Open Endings
Co-Pastor Amitiyah Elayne Hyman
March 14, 2004
Well, here we are. A seed which has been germinating in the churned up belly of Takoma Park's pastor, for about 9 months. Ever since the retreat last June, the Session knew that something was different about her ... a seed growing secretly, slightly off, agitated, restless, given to emotional mood swings, needing more down time, easily distracted. Slowly, decently, and with order, the seed took root. It grew into shape in the selection of a search committee, who labored over a job description. Then the word went out and those who had ears to hear responded. Background checks and conversations began, letters of recommendation and phone calls were made, interviews were held sermons were heard. The selection process began and ended. An idea whose time has come, has come to pass. HERE WE ARE.
Here am I. One who has been lovingly, laughingly, living in the woods of wilderness, but, one who loves the sanctuary too. Apparently I just can't get enough of the Presbyterian Church. The Presbyterian Church's not finished with me either. Two years ago, on the 23rd anniversary of my ordination, on Race Relations Sunday, I finished my work with a beloved congregation and took my leave of the Presbyterian Church, as I knew it. I felt great saying goodbye. We interims are good at saying goodbye. I had done my job, we celebrated together, it was a friendly farewell. A new person was in place. It was time to move on. Those of you who know me, know how happy I was. In the intervening two years, I have met God, no only in dry and weary deserts like the Psalmist, but also in wet and soggy watering holes. The pious might call them ungodly places, with ungodly people. It's been a lot of fun. None of it was particularly religious, hardly Presbyterian, catholic maybe, wich a small "c". agnostic often, not godly. That's for church folk they'd say, those who are trying to keep from going to hell. But all of it/them had great spirit, whether they were rooting for their favorite team, like the Pittsburgh Steelers, pounding a glass of brew on a counter in a sports bar, on a Sunday afternoon. Or they were talking aobut their search for serenity in overcrowded rooms of hospitals and community centers. They call themselves, those who have been to hell and are on their way back. I'm back. Here am I in the place of worship, eyes wide open taking in God's strength and glory. I bless God and know myself to be in the Shadow of the Winged One. Thank you God.
I am here, so to speak, because I am not all there. But thank you God, I am no longer me, the "m" has been turned upside down, mission diverted. I am here as a "w" now. Not me, but we. Of course as I step into the sanctuary, I am here as just one more woman, a bozo on the bus, of faith, in a vast sea of people of faith, in a CHURCH FOR ALL PEOPLE, for those who believe and for those who doubt, for those who need help and those who need to be needed, the fearful and the faithful, pastors and pew sitter alike. All who have been called, summoned by life to somehow hear and do the word/will of God.
Will anybody say that with me.
"I AM HERE, BECAUSE I AM NOT ALL THERE. I AM CALLED BY LIFE TO HEAR AND DO THE WORD/WILL OF GOD.
Now the fact of the matter is that we don't have all of the time in the world to do it either. At least not together. That's the nature of the pastor/peopel relationship. Jesus stayed with his disciples for 3 years. Now isn't that just like a minister. We pastors tend to be restless, anxious, irritable even, when we've got a job to do, a contract to fulfill, a Committee on Ministry looking over our shoulder, a Personnel committee breathing down our necks, a PNC waiting to be formed. When a task has been assigned. When we respond to a call, we start feeling responsible. It's as if the outcome depended on us. We love the sanctuary, yes, but now we've got an agenda ... a docket to move through. So what do we do? We go to the VINEDRESSER and fuss over fig trees. We get a plan in mind and want to move forward. We've got roughly one year, give or take a few months, to bear fruit, to grow into something of value, something good and juicy, something succulent and tasty. Hmmm, yumm. Don't you just love a good piece of fruit. Plump. Brown. Round. Now let's see, 20 new families, a balanced budget, new office space for staff, something light and lovely, without fingerprints or grime, a capital campaign, hmm, yumm, something good and juicy, something succulent and tasty.
But faith journeying is much more opened ended and messy than that. I don't care what the Book of Order says. Faith journeying together is icky, sticky, and drippy. There will be grime and dirt, spills and cleanups. Spatters and splatters, rain soakings and sun dryings, wind whippings, and silent nights. We are here to be a non-anxious presence, a sacred witness, a growing tree of people, two leggeds and four leggeds, winged and walking. Ever see a tree grow? It grows toward the light. Arms reach up and out. If there is too much shadow it will bend over to catch light from another direction. It twists and turns in order to balance and continue to grow. We are here to be manured - fertilized if you will. Our roots may need aerating, spaded below the surface. We are here to be handled and held by the tender/tough hand of God.
Will somebody say that with me?
I AM HERE TO BE HANDLED AND HELD BY THE TENDER/TOUGH HAND OF GOD.
Not just me, but we.
We are here to be handled and held by the tough/tender hand of God, not knowing, or needing to know, what the future holds. We are here knowing who holds the future. We are here to be plucked and pruned, possibly cut down to the right size that God can use.
I am here. You are here. We are here.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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