Proper 17 / Year A
I was with John, our
British tour guide on my first Camino, as we walked the streets of Santiago de
Compostela leading to the cathedral square where pilgrims have gathered for centuries. I have a vivid memory of him turning to me
and saying, “I am not ready for this to be over.” After days of walking, climbing hills the
flat terrain of Suffolk had not conditioned me for, enduring periods cold,
rain, and heat (amongst mostly beautiful weather), and longing at the end of each
day to take off my pack and rest my feet, I realized in that moment I too was
not ready for our pilgrimage to end. Of
course, I tell you this story because this morning I have a sense of déjà
vu. I am not ready for my wonderful time
with all of you to be over.
Some weeks ago, as I laid
in bed, waiting for sleep while saying my prayers, I began to reflect on the
question, “What is it about my experience here at St. Paul’s that has made it
so special?” What came to me was a deep
awareness of how you have given me a place to be. A place to be. Let that sink in for a moment. If it seems trivial or inconsequential, you
need to sit with it some more until you realize how significant, how precious,
and how rare it is. In a world where
loneliness is almost an epidemic and people feel more isolated than ever, and countless
souls wonder if their life matters at all to anyone or if they have a purpose
greater than the pain of going on, I was given a place to be.
A place to be who I
am. To do what I do. To be loved for who I am. To be forgiven when I fall short. To be valued and appreciated for what I have
to offer. To know I make a difference. And, perhaps most of all, to offer to
everyone here what has been offered to me.
To help make this a place where others can be.
Not too long ago I came
across this quote from the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard: Life is not a
problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced. It occurred to me what is true of life also is
true of churches: parishes are not a problem to be solved; they are a reality
to be experienced. How fortunate am I to
have lived into this wisdom here simply by valuing having a place to be!
Sadly, some of my
colleagues over the years have talked about “their” churches as if they were a
problem to be solved. Their job, as they
saw it, was to come into a church, diagnose its flaws, apply the latest trendy
solutions, and then get everyone to buy into what they were prescribing. All of this somehow was to remedy to what was
holding back the congregation in order to lead it into some kind of new, golden
era – usually, I guess, consisting of more money or more people or more of
both. They talked about “their” parishes
as if they were places to be fixed, certainly not realities to be experienced.
I don’t want to be too
harsh on them because it is just a sign of what we find throughout our
society. We live in a face-paced, goal-oriented
world where we set objectives, make plans, and chase what we define as
success. Along the way we put out fires
and rush past what we perceive to be distractions. Ask anyone what they are working on at any
given point in time and it is doubtful they will answer “I am working of being
where I am.”
Have you ever heard of the
concept of Flow? It was first introduced
by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, a Hungarian-American psychologist. It describes what happens when a person is completely
immersed in an activity, allowing a sense of time and self to fade away. You know you have been in Flow when you say, “Oh
my, I lost all sense of time.” Listen to
how one person describes its effect:
By embracing the present moment with
curiosity, openness, and a willingness to engage fully, we create opportunities
for authentic experiences and gain a deeper understanding of ourselves and the
world around us. When we are solely
focused on solving problems, we risk becoming disconnected from the richness of
life itself. We miss out on the subtle
joys, the meaningful connections, and the beauty that surrounds us. [The concept of Flow] serves as a gentle
reminder to pause and appreciate the journey rather than solely focusing on the
destination.
This,
for me, touches on the wisdom in Kierkegaard’s reminder life is a reality to be
experienced. It illuminates what happens
when you embrace the blessing of having a place to be.
Today’s
collect is my favorite all we offer over the course of the year. Drawing on the imagery of gardening by
utilizing the verbs grafting increasing, nourishing, and bringing forth, it
describes what I am talking about, only from a slightly different vantage
point. The only way you can grow and be
productive is to be rooted in a particular place and nourished by being
there. This what you have offered to me and
God has given to me for nineteen years… a place to be rooted, to grow, and to flourish. This is what I hope I have offered to
everyone here looking for a place to be.
Of
course, there are lots of places which provide a place to be: clubs, friendship
groups, workplaces, fraternities and sobrieties… What makes us distinctive is how we seek to make
this a place where Christ is honored and made known as we strive to live into Gospel
as we have received it through the Episcopal tradition and witness. And, I must say, you all have a glorious way
of doing this.
“I
am not ready for this to be over.” It
wasn’t long after John said these words that we entered the Cathedral square. Hundreds upon hundreds of pilgrims gathered
there, some alone, some as couples, others in groups of differing sizes. Most completed their pilgrimage that very day
and were enjoying the square simply as a place to be. No one was celebrating the long walk was over
and no one seemed to be preening in what they had accomplished, be it walking a
route of 100 or 500 kilometers to get there.
It was as if collectively we all were bathing in the totality of how
blessed we were simply by making the journey.
It was a reality present throughout every step of the Camino, but it came
into focus most keenly in that moment in the square. Do you understand now why today feels like déjà
vu?
In
a real sense that pilgrimage has never ended for me. Yes, some aspects of it are over and gone. But most of it – the most important parts –
remain with me in ways I cannot explain, but don’t need to defend. I am different for having gone on the Camino
and it is still a part of me. It has not
ended. That day in the square is always
with me.
This
day, this moment, reminds me so much of the Cathedral square. It will never be over. No matter where I am, no matter where I go, I
will be carrying you with me. And as the
years go by here at St. Paul’s I hope you will have this same sense. I hope what has been good about me and what
has been good about us will endure in tangle ways. This, I think, is a byproduct of valuing a
place to be. The moment may end, but
what it means to us, how it felt, what we gave and what we received remains and
participates in who we will become long after we have left the square.
