Transitioning with Vigor

Betsy Tabor, August 30, 2009

 

Hey…we made it!  March, April, May, June, July and August…on our own!  We did it—we all did it!  It is no small thing for a church community to function without a minister—much less thrive, and even grow.  And this is what we have done over these past six months.  It is cause for some smiles and some pats on the back.

 

And it’s cause for taking stock.  We have come a distance since Rev. Roberta left in February:  and not only did we make a lot of things happen, but I think that during this transition we’ve let something happen, too.  So let’s take stock of this chapter before the next one unfolds—or should I say, before we write the next one.

 

I don’t know about you, but in the bleak mid-winter, I felt a little shaky.  We had all experienced a big upset and had been handed quite a transition to navigate.  The first six months of it looked daunting.  

 

While some folks saunter into what’s next with a breezy “Whatever,” others of us suffer—especially when we see a huge right-angle turn coming up. Big transitions can feel like the end of the world as we know it—and the end is our greatest fear, is it not?   Some freak out.  Others freeze and live in denial until the eleventh hour.  Not graceful transitioners, my son Max and I are known for that….

 

My whole house is in transition.  My husband’s newspaper industry is (hopefully) transitioning to a better business model, our daughter’s graduating from college this year, and our son’s just starting.  Two days after we launch him in Colorado, I start grad school.  We’re both nervous…I hope the gods enjoy themselves as the two of us start classes on the very same day!

 

Tough transitions ahead can also shrink our world.  Fear narrows our perspective, and it’s hard to get beyond our own concerns:  How’s this going to affect me? 

 

I became pregnant with Laura when I was 37—I had a career and a lot of good things going on.   I was very ambivalent.  My pregnant friend Eliza nailed it:  “All I can think of is how many things this baby will be the end of!”  This was true, of course, but oh, this baby was the beginning of so much! 

 

Moving into the unknown hits our buttons.  How can I make room for this?  Is this the right move?  What if I don’t like it?  What if I can’t handle this? Will I find my people? And, hey, will I find love?  Will I feel safe and heard and held? 

 

When we’re used to the way things are, we can worry about what’s next.  I am guessing that, on the heels of Roberta’s departure last winter, eyeing the transition ahead, we all engaged in some form of worry.

 

Would our programs keep running?   Would people tolerate a different face in the pulpit twenty-seven Sundays in a row?

Unlike other faiths, we had no creed to recite, no weekly liturgical calendar, no “Book of Common Prayer” to give shape to our worship.  Would we be able to count on getting what we want from this spiritual home of ours?

 

Would people keep showing up?  What would new folks, seeking spiritual solace and meaning, think of a church that blithely referred for months on end to being “between ministers”?  What kind of faith is that? 

 

Well, I’m thinking it’s a strong, vital faith.  How many organizations of several hundred people do you know that can function for months on end without the boss? 

 

And it all worked out, didn’t it?  People stepped up.  If I say your name or a group or project of which you’re a part, would you please stand for a few moments together?  Because it seems that, in the absence of a minister, many of us have been taking ownership of what goes on here. Ushers opened the church.  Auction organizers Joanne Lembo, Denise, Penny, Julie, Andy (who else?) stepped up and threw a great event.  Wes and Jim stepped up with Denise, Myleeta, Kelly, Danna, Marie, Alice, Doug, Jackie, Cindy, Judy, Skye, Roddy (who else?)—they coordinated Portsmouth’s favorite garden tour.   These two events contributed $30,000 to our budget.  When Sandra went to grad school, Mike McGrail, Sue Peterson, Brian, Amy, Megan and Maureen (who else is involved with Religious Education?)—they stepped up to keep it going and found a director, our own Sheila Shea. 

 

(keep asking folks to stand) Pastoral, Outreach and Fellowship programs continued.  Worship happened—Worship Associates and South Church volunteers have been going full tilt.  Covenant Groups and Safe Congregation people met, NUUSflashes went out, bills were paid, South Church Folk formed, the choir sang, the women’s book group read, windows got painted, the fall retreat was planned.  Council nights brought people together…and our board admirably kept our ship on course.  Look around…this is how we have ministered to each other! Together, we’ve made a lot of things happen.

