On Change & Transition
Reading & sermon preached by Reverend Carolyn Patierno
February 4, 2007

Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm?  To be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearful joy?
All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind, no power can hold them back, they rush on.
Keeping step with that restless, rapid music, seasons come dancing and pass away.
Colors, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades in the abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every mment.
Rabindranath Tagore

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Change happens.  We all know that the only thing we can really count on in this life is that change happens.  The poets, saints and sages manage to wax poetic about this sometimes uncomfortable truth.  In the reading we just shared, Rabindranath Tagore, talks of a “fearful joy.” 

When I was a young woman I lived in Vail, CO.  Vail is a wondrous place and I was there during a wondrous time of my life.  It is also a transient place -  lot’s of coming and going and I was among those who only briefly called Vail home.  While I was there I worked in a preschool and became very close with Rob & Kathy, the couple who owned and ran the school.  We were like family.  One afternoon I was at a picnic with Kathy.  She told me that she was thrilled that the staff at the time was both competent and beloved.  As I was one of those to whom she referred, I felt flattered and particularly close to her.  To my surprise, her musings turned melancholy as she said, quite rightly, that that time of well-being and great ease was sure to be coming to an end.  In her fearful joy, she anticipated change and the pain of transition.  I thought the world of her and learned lessons from her that inform my approach to working with young children to this day.  At the time I couldn’t imagine her and her husband not being a part of my life.  And yet, she was right.  I moved away not long after that beautiful afternoon we shared.  True, we stayed connected for many years thereafter but after some years our communication trickled down to an annual holiday greeting.  And sadly, for the past two years, even that much anticipated exchange has stopped.

Our lives change.  We change.  And there is a melancholy about it.   Said the writer, Anatole France,   “All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another.”

I’m starting to believe that every day brings some subtle death, something or someone who is left behind as we enter into a new part of our lives.  We especially see this cycle in witnessing young children who everyday – every hour, it seems – change.  Their relationship with the world around them changes as they become increasingly aware of their surroundings and the people who surround them.  This developmental stage really stands as a metaphor for the rest of our days, if we are fortunate to live relatively long lives. 

Tagore holds up “…the abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment.”  We know that joy.  And we know the shadow side of that joy as well.  I suspect that this shadow side is the reason weddings move us to tears.  There is the joy … the pure, hopeful, optimistic joy of two people proclaiming and believing in the strength of their love.  And just beyond that joy is the wisdom in knowing that change waits right there in the wings.  Indeed, the most oft read scriptural passage at any given wedding:  I Corinthians 13.   “Love never ends.  But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end.” 

Well, we know that like prophecies, tongues, and knowledge; love does sometimes end.  It certainly changes – with all due respect to St. Paul.  And the dearly beloved gather and witness the vows and for a moment hold for the bride and the groom this truth: that as all things change, so will they.  As well, the dearly beloved experience the wedding ceremony through the lens of their own their own vows – whether broken or in tact.  And we can’t help but experience that fearful joy the poet illuminates.  

Transition starts with an ending.   In his book, Managing Transitions, William Bridges says this over and over again.  I referred to this idea in my January newsletter column in speaking about the transitions we are facing here in our new home.  Some of you have been generous in sharing your own transition process with me what has surprised you in making this place our home.  The surprises you’ve named include not knowing where to sit in this unique seating configuration.  Across the way you sat on this side or that side.  NOT, like here, on this side or that side or this side of that side or that side of that side – times two.  The hospitality team is still trying to figure out coffee hour, and apparently, so are you.  The acoustics are getting better and better and now we have to figure out how to make the better and better look prettier and prettier.  Every solution seems to raise another question!

I figured out that I need to greet you at the front door in order to keep the entrance to Unity Hall less congested.  Yet, I still can’t figure out how to wish you well when we part.  Where to set up a receiving line?  And every week that comes and goes I miss wishing you well … blessing you into the next week.  I’ve been planting myself here at the chancel.  Today I’ll formally invite you to come on up here for a new kind of receiving line.   And we’ll see what kind of change and then transition that change inspires.
                                                                                                                  
Transition begins with letting go of something.  Maybe we need to acknowledge what it is we are having to let go of.  Here are a few things:  there’s a kitchen there where here there is none.  Those of us who could actually get into our historic building were comfortable there.  There is a coziness about Huntington Street, after all.  Many Souls were well acquainted with that space.  It was an old friend.  The building has quirks, but they feel more manageable – because we know the quirks so well.  

And of course, the children are transitioning as well.  At their children’s chapel two weeks ago, they were each given a little pocket-sized card with a copy of the drawing of the building.  Perry wanted to them to have something to literally hold onto. 

We know this transition will take time and will be different for each of us.  It is one of the reasons why I encouraged that we hold the dedication in March.  I figured that by then we would have had time to learn many of this building’s particular quirks and how to fix or adjust to them.  More importantly, I’d hoped that with three months time we would have had time to more deeply come to know and embrace this space as home. 

We’re getting there. 

Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm?  To be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearful joy?  We’re finding our rhythm, friends.  We’re learning new ways that will ultimately bring us more clarity and comfort.  And in the learning we are being tossed and lost and in some ways even broken.  But we are also being held in joy – albeit a bit of a fearful joy.  But it is a rare joy that does not have fear as its companion. 

Finally, what we must remind ourselves of is that this place is only a reflection of who we are and not who we are.  Beauty, truth, and love – that’s what it says on the chalice that graces this pulpit that for decades graced the stone wall of the Krag wing.  That devotion to these three is who we are.  No matter how much change and transition is thrown into the mix, we are going about the work of creating lives of beauty, truth, and love.  These remain.  And the greatest of these is love.

Through this creative and challenging time, we would do well to hold on to each other through transition’s letting go time – a time that is really a little bit of a desert time.  We won’t be wandering around for 40 years but there is a certain wandering just the same.   What great things we will find and create together.

TOP