Have you ever found yourself with about a million things to say and about 15 minutes to say them in? I can now tell you from first hand experience what that feels like.
Today I am delivering my final address to you, this lovely congregation at the top of a hill. Behind us lay six weeks of laughter and growth. For while I cannot speak for the lot of you, I can tell you that I have grown in ministry. And for that I thank you from the deepest, most sacred place in my heart.
On the first Sunday that I stood before you, I spoke about Journeys; traveling far from home, being nervous about being here and how wondrous it all was. The next Sunday was Father’s Day and I shared with you the story of my friendship with Wallace Rusterholtz, and the importance of nurturing the world around us. On Sunday number three I wrote about doubt and it’s role in faith development. Next came Flower Sunday where the youth of our congregation presented the theme “Diversity in flowers and people,” which I thought was a brilliant theme.
And now we’ve come to this, the final address.
You might notice that I’m standing up here in the high pulpit. Something I never thought I would never do, I assure you, even though it was requested and joked about. I’m a little nervous about heights, you see…. but more importantly, when I practiced preaching from up here in my first week, it felt too distant from the pews.
Since my arrival six short weeks ago I have been asking you gently, or at least I hope gently, to look at the way things are done here in Old Chapel. And you put up with my questions quite nicely. You moved to the front of the church, something that every person I spoke to, couldn’t believe. The kids and I brought in a computer, a projector and a screen and provided a mulit-media service for the congregation. This was also a radically new idea.
By standing here in this pulpit, I hope to demonstrate several things.
The first is that while the minister is the spiritual leader of a congregation, that is not the only job of a minister. Ministers and congregations must work together in concert to deepen the connectivity within the congregation, between the members who are already here; and also they work to show the world outside our walls, what an example of a deeply caring community can look like. On the sign out front, you have boldly placed a quote by Francis David “We need not all think alike to love alike.” And together you demonstrate this admirably.
A minister must also follow their congregation. We cannot charge ahead, sure that we alone know what’s best for the congregation, or without regard to the congregation’s concerns and place in the world.
We can however, agitate and try to massage the congregation into a position that we, with our academic training and preparation, might think is best.
No relationship, of course, is perfect.
And so, today, I’m up here because people in the congregation thought it would be good for my growth as a minister to preach from this position. I’m here because I thought the congregation was most likely right. Although I’m still a little nervous about being locked in up here.
Another reason that I chose to preach from here is out of my profound respect for this congregation and it’s history. It has been an honor to be here with you since 6 June of this year. I will never forget this experience.
The third reason I chose to come up here was to demonstrate my belief that we are all capable of evolving as beings until our very last breath. Earlier this afternoon I led a short worship service to begin Fun Day, it contained the Native American story of the Two Wolves. What’s important to me about that story is that each moment, we are given chances to choose to do the more correct thing. That even if we’ve made a string of mistakes and bad decisions, still, just around the corner is the chance to make a good decision.
Around every corner lies a chance to make a better life.
And also though, there is the lesson that even if you’ve made 1 million good decisions in a row, you can’t rest on your laurels. You must be ever aware of how your choices affect the people around you and the people you’ll never meet.
Obviously, mistakes will be made along the way, as no one is perfect, and it seems the more sophisticated our understanding of the world becomes, the less clear the line between right and wrong becomes.
This evolution of the individual also applies to evolution of organizations, and yes, congregations. I was speaking with a member of this congregation about change a few weeks ago, and she spoke about a resistance to change and a loss of comfort. I am aware of the comfort of some routines and rituals. I have my own. But what came out in our conversation was the idea that change is constant. Even if we dig our heels in and promise to fight the good fight to keep things the way they have been for as long as we can remember, or for as long as it’s been the way WE like it, change comes.
It comes in the form of the death of a beloved member of your church. It comes with a parliamentary vote in which few could’ve predicted the outcome. It comes in the form of a minster in training from a far-off, former colony.
What matters is not change itself, for we can not stop change, it is a force of the universe. And really, if we didn’t change, on some level, we’d still be in the stone age. What matters is how we engage change.
Anatoloe France tells us: All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
Change can be very exciting for some, and for those who like change, we must remember that others will mourn, and if we are to be our best selves, we must do more than tolerate their mourning, we must make time and space for them. We must lovingly walk with those mourners of the old ways, even as inside, our hearts are leaping ahead.
I’ll be leaving behind a document for the congregation to read about my experiences and observations here in Old Chapel. I hope that when it’s widely read, those aching for change and those who aren’t, will walk together in the loving way that I have seen you doing since I arrived here.
The time for our walking together is almost complete.
As I look from here into the faces of the people I have come to have genuine affection for, I offer a silent prayer of gratitude to the Spirit of Life, the God of Love, un-nameble and wholly unknowable.
Our lives are not complete. Here are the words of John Dewey, American Unitarian and educator “Where everything is complete, there is no fulfillment.” Individually, it is my hope that each day you will carry the story of the little boy, his grandfather and the two wolves with you. That you remember from the tiniest child to the eldest sage, you have agency in your life. Your life can be and will be affected by the choices you make, from stealing a cookie to reaching out for help.
As a congregation it is my greatest hope that you will find the strength, courage and mutual affection, to boldly step into your future. A future where you show Dukinfield, Tameside and the world, the human miracle of a loving community. Our world needs your example. Blessed be.
Please join me in this, what will become our final prayer together.
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
