We are at the beginning of the Lenten Season – an invitation to open our minds, hearts, and spirits to the possibility of transformation. The three pillar practices of prayer, fasting, and charity are the vehicles that move us along the journey of change. Fasting is about letting go of what no longer serves our spiritual health or the wholeness of the beloved community we seek. It is about creating space in our lives for what matters most. Prayer and charity are about pro-actively filling that space with intentions and actions that lead to individual healing and collective wellbeing.
The season began with Ash Wednesday earlier this week, and some of you may have memories of receiving ashes mixed with holy water, placed on your forehead by a priest or minister who shared these words: “Remember, you are dust and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19) Or, you may have experience with the Unitarian and Universalist Lenten Meditation Manuals that were published pre-merger, or the renewal of this practice in our congregation and online. If you enter #UULent on social media, you will find a number of offerings beyond our congregation alone.
All these practices lead us on a journey of listening deeply to the words of the teacher and prophet Jesus, reflecting on the rippling actions of his ministry (which continue to ripple out to this day), and coming to terms with the story of the end of his life on Good Friday. This is also a moment of turning, of letting go, of grief, as we hurtle towards the next trapeze bar moving towards us.[1] It’s an invitation to grab on for your life as well as to experience that space in the middle. For your life is not over and love’s ministry was never meant for one man alone to fulfill.
The words and practices throughout Lent remind us that life is fleeting, that each of us is mortal, and that what we can count on is this precious moment. The one in which we are never quite the same as we were in the moment before it.
Let me share a story from a mentor of mine from another faith tradition about an episode from the beginning of his ministry: Gavin was a new pastor. He received a call to come to the bedside of one of the elders in his congregation, a pillar of that church. Martha was on her deathbed, and she wanted him to visit. Now, he had a fair number of commitments that day, but, of course, he shifted things around and went straight to her. When he arrived, Martha seemed to be asleep. Now, Gavin didn’t want to disturb her rest, so he waited quietly and patiently by her bedside, but couldn’t stop thinking about what remained on his to do list.
After a while, he looked at his watch to see how much time had passed. At that very moment, Martha opened her eyes and quipped, “Do you have somewhere more important to be?” Flustered and jolted to a new level of wakefulness, he said, “No, you’re right. I am here.”
He then took a deep breath and sat with her, this woman who he had begun to love, this woman who meant so much to the people he served. He turned his heart towards prayer and his full body towards presence.
Those were Martha’s last words, and they shaped the minister he became, and the quality of his presence.
Here we are. You and I, in this community of people who practice what it looks like to extend care and compassion and courage in this village we have chosen to cast our spiritual lot with. Here we are who show up for one another and for the world during both good times and hard times, and who show up for our families and friends in the event when we do draw our last breath to testify to the ways our love ripples out beyond death.
We arrive at Lent this year on the very week of the third anniversary of the first patient in Oregon diagnosed with coronavirus and on the very week of the anniversary of the unfolding war in Ukraine. It is also the very day and anniversary that young Trayvon Martin was murdered while out buying a pack of skittles while wearing a hoodie. Sometimes the lessons of Lent and letting go is not about acceptance… sometimes letting go is about ceasing the habits, practices, and actions that lead to more death. Countering science with ignorance, promulgating war, and perpetuating racism are three obstacles to individual health and collective wellbeing.
Other times letting go is about acceptance. (This is not lost on me as I am Zooming to you from home right now.) This week as Portland experienced the second largest snowfall on record, we are relearning the lesson that sometimes transformation is about surrendering to what is happening that is out of our control. We are neither all powerful. Nor are we powerless. We co-create with what comes our way – the hoped for and highly anticipated trapeze bars moving towards us – the ones we wish we could push back that move towards us anyway – and the ones that we aren’t so sure how to feel about.
Susan Frederick Gray, UUA president, shared that story by Danaan Perry at the Senior Ministers of Large UU Congregations retreat last week in California as an important message as so many of our churches are in transition at this time because of ministers’ retiring and the ensuing generational shifts, because a number of colleagues and divinity students who left the ministry in the pandemic, and because the religious landscape and the human landscape has shifted in ways that we don’t fully understand yet. I believe she also shared it with you when she spoke here at Reverend Bill Sinkford’s last celebratory day.
I am deeply conscious of the precious time that we are in, you and I, our congregation, and even our city, and country, and the world. As Danaan Perry writes, we are hurtling through space and learning how to fly in this time of both having emerged and continuing to emerge from the pandemic and in this time of a new shared ministry.
