“In what the autumn colors say to me,” wrote Robert Weston, “turning from tired green to brilliant gold, scarlet and crimson, then maroon and brown, I hear a deeper voice than summer knew.” This morning, in the midst of the frantic run up to Election Day, in the midst of economic turmoil and angst, we pause together to listen to the deep voice of autumn, and to learn the spiritual lessons of this splendid season.

Our first lesson is that life is fleeting. One day that tree on the corner is resplendent in golden leaves; the next day they are brown and drab. One day the sun is so warm that some of us forget how fleeting that warmth is; we sign up to do volunteer work outside for hours at a time, then curse ourselves for fools as we stand in the freezing cold, our signs buffeted by the wind, our toes numb. In the early afternoon the light is almost magical, but the sun sets early; the darkness of winter is already here. This morning we set our clocks back; we shudder at the thought of what the sky will look like at 5 pm this afternoon.

There are some things that can only be appreciated when they don’t last. This is particularly true for the colors of autumn. If we had those colors around all year we wouldn’t appreciate them as much. Their magical, mystical quality is due to their fleeting nature.

So what is the proper spiritual response to the fleeting nature of this season? It is to pause; to assume a posture of repose. Don’t think ahead too much to the coming of winter, live fully in the autumn. When you look at the leaves on the ground, think running and jumping and hiding and tossing them in the air; don’t think raking. Rabindranath Tagore wrote our chalice lighting words, invoking the peace of autumn. Let’s sit for a moment in that fleeting peace. (Pause)

“Once more the fields have ripened to harvest, and the fruitful earth has fulfilled the promise of spring. The work of those who labor has been rewarded: they have sown and reaped, planted and gathered. How rich and beautiful is the bounty gathered: the golden grain and clustered corn, the grapes of purple and green, the crimson apples and yellow pears, and all the colors of orchard and garden, vineyard and field.” Percival Chubb’s words bring us to the second lesson of the season: no matter how the affairs of humans go, the cycles of nature are reliable and predictable, and the fall is a time of bounty and plenty.

But Roberta, you might say, harvesting all that bounty is hard work. Didn’t you just tell us to pause and seek repose? Well yes. The spirituality of autumn is one of ambiguities and contradictions. Squirrels, for instance, are not in repose. They’re in frantic gathering-in mode. I have a late blooming chrysanthemum in my yard that has been swarmed by bees. Bees who will soon be dead, desperately trying to take advantage of a late and unexpected crop of pollen. The flurry of activity associated with the harvest is as genuine an expression of autumn spirituality as is the repose and appreciation of the fleeting. The frenetic work-in-motion of the bees and squirrels is a counterpoint to the ‘pause to appreciate the fleeting’ message of fall. With nature it is always thus; a creative tension between activity and rest, seeking and finding, giving up and gathering in.

          On a practical level, the response to bounty might be activity. But on a spiritual level, the response to bounty is gratitude. “From the harvest of the soil, continues Chubb, “we are given occasion to garner a harvest of the heart and mind: a harvest of resolve to be careful stewards of all life’s gifts and opportunities.” This is activity of a different sort. Not the frantic gathering in, the ‘grab as much as you can while you can’ approach. To respond to the bounty of the season by resolving to be careful stewards of what we have been given, this is a kind of activity that requires us to feel, deeply, gratitude for the real bounty of the season. “A harvest of reverence for the wondrous power and life at work in things that grow, and in the soul. A harvest of gratitude for every good which we enjoy, and of fellowship for all who are sustained by earth’s beauty.” With those words by Chubb let us again enter into a moment of silent contemplation of all that moves us to gratitude, all that moves us to the resolve to be stewards of this earth. (Pause)

          Harbingers of Frost; a poem by Robert Weston.

Autumn, we know, is life enroute to death.

The asters are but harbingers of frost.

The trees, flaunting their colors at the sky, in other times will follow where the leaves have fallen, and so shall we.

Yet other lives will come.

So may we know, accept, embrace, the mystery of life we hold a while.

Nor mourn that it outgrows each separate self, but still rejoice that we may have our day.

Lift high our colors to the sky!

And give, in our time, fresh glory to the earth.

The final lesson of autumn: the inevitability of death. Autumn is life enroute to death. Year after year. This is not grim news, just truth. Remember that the cycles of nature, the circles of life, are just that – circular, not linear. There is no end. There are only the endless repetitions of birth and death and rebirth. Autumn is life enroute to death, but winter is death enroute to life. And so it goes. The spiritual response to this lesson? The spiritual discipline of autumn is surrender. Surrender that is not a passive experience, a giving up or giving in, becoming a victim of circumstance. No, surrender is not about having something done to you, allowing the inevitable to overtake you. It is a conscious decision, a liberating embrace of the diminishing light, the fading warmth, the cycles of nature.

To surrender to autumn is to acknowledge the inevitable and acknowledge it with grace. While remaining faithful to our affirmation of the intrinsic value of life, we acknowledge that there are things over which we have no control. There are things that we cannot change. To try is to waste our spiritual energy. To surrender is to be good stewards of our spiritual capital, to save it for those things that we can change, those things that need our engagement and our advocacy and our love and care.   

          Perhaps the best way to end this reflection on the spirituality of autumn is The Serenity Prayer. Join me if  you wish. God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.