 

In this sanctuary a sense of buoyancy emerged. There’s been an open, curious quality around worship, perhaps because there weren’t expectations to fill.  Every week’s been different from the last, which has felt kind of organic.  I went to see Matthew Fox in Portland last May, and he said, “The only sin in life is drying up.  Stay wet and moist and green and juicy!”  I think we’ve been green and juicy….It seems as if the strong opinions usually directed this way have been diffused—kind of like a judgment-free zone J  Uncomplicated, accepting, with a felt and often spoken gratitude for one anothers’ efforts toward the common good.

 

As the months have passed, our mood has shifted from concern and uncertainty, to “It’s OK.  We’re OK.”  You can’t just summon that solid sense of ground.  We all pray for it and meditate in hopes of feeling it, but it’s elusive…and we sure know it when it bubbles up. 

 

It occurred to me last week that these six months have been a gift in ways, so I asked around.  Here’s what I heard:

 

From Joanne Holman: “We’ve come together solidly.”  Kate Gill-Kressley:  “We’ve experienced an opportunity for people’s talents and resourcefulness to emerge.  James Funston:  I “sense a sort of creativity, a sense of initiative, in the church.”  Kari Pritchard: “We’ve had to dig deep in the well, and we’ve found cool nourishing water that we never knew was there.”  Julie Frank: “ a gift I have received is seeing unlikely leaders emerge….People who would consider themselves unlikely…but those of us who know them are not surprised.”  Alexandra Lockwood:  I’ve found gifts of friendship during these months….Being between ministers has made us closer as a congregation.”  Tracey Clarkson:  “… we have done a…good job at taking care of ourselves and each other …. The quality of worship has been very good, attendance has remained steady, and we've had a constant flow of new folks interested in becoming involved….We can be proud indeed.”

 

So as we we’ve been making things happen, keeping the church running, it seems that a shift in our collective spirit, in our understanding of ourselves, has bubbled up—we didn’t make that happen, but we’ve let it happen.  Let’s acknowledge that and be sure it doesn’t slip away.

 

My homeopathy teacher Nancy Frederick talks about our containers.  How, as we go through life, transitioning, learning, experiencing new things—“giving it a whirl,” as my friend Fritz says—we grow and evolve, and it feels like we occupy more space in the world.  As we expand into what Rev. Kendra Ford calls our big, beautiful selves, we outgrow our containers, somehow, and find ourselves occupying larger ones.  We move in them with more ease, we are more in the flow, we are more ourselves.  A Writer’s Almanac poem last week by Ron Koertge reminded me of this:  “If you were a bird,” he asks, “what would be your wingspan?”

 

Rolfer Paul Gordon also talks about expansion.  To the extent something causes us to feel smaller or less than, he says, we contract— both physically—limping or hunching over—and spiritually.   Conversely, we feel expansive, in situations we’re drawn to, and around ideas and people that animate us. We have a sense of our potential and become stronger and healthier.  I love the idea that the more resonance we feel in life, the fuller we become and the taller we stand. 

 

I think these six months have seen us expand.  Our wingspan has grown!  I’m reminded of my sister-in-law, Mariana, for whom the ultimate right-angle turn also brought a sense of expansion.  Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at forty and given two months to live, this ambitious, gifted eye-trauma surgeon who all her adult life had spent more time in the hospital than at home, cleaned out her office and came home to re-invent her life.  Defying the medical odds, Mariana lived four remarkable years, and she transitioned into the most hands-on mother I’ve ever known.  She’d sit on the floor for hours, playing with her little girls.  This was a time of healing.  It’s been eight years since she died—yesterday, my brother told me she said that getting sick was the best thing that had ever happened to her.  As theologian Pittman McGeehee says, “Grace can enter through our wounds.”

 

So let’s be mindful of the gifts of all of our transitions.  As we make our way forward, we can carry them with us.  Do you have another briefcase?  Perhaps a spiritual toolbox?

