To Be Present...

the challenge is to stay present (which is, of course, always the challenge) - today what tempts me away from this worthy goal is the finish line, which is almost in sight - 80 days from now a new chapter begins - but that day is not today - on this day I am still Pastor Roger and there are still a few more sermons to preach (including the one for this morning) - so I'll remember to breathe and keep my feet firmly planted in the flow - in this moment I'll show up and be present to the NOW of my life

It takes the time that it takes...

A friend’s mother just died unexpectedly, and he observed that it took several days for him to even begin to find words to start talking about it. That brought to mind my own experience just before and after Veronica died. For me, it wasn't words, but photos. There is a gap in my photo stream that began the day I first became aware that there was something wrong and extended for several weeks after she died. Such a loss disrupts (obliterates) the normal flow of life, and (at least for me) it took a while to even begin to find my bearings again. When something dramatic and traumatic occurs in your life I invite you to be gentle with yourself. Take whatever time is necessary, because it takes the time that it takes. Healing does come, but it cannot be rushed. Life will never be the same again, but the Light will return.

An Announcement Almost 40 Years In The Making . . .

This week I informed my congregation that I intend to retire effective July 1, 2021. I am about to step into the next chapter of my life. I’m still working on wrapping my head around it, but I’m very excited. Here is the letter I sent to my congregation . . .

- - - -

Greetings!

I write to share an important decision. After a great deal of prayer and discernment, I have made the decision that it is time for me to retire. I turn 65 at the end of June and it is my intention to conclude my ministry at Plymouth effective July 1. 

From the very beginning it was clear that Plymouth was a good fit for me, and after five and a half years I still believe that is true. I am grateful for the opportunity to be your pastor, and for the care and support you have offered me over the years. Even during this past year, when so much about church life was thrown into upheaval, we have managed to make the best of a challenging situation. My time with you has been rich and meaningful for me. And now there are other paths which are calling me. 

I was ordained almost 40 years ago. When all is said and done it will have been 14,464 days since that hot August afternoon in 1981 in a tiny country church in Wilmer, Texas when a small group of folks gathered around me, laid hands on me, and launched me into the mystery of ordained ministry. During the time between then and now I have served nine congregations in two denominations across five states, preached more than 1,600 sermons, and served as counselor or director at more than 30 church camps. I’ve lost track of the number of weddings and funerals, and I have no idea how much time was spent in hospital corridors waiting to visit parishioners. Among the countless remarkable experiences along the way, I had the high honor of preaching at two ordination services and officiating at weddings for three daughters. The truth is that it has been an amazing journey and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I’m tired. It’s time to step away from the pulpit and give more attention to some other parts of my life. I have a wonderful partner who lives in New Mexico, and daughters and grandchildren scattered around the country. And there are beautiful places just waiting to be explored and photographed. It is time for the next chapter of my life to begin. 

I am committed to being fully engaged as your pastor for the next several months, including doing what I can to make sure that things continue to run smoothly after I leave. The Council will receive guidance and support from our Conference Minister in the process of planning for what comes next. And I am grateful that we will be back together in person for Easter. I look forward to being with you in the coming weeks as we share together in worship and ministry.

Gratefully yours,

Pastor Roger

this great & mysterious smoothie we call "Life"!

Most mornings I make myself a smoothie for breakfast. I put lots (no, really – LOTS) of things in my smoothies – at least five kinds of fruit, assorted greens, various other stuff. And when it’s all blended and I’m drinking it, I can’t identify the flavor of any particular ingredient. But what I can tell you is that if I add something new, or if I leave something out, I notice a difference. This morning it occurred to me that life is like that. We are all ingredients in this great and mysterious smoothie we call “Life.” It can be tempting to think that we are such a small part and don’t really matter. What difference could we possibly make in the grand scheme of things? Except, that’s not how it works. Each of us has a unique flavor, and without our particular contribution the whole thing changes. I don’t pretend to know how all of that works. But this morning my smoothie taught me that it’s true. You matter. I matter. We all matter. Please keep sharing your flavor with the world!

No Such Thing as Perfect

There is no such thing
     as perfect
All there is
     is this . . .
     this moment
     this place
     this situation
     this me
If I can
     manage to . . .
     be here
     be present
     be myself
It is
     enough

And when I
     pay attention
     and notice
this mysterious life is
     wonderful
     amazing
     glorious 

There is no such thing
     as perfect
All there is
     is THIS!

Endings, Beginnings, & Finding Connection

About twice a year it is my turn to write an article for the Religion Page of our local newspaper (the Helena Independent Record). This is my most recent contribution . . .

