There’s a quietness in the air, and I cannot tell if it’s anticipation of what is to come or mourning what once was... or (most likely) both.
The leaves are changing and letting go. The sunrises seem a bit more brilliant this week, and the temperatures are fluctuating by the day. There is a hum about town; decorations for various holidays are emerging but others are being put away for another year. And, if I am honest, there is a longing in my heart – and maybe yours too – for connection, for tradition, for knowing what comes next.
Except that we really can’t know what comes next. We are in a liminal season – an in between time – when “what was” is no longer and “what will be” hasn’t yet revealed itself completely. It’s likely that “it” never will. Liminality can be a beautiful reality, and that’s how I’m choosing to receive it in this season. How about you?
As I honor the unanswered questions, the unsettled feelings, the uncertain future, I am met by God’s love for all. I hear and see echoes of affirmation in the natural world around me. Embracing a transition is a faithful act, just like those leaves falling from trees. Standing tall and proud is a spiritual practice, just like the trees that are soon to be seen without their leaves obscuring their basic structures.
And beneath the earth, there is a myriad of life still happening, just like the various changes and growth happening within me and within our congregation and our community at this time. I am reminded that even the smallest step forward is still movement and that acknowledging change is better than denying it. As I ground myself in God’s love, I am able to see glimmers of hope, and I am able to recommit to my own values and my own faith journey... and THAT feels right, even in this oh-so-tenuous time.
My body, mind, and spirit are filled with wonder, and I’m choosing to believe that that is a good thing. Jesus, after all, was a great wonderer (and wanderer). Perhaps I will walk in his footsteps in the days ahead, simply taking in the changes around and within me and trusting that I am not on this journey alone.
That’s what I’ve got for you today, St. Peter’s... oh, and I’d love to hear how you’re doing these days. My phone/office/email/other-form-of-communication-that-I’ve-forgotten are open to you. Hope to connect soon.
And... as we take a deep breath, let us remember one another in prayer.