 

~                                                          ~                                                          ~

 

In middle school, our son Max went to London with his class.  This brought up major transition angst.  He so wanted to come home, even if it meant traveling back all by himself.  It was too expensive to talk on the phone, so I found myself writing lots of emails. I suggested specifics—like Rescue Remedy in his water bottle (that’s a good one for stress)—but my main message was, “Remember what you can count on!”  You can always divert your panicky mind by switching your focus to something visual, looking really closely at a leaf or a cloud or your finger.  Look around—you’re   not alone.  Everyone everywhere understands shaky and unsure.

 

Max got through it and when I needed T-shirts this spring to make a quilt—to take to Denver with him Friday!—wasn’t one of them the “Mind the Gap” shirt from London!  I thought back then, “I should make a list of all these transition tips for the next time he needs it!”  Then I thought, never mind Max, I should write down things I can count on, for when I’m anxious about what’s up next. I could put them in a box…. 

 

Well it took a while to find the right box—this cool, hand made one—and I put some cards in it.  I dug it up last week—dusty!  There weren’t many cards in it, and they’re not profound:  “Long walk.”  “I am loved.”  But just the act of directing my attention to “What helps?” was enough to be helpful.  It wasn’t about the suggestions—rather, it was the knowledge that, deep down I have tools.  We all do.   We tend to forget that—in a fluster, my friend Sheri emailed the other day:  “I have all the tools to get myself to a calmer, happier place but seem to have decided not to use them”! 

 

This pretty little box is a symbol of what I know I can count on.

 

~                                                          ~                                                          ~

 

Our church’s big transition, which caused a lot of consternation, is now behind us.  And what do you know?  Now we’re on the brink of the next transition into what is the official transition that leads to transitioning with a settled minister!  We might get pretty good at this, the rate we’re going. 

 

Given the pace of life today, getting good at transitions is OK.  We don’t always relish them, but paying attention to them helps. We probably get better at them with age:  I’m told I used to scream when we’d get somewhere and someone would try to take off my snowsuit, and you know, I can’t remember the last time that happened!  But we don’t need to wait to get older and wiser.  I would suggest that being mindful about how we enter into transitions is part of our spiritual work.  How we choose to move into the future is, after all, how we choose to evolve.

 

A couple of weeks ago at the end of the service, I heard someone ask when the Interim was coming.  When a friend replied, “Two weeks,” she exclaimed:  “AT LAST!”  “At last” what, I wondered?  At last, a real minister?  At last, someone to take care of us?  At last, someone to tell us what to do?  At last, this is over?

 

Well, Rev. Elaine is here, and we are absolutely delighted to be getting to know her.  With her coaching and experience and warmth and intelligence, our story will continue to unfold.

 

As for that “at last,” why would we ever want this place we’ve arrived at to be over?  We’ve grown, we’ve burst into a new container—we have a sense of our potential.  That’s what’s happened, at last!   And it feels good.  J  Instead of celebrating the end of our big push, why not celebrate the momentum we’ve created?  If you’ve ever received a birthday card from Ellen Forbes, she always writes, “Happy Continuation Day”!  Yes, why not think in terms of our continuing, our unfolding into our future, our unfolding…into ourselves?

 

Given the celebration of Ted Kennedy’s life this week and the political transition his passing symbolizes, it’s a poignant coincidence that the word “vigor” (“vigah!”), which I always associate with the Kennedys, came to me a few weeks ago when I needed a title for today.

 

As our faith community evolves and as we all look ahead to the right-angle turns in our lives—in our relationships, our health, our careers, our beginnings and our completions—let’s move forward with vigor!  And let’s not leave home without our other briefcase, our spiritual toolbox.  I added some cards to mine this weekend, thanks to all of us here:

 

There’s making things happen…and letting things happen.   See what bubbles up.

 

Be curious about a challenge.  

 

And green.  And juicy.

 

I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

 

If my world is shrinking down to “What will happen to me?”—trust and embrace a sense of unfolding. 

 

All shall be well.

 

Whatever is ahead will expand my being.  I might even move into a bigger container…

 

It’s worked out in the past.  Trust in “the fullness of time.” 

 

Transitions?  Enlightening!   Not endings, but beginnings….

 

Self-knowledge good! Winnie the Pooh:  “You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 

 

Remember everybody else.

 

And lastly:  Dig deep in the well for the cool, nourishing water that is there.

 

Amen.