and new. From Dan and me, thank you for your love and care. Thank you!
Many of us continue to struggle and resist the constraints and ambiguities of illness and more. All of us live with the abiding knowledge that life does not come with a guarantee of any sort. We light our chalice Sunday after Sunday reminded that the flame is dynamic; our faith is alive; and revelation is ever unfolding.
So let’s consider the revelation that is ours for the choosing as we move through this time. The realities of malady and misfortune are real. The realities of jobs lost and pensions nose diving are real. The realities of uncertainty are certain. Instead of retreating into anxiety or despair or a paucity of imagination that never suits us well, consider that this is our winter of promise. This is our winter of possibility.
This is a winter in which we keep our promise of living a covenant of love. This is a winter in which we make good on our promise to be faithful as members and friends to support one another and the 286-year-old institution that is this church. This is a winter in which we consider what our nation is all about, with a new administration struggling to lead a turning of the tide in bringing America not back to what we’ve been but ahead to what we might be as a nation that might at long last make good on our promises for the common good. This is a winter in which we are gifted to consider what we need and what we don’t, what is need and what is greed, and to discern the difference with new found consciousness. This is a winter to take a fresh look from the inside out and the outside in, from the intimacy of our First Parish community to the outer bounds of global well-being. This is a winter in which the roots of crocus and daffodil are moving differently, because the soil has changed. Its harshness is its possibility.
Consider the mission of this congregation:
We welcome all to our inclusive spiritual community. We affirm our Unitarian Universalist principles and put them into action by worshipping together, caring for one another, and working for a safe, just, and sustainable world.
Consider our principles as Unitarian Universalists, from honoring the basic worth of every person to affirming the interconnectedness of all life.
Welcome, affirmation, thoughtful action, deep caring, hard work, and a reverence for each and all. We are welcoming new faces, new families. We are trying out new ideas. We are finding fresh ways to put our principles into practice. We are discerning caring community through presence and more. We are hard at work on matters of sustainability and possibility. We hold hope that our nation might move beyond mere economic recovery into a new-found commitment to the common good.
Let us give thanks for such an amazing winter!
I miss you. I can’t wait to be with you on the first Sunday of March. And I love you each and all,
Jan
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