Reflections for Summer

June 16, 2002

"Summer afternoon--summer afternoon; to me, those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language." --Henry James

My colleague Charles Stephen, who retired several years ago after a long ministry in Lincoln, Nebraska, has written that "June . . . comes along just when we need it. It's a month that arrives just in time to cure our ills, to bring balm to our spirits."

Charles was writing after a long Nebraska winter, and anyone who has lived through one of those long mid-western winters out on the prairie can appreciate the meaning of June. I remember traveling to Underwood, Minnesota to preach one late May Sunday and finding myself driving through a blinding snowstorm.

I confess that I was not quite so desperate for June this year as I usually am, having already had five months off for study, travel, and reflection. (Good thing, too, because its been more like April around here than June, anyway!)

But one can never have too much time for reflection and renewal, and as we in these northern climes know, one can never have too much of June, either. For twenty years, now, June for me has meant the end of the regular church year--no more or at least fewer church meetings to attend; no more sermons to write, at least for a couple of months. June usually also has meant traveling to the Unitarian Universalist Association General Assembly, where I have reconnected with old friends and colleagues and participated in our annual Unitarian Universalist rite of summer's beginning.

Those trips to General Assembly have been a gift because they have allowed me to see much of the continent: from Vancouver, British Columbia to Brunswick, Maine, from Fort Worth, Texas to Columbus, Ohio, from Palm Springs, California to Atlanta, Georgia. This year General Assembly will give me an excuse to visit beautiful Quebec City, Canada. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Actually, it is hard to believe that I was ordained twenty years ago this week, on June 13, 1982, at the First and Second Church in Boston. Where have the years gone? Most of the participants in that service have retired now. Two of them, the Rev. Dr. Alice Harrison and the Rev. Carl Seaburg, are deceased. The Chair of the Standing Committee, Sheldon Bennett, who led the congregation the Act of Ordination, eventually became a Unitarian Universalist minister himself, and is now a valued colleague. Church historian and retired Harvard Divinity School professor Conrad Wright delivered the sermon on "The Demands of the Age on the Ministry." Little did I know! My field education supervisor at the First Parish in Arlington, Charles Grady, delivered the Charge to the Minister. In that charge, Charles said,

Have you ever looked at the long, fascinating string of definitions for the word charge? There are many meanings, of course. There's an electric charge, as in a battery. There's a financial obligation, the price of something. There's the headlong rush of troops into battle. There's the explosive used in a firearm, another warlike usage. But it can mean the care of custody of someone or something. And it can also be instruction, command, order, or injunction. There's lots more, but these are the major meanings. And for the fundamental meaning of the word, turning now to the verb form, to charge seems to boil down to the act of putting a load on, or in, something. So Harold, it is time to "lay it on you." With this ordaining to the ministry of the liberal church by this congregation, a load is placed upon you; you shall house a new potential; you shall harbor an explosive power. Nor shall this charge dissipate with time, even though all memory of these words of mine shall fade away.

Relish your ministry, and the richness of experience, the joyful complexities, the depth of feeling it affords.

Cherish the beloved community you serve with unbounded joy and hope, helping them lift their humanity high above the wreck and wrack of time.

Savor the love that people extend to people; praise it and nurture it wherever you find it; it is of God.

Keep your heart on good terms with the Infinite Source. Do not become distracted or diverted by side shows or busy work, or ingenious schemes. Your mind and the world's concerns will be all right.

Of course, nothing could really prepare me for the joys, the opportunities for deepening, and the wonderful friendships, or for the heartrending tragedies and losses of what Unitarian Universalist minister Gordon McKeeman has called "the asking years." But that is all part of ministry, and of life. And despite Charles's confidence that "[my] mind and the world's concerns will be all right," nothing can stop me from waiting always for the other shoe to drop.

Summer doesn't have to be just about relaxation or escape, or of laying down the load, of course. It can also be an opportunity for intentionally "re-inspiriting" ourselves. For several years now I have used summer travel--particularly long road trips--as a time for reflection and renewal. There is something about wide open spaces and the open road which heals the cracks in my soul.

All of us need sacred places and spaces, and summer can provide an opportunity to visit those places on earth which refresh our bodies and spirits. These need not be far away, and may be as close as our back yard garden.

I always try to read a few good books during the summer, but mostly I like to let myself lie dormant for a while. This may seem wasteful and even, to a descendent of the Puritans like myself, a little sinful, but I have learned over the years that it is this annual period of dormancy, of lying fallow, which allows the mystery of creativity to come to light. All of us, I believe, need time simply "to be." Most of us, in this "wreck and wrack of time," don't get enough "down" time. Busy-ness is one of the most destructive dilemmas of life in the early 21st century.

One of the joys of my time in Transylvania was to be in a place where things move much more slowly. Not that things are simpler, because they are not: but because there simply is no point hurrying because there is no particular place to go, and often no way to get there.

But my time in Transylvania also presented me with some conundrums to contemplate this summer. As, for example, why is it that fear-based religions predominate and proliferate, and religions that preach about freedom, tolerance, and reason are reviled and struggle to gain adherents? How has it come to pass that Jesus's religion of "love to God and one's neighbor" has been perverted into such a multiplicity of forms of hate?

Or, what am I going to do--what are we going to do, as individuals and as a congregation--about the vast inequities which exist in our world? One thing a visit to Eastern Europe quickly does is to show what an embarrassment of riches we here in the United States have--most of us, anyway. This is not just a materialistic problem, but a spiritual one. Most of us have more than we need, and would greatly benefit from simplifying our lives. Jesus knew what he was talking about when he counseled the rich man to "sell all you have, and follow me." Most of us could do with less, and would probably be happier, too.

I don't expect any answers to these questions of mine. One thing I have learned in twenty years in the ministry is that I cannot single-handedly change the world. Perhaps we cannot change the world, though, rest assured, the world will change. But perhaps we can hold evil in check during our watch here on earth. Perhaps we can even make one person's life a little brighter and more hope-filled. To have done so, I think, is to have lived a successful life. And, who knows, maybe this is how we change the world, anyway: one life at a time. Beginning, of course, with our own.

Today another church year ends, and we embark on another summer. As I look back over the last twenty years of summers, I am grateful for what I am and what I have. I am grateful for my family and friends, and for all the wonderful people I have met and worked with during twenty years of ministry.

One of those people is Barbara Owen, whom we shall miss as she begins her retirement at the end of this month. Barbara will remain with us as a member of the church, but things will be different around here without her presence on the organ bench. Thanks again Barbara, for all you have given this church over the last 39 years. All good things have their endings.

My colleague Charles Stephen, whom I quoted at the outset and in the morning's readings, also wrote that

. . .summer always ends. So be it, then; we will find comfort in these dependabilities, these continuities. If seasons change, if we ourselves change, we will learn to accept and respect and even love the changes. If we created the world, we might do things differently--have July last longer, for instance, or have age come to us more slowly. But now we live in the world as it is, and "summer's lease hath all too short a date [William Shakespeare]."

"But now we live in the world as it is." Let us not forget that it is still a world shot through with beauty and graced by goodness, in spite of all that darkens and degrades it. It is the world that contains our lives and the lives of all we love. May we be thankful that we are alive to experience another summer. May its gentle breezes warm us and keep us safe, until we meet again. Amen. The Rev. Harold E. Babcock