• • • • •

In these opening days of this new year, I find myself reflecting on endings and beginnings. From one perspective, there is no such thing as endings or beginnings. Life is always in the process of flowing and becoming. Celebrating the transition from one year to the next on January 1st is a completely arbitrary designation. It’s just when someone decided that our calendar should begin. There are other calendars that mark time differently. But from another perspective, marking such moments and pondering endings and beginnings is a profoundly human thing to do. We are finite creatures and one of the ways in which we make sense of our lives is by reflecting on where we’ve been and dreaming of where we’re headed. We find the strength to keep going by believing that tomorrow might be better than yesterday. So it is that here in the first few days of 2021 many of us are spending some time looking back at the year so recently gone and trying to sort through what just happened to us. The pandemic turned our world upside so quickly that it can be difficult to remember a time before masks, and social distancing, and self-quarantining. Grief at the sheer magnitude of the loss, not only of life but of a way of life, is really only beginning to be realized. Then there was the added trauma of the social and political turmoil and upheaval which broke the surface of our awareness and swept across our country and our world. The world as we once thought we understood it has changed right before our eyes. As a new year dawns it is no wonder that we find ourselves hoping for a new beginning and a better tomorrow.

How do we keep going? Where do we find the strength to step into each new moment? What inspires us to trust that there is light beyond the darkness? I write these words as a pastor who is serving a Christian congregation, so for me at least part of the answer to such questions is found in the long history of the Judeo-Christian faith tradition. Over the past many centuries there have been countless people who have faced seriously challenging life circumstances, and have found courage and strength in the shared experience of Sacred Presence shining into the darkness. The prophet Isaiah wrote, “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of God has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but God will arise upon you, and God’s glory will appear over you.” In the opening words of the Gospel of John we find these words of comfort, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” Spread across the pages of scripture, from beginning to end, is the message that we are not alone and appearances-to-the-contrary-notwithstanding there is reason to hope that Light and Love will ultimately triumph.

I know, however, that just because I write these words as a Christian pastor does not mean you who are reading these words necessarily fit neatly into that world view. You may live within a different faith tradition, or perhaps no faith tradition at all. So, in the end, what I seek to offer is not a “Christian” perspective, but a human perspective. I believe that central to what it means to be human is to be connected to something beyond ourselves. We are intimately and intricately woven into the very fabric of all there is, and when we lose sight of that truth it is easy to feel lost and empty. There is something in us that knows we are a part of something larger than ourselves. Augustine, the 5th-century Christian theologian, wrote these words in a prayer, “You made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” Your world view may not include the notion of a divine being (God or whatever other name you might choose to use) who created us and calls us. But I believe that it is vital for our well-being as humans to experience ourselves as connected to a reality which extends beyond our own skin. Where do we find meaning and purpose and light for our living? I invite you to look both within and beyond yourself. When we can slow down enough to simply pay attention to our breathing and listen to the beating of our hearts we begin to get in touch with our primal humanity, which will ultimately open us to a larger world, because that is what it means to be truly human. To paraphrase Augustine, our hearts are restless (and lost) until we rest in our connection with all that is.

So, as we step into yet another new year, may we do so with boldness and courage and joy and a profound sense of connection. Grieve what we have lost, but do not get stuck there. There is light shining in our darkness. Call it God, or Sacred Presence, or Ultimate Reality, or the Great Mystery, or call it nothing at all, but be aware that we are each a part of something larger than we can even begin to imagine. Allow this moment, and every moment, to become an opportunity for a new beginning, as we open ourselves to the Great Unfolding of Life. Arise! Shine! For your Light has come!

Listening to the Wind...

I woke up to the sound of the wind blowing hard against the house. And almost immediately I remembered that in Hebrew the word for wind is the same as the word for Spirit. I love knowing that because it helps me pay attention to Sacred Presence in random, ordinary, mundane moments, like waking up to a wind storm. In this case I responded by writing a haiku (one of the ways I process the experience of Sacred Presence).

the wind is blowing 

perhaps it’s Spirit 

I’ll try to listen 

I’m not sure what Spirit might be trying to say to me today, but apparently I need to keep listening because the wind has been blowing hard, and loud, and persistent all day long. On several occasions I have found myself feeling anxious as the windows rattle and the trees in the yard sway ominously. But then I remember my haiku and I turn my attention once again to listening. 

What message from Spirit do I need to hear in this moment? What is preventing me from hearing that message? And why am I feeling anxious about Spirit’s persistent efforts to get through to me? The answer to all three questions is the same - “I don’t know!” I don’t even know if it’s Spirit. It might just be the weather. Except that even if it’s “just” the weather it’s probably also Spirit, because that’s how Spirit speaks. God speaks through the ordinary stuff of our lives, in a language that sounds remarkably similar to the wind, or the rain, or a friend’s voice, or a baby’s cry, or the stillness at dawn. The trick to understanding is to pay attention and slow down long enough to really listen, not just with our ears but with our hearts. Most of the time the message won’t be simple enough or clear enough to put down in concise and unambiguous words. Listening to the Wind is more art than science. 

In this moment all I have is the barest of hints as to what the message might be. So I’ll keep listening. I’ll keep paying attention. Because I’m quite certain that Spirit isn’t finished speaking yet.