Good Endings: Part 2 of 3 – Rev. Emily
July 19, 2020 Rev. Emily Wright-Magoon
A parable by Rabbi David Wolf:
A boy and his father were walking along a road when they came across a large stone. “Do you think if I use all of my strength, I can move this rock?” the child asked.
His father answered, “If you use all of your strength, I am sure you can do it.” The boy began to push the rock. Exerting himself as much as he could, he pushed and pushed. The rock did not move. Discouraged, he said to his father, “You were wrong. I can’t do it.”
His father put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and said, “No son. You didn’t use all your strength – you didn’t ask me to help.
It is easy to feel alone right now in particular.
It is easy to feel, like the boy, like we have exhausted all our resources and we can’t do it – whatever the challenge is before us. …
This pandemic, the economic downturn, the social distancing, the uncertainty of it all…It’s not surprising that many of us are feeling overwhelmed and lonely (even if in some cases we are surrounded – perhaps too much – by our family members).
And so I am so glad that you followed that stirring within you that moved you to show up here today – to gather with others, such as it is, on Zoom.
The truth is, I have been feeling a bit lonely, too. As you know, this is our second-to-last service together. Back in March, the second to last time we met in person, I preached a sermon called “Good Endings” and announced I’d be moving to Albuquerque in June to pursue my husband’s career. Three Sundays later, we made the good but hard decision to shift our services online.
And so here we are, our second-to-last service together, and I haven’t gotten to give you hugs, or linger in the foyer with you and hear your stories or tell you my gratitudes in person. We didn’t get to have that last potluck together… So that’s been hard.
But I remain committed to having that “good ending” I talked about back in March.
I’m still convinced that our culture’s difficulty with goodbyes sometimes keeps us from engaging in the spiritual tasks of making a good ending
But when we are instead intentional about saying goodbyes, we are more able to embrace the next chapter, moving into it with possibility. So this Sunday and next Sunday are parts 2 and 3 of my Good Endings series.
This Sunday I want to reflect on our five years together.
I know not everyone here today has been here for five years, and some have been here much longer than five years, but no matter if you’ve been here a day or four decades, you are part of this story, and I can tell – with your help – one chapter of this church’s story.
That story has been about rolling that big heavy stone not alone, but together – with all our strength.
Listen to some of the things we have done together these last five years.
We made hard decisions. Practically from the get-go, we had to discuss whether we wanted to allow guns in the building. We had open, deep conversations. Not every single person agreed with the congregation’s decision, but everyone felt heard and respected. We made other decisions… about free use of our space by marginalized groups, about the participation of persons with registered sex offender status, about right relationships and bullying. We stayed connected to our values, and to each other during each process, and learned more about what types of generosities and boundaries create truly welcoming spaces.
We shifted to year-round services, no longer taking a break from services and classes in the summer time. Then we went further and made Chalice Camp a regular summer offering.
We showed up in, and for, the wider community– When the Pulse nightclub shooting occurred, we held a community vigil. People spilled out of our doors and listened from the foyer – people who felt they finally had a religious place in the Permian Basin where they were honored. And last year – as part of the Basin’s first-ever Pride celebration – we held another vigil to commemorate the anniversary of the Pulse murders.
We protested together on Midkiff for the Women’s March, and then, emboldened by that experience, kept protesting, with the March for Science, the Climate protest, and more. We thought we might be alone, but others joined us and we made new connections.
We partnered with the community to hold at our church the event “Immigrant Stories” –to tell the real stories of our local undocumented neighbors. And as part of our work for environmental sustainability, we served as a summer pick-up point for local farm shares.
We became the fiscal sponsor for Out In West Texas, and many of our members serve on Out in West Texas’ board, doing life-transforming and life-saving work for transgender education and advocacy. We observed Transgender Days of Remembrance and Visibility each year, and even held a personal renaming ceremony.
We dug deep, and learned together – through book discussions like The New Jim Crow and The Bluest Eye, through our White Lies series, Courageous Conversations, and our Death Café. We talked about famous UUs, and we grew our own theology. We held a Paganism 101 class and dispelled myths about earth-centered traditions.
We had deep discussions, and good meals in our Chalice Circles. We had laughter and camaraderie on Parents Day Out, Game Day, and more
We grew our membership process with the addition of Newcomer Drop-in Circles. We grew our Worship Associates.
We deepened into the monthly practice of intergenerational services, becoming even more comfortable with ritual and story.
We retained all of our marvelous hourly staff and gave them regular raises and paid time off. We hired a paid DRE!
We learned about one another through our lay-led services, our monthly ministry minute, and our conversations called “Roads to UUMidland.”
We welcomed many new members, made many new friends, …and said goodbye to members as they moved away.
We mourned long-time members like Les Pugh, Jean Reid, Betty Lewis, and Leo Byerly.
We rearranged the sanctuary, a couple times! And at least once a year, we’d put all the chairs in a circle and toss that ball of yarn across the room as we told stories and wove a web of connection.
We had Easter egg hunts in the gardens and visits from goats.
We made many artful trees together – watercolor trees, tissue paper trees, ribbon trees. And we made mosaic stepping stones– taking our brokenness and finding wholeness amidst community.
And, here we are, too, right now, figuring out how to stay connected in the midst of a pandemic, keeping our members safe, but staying together.
Phew!
And that’s not all – at all! We have done – and we are – even so much more than this long litany.
And of course we didn’t always get it right.
We sometimes were too afraid, or too distracted, or too unorganized.
But, man, I am grateful for this church in this place.
I remember when I first started here with you, in some of my first conversations, I heard from a member who told me: “This church saved my life.” I believe it.
Part of our mission is to transform lives, and we – you – through your shared strength – have done that – are doing that – and will continue to do that.
Like I have been saying for months now, this congregation is poised for another promising next chapter – together.
I want to end with a passage by my colleague Ruth Mackenzie:
…[A] miniature 16th century ship …hangs from the ceiling of every Danish church. In the Danish tradition, the ship is meant to symbolize this one unarguable fact: We are all in the boat together. The Danes hang a ship not above the chancel or the pulpit, but over the body of the congregation to remind us all that we are sitting side by side in the boat together. We are meant to put our oars in the water and pull in mutual effort. … The ship is also placed above our heads to remind us of another truth: We are not at the helm. This ship we share is guided by the divine, by God, by the Mystery, by the Spirit of Love and Life, by something larger than you or my efforts. It’s our work as human beings to pull in rhythm with what is good, just, and grace filled in this world. This is our work. This is what we are meant to do together.
The self is community internalized.
Thank you for being that community for me and for each other… for literally making each other who we are.
Next week, I look forward to Part 3 of our Good Ending…I’ll share more personally about four tasks of goodbyes, I’ll share some great photos, and we’ll have a ritual to close our ministry together …so you can begin your next promising chapter with your new minister.
Fellow travelers, look around, see that person sitting next to you in the boat with that oar, and row.
May it be so.
– Rev. Emily Wright-Magoon