The other day, I met with the Installation Committee about our service on April 16th at 4:00pm. I offered the important distinction between an ordination and an installation. An ordination is about an individual’s calling to the ministry. There is traditionally a charge to the minister only. At an installation, it is about our shared calling to covenantal ministry together. You and I covenant, and we both receive charges… one to the minister and one to the congregation.
I am deeply conscious of this liminal time, of this expanding time, of this precious reflective time. I want you to know that it is with reverence and awe that I am receiving the stories that you share with me about this, our historic church, and how it has been transformed by shared callings since 1865. Where the laity, and the ministry, and the staff have been stewards of the mantle of love’s ministry in our sanctuary, on the streets of Portland, and in our wider faith movement. I am the 11th called Senior Minister here, and amongst us are many generations – you who arrived on our doorstep or our virtual sanctuary for the first time – some as early as Reverend Richard Steiner’s tenure, or Reverend Alan Deale’s, or Reverend Marilyn Sewell’s, or Reverend Bill Sinkford’s. Or, quite recently within the last six months during the beginning of my tenure.
Let us seize then the fullness of this time of letting go and of holding on to what matters most. Let us begin to move through the steps of transitions in ministry as an invitation to us this Lenten season through the next. If we listen deeply to one another, we will be able to begin to name what Danaan Perry calls the trapeze bar moving towards us. He writes, “It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts, I know that for me to grow, I must release my grip on this present, well-known bar and move to the new one.”
Here are five steps that ministers are given for these seasons of transition – whether they are settled ministers, interim, contract, developmental, hired, senior, associate, or assistant ministers, we are given these to share with congregations. I share the steps with you now as spiritual tools to help us make the most of this time in between and to help us move forward with grace and grit when we falter, which we shall – this is a journey into the unknown – and we are adapting and changing as we go.
The first step: coming to terms with history. We have arrived here at First Unitarian at many different times in history. There is a need to share our heritage, the history and the stories that have shaped us into who we are today.
I want to hear all those stories, including wrapping the block with a ribbon and all the pivotal moments that came before and have come since.
Part of this first step is about processing grief. Lent is a holiday connected to grief. Both grief about what was challenging and is unresolved in our past, as well as grief about what worked in another era that no longer works today. Part of it is also about the grief that comes with celebrating an ending. It is not long ago that you said goodbye to Reverend Bill Sinkford in June. Good goodbyes take time, and that’s important. Some of you may still even be grieving an earlier minister, staff member, or lay leader. Moving through that season is important, and I honor that truth.
Step two in transitions in ministry, discovering a new or renewed identity. Who are we now in our present context? Who are we feeling called to become? To be in relationship with? How are we called to serve in 2023 and beyond? Both these first two steps will no doubt be part of our community conversations happening this spring.
Step three, allowing new leadership to emerge. How can we empower new people to lead – the ones that don’t yet know how we do things? How can we be open to new styles of leadership? How can we avoid saying things like, we tried that 30 years ago and it didn’t work. Or, I don’t think we can do that here. Let us imagine really opening things up. How can longtime leaders both mentor others and be mentored in new ways by newcomers? The power of a multigenerational community is we know we learn from one another.
Step four, renewing denominational ties. What is our larger Unitarian Universalist heritage? Who are our partners in faith? What are the resources and learning we could glean from the wisdom of others?
Step five, committing to new directions in ministry. Developing a shared vision of our future… opening our hearts, minds, and spirits to the learning and the changes. Being ready to ask, how can I be of service? How can we organize our collective gifts to be stewards of the mantle of love’s ministry in our time?
Each of us is called in our faith to be priests and prophets – to model care and compassion and courage in how we love in this spiritual village that we have freely chosen and in the beloved community beyond any walls we might create.
Lent reminds us that ultimately today is the day that we are given to sow gladness, to sow justice, to sow forgiveness, to sow faithfulness, to sow the seeds of more abundant life for the tomorrows we will greet and the tomorrows that others will greet without us. May we feel the presence of the shade of our ancestor’s trees and may we for the moment fly forth from their branches.
Let me close with my Lenten meditation and prayer:
Spirit of Life,
Teach me that I am mortal,
So that I may not squander this day.
Teach me that I am interdependent,
So that I may ask for help when I need it.
Teach me that I am made for love,
So that I may show up when others are in need.
Teach me that I am made for hope,
So that I may reach for what once seemed impossible.
Teach me that I am made for now,
So that I may give away all that I am and never hold back.
May it be so! Amen.
[1] A reference to the morning’s reading, “The Parable of the Trapeze,” by Danaan Parry
Topics: Courage