Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, June 1, 2025.
A couple of months ago I was at a meeting of UU ministers, and the lead of our New England Region staff was talking about the state of churches these days, and said that in the work they are doing to help congregations thrive they are seeing a sharp divide between the churches that are doing okay and those that aren’t. And the difference between them is this: the churches that have been doing their own work, particularly around diversity and difference, whether that is anti-racism/anti-oppression work, or increasing intercultural competency, or welcoming people across the spectrum of gender identity; that these congregations are doing okay. And the ones who have been unwilling to engage in this work are not.
I heard this as an affirmation of what we’ve been trying to do here, however imperfectly, and just another thing I love about you—your willingness to be open, to try on new ways of understanding, to learn and grow.
Our worship theme for June is “transformation,” which is really just a big word for growing, adapting, evolving; for being changed. Which sounds good, in principle, anyway. But change can also be confusing, unsettling, irritating, scary even. Right? The fact that I’m retiring is bringing a pretty big change, which can bring up all kinds of feelings, and that’s normal. And just another invitation to do our own work.
Of course change is happening all the time, in all kinds of places; in our personal lives, in the places we work, in our society and in our world. Eight years ago, Michelle Alexander, author of the book The New Jim Crow, wrote: “A new nation is struggling to be born, a multiracial, multiethnic, multi faith, egalitarian democracy in which every life and every voice truly matters.” This is transformation that we here believe in, isn’t it? That we are hoping and praying for and working toward. A kind of transformation that I once naively assumed would come, in the fullness of time.
Michelle Alexander quotes historian and civil rights activist Vincent Harding, who said the yearning and reaching toward freedom flows throughout history “like a river, sometimes powerful, tumultuous, and roiling with life; at other times meandering and turgid, covered with the ice and snow of seemingly endless winters, all too often streaked and running with blood.” Lots of progressive folks today are identifying as “the resistance,” but Alexander says it’s actually those who are trying to take us back who are the ones resisting this river of freedom and justice.
I do trust in the power of that river, and its inevitable triumph, despite the setbacks of these days. Because there is a yearning in the human soul for freedom and connection and justice that can not be denied, that will not be denied forever.
Think about the image from our reading today, the bathroom at Sears where the poet’s grandmother is washing her feet in that ritual before prayer that Muslims perform five times a day. Can’t you picture what the poet describes as, “a clash of civilizations brewing in the Sears bathroom”?
“My grandmother knows one culture—the right one, as do these matrons of the Middle West.” Isn’t this a challenge that has always faced humanity? The belief that one is right, and has all the answers? That those who are different are wrong, evil, and a threat?
We were talking about this at the bag lunch here on Wednesday, how religion too often acts like there’s only one way. But that a growing number of people, we hope, see things as more nuanced that that. Like the poet’s perspective we just heard:
Standing between the door and the mirror, I can see
at multiple angles, my grandmother and the other shoppers,
all of them decent and goodhearted women, diligent
in cleanliness, grooming, and decorum
Isn’t this what’s needed in these days?—more of us able to stand in-between, to see at multiple angles, to have a broader mind and perspective.
I smile at the midwestern women
as if my grandmother has just said something lovely about them
and shrug at my grandmother as if they
had just apologized through me
No one is fooled, but I
hold the door open for everyone
and we all emerge on the sales floor
and lose ourselves in the great common ground
of housewares on markdown.
Isn’t this what’s required? Not to only wring our hands and feel our feelings, but to find some ways to be of use, like the poet: bearing witness, holding the door open for all the people.
So much of my life is in-between right now. On the threshold between what has been and what is to come. But isn’t this true for each of us? Isn’t this the nature of things? That where we live is this space between what’s in the past, and falling away; and the future, which none of us can know. This can be unsettling, so it’s natural to resist change and try to hang on to what’s familiar. But you know that doesn’t work, don’t you? You can try to hang on, but the river of life is going to keep carrying you along.
And when you zoom out farther, you see that each of our lives is a time in-between. Like we just sang:
Thanks be for these, for birth and death;
life in between with meaning full;
holy becomes the quickened breath;
we celebrate life’s interval.
So what can we do but embrace the in-between-ness of our lives? And try to accept that this transitory life is just how it is?
The modern mystic Richard Rohr says all transformation happens is this threshold space. “Get there often and stay as long as you can,” he advises. “This is the sacred space where the old world is able to fall apart, and a bigger world is revealed…The threshold is God’s waiting room. Here we are taught openness and patience as we come to expect an appointment (with the Holy.)”
When people ask me how I’m feeling about retirement, I want to say, “It’s complicated.” I know the timing is right, but there’s a part of me that keeps asking, “What are you thinking? Why would you leave these people and this church that you love? Why now, when your ministry is still going well?” And the answer is, it’s time. For me, and for you. Because I’ve given you what I have to give, and you’ll need a new person to help you to discover what lies ahead. And I’m ready to be more available and present to my wife Tracey, and she’s ready for that too.
I’m thrilled that Rev. Susan Milnor will be your interim minister. She’s great and experienced and gifted, and you will be great together. But at the risk of stating the obvious, you need to know that she’s going to be different than me—in a number of ways. What she does, and how she does it, won’t be the same as what you’re used to. And there are things I’ve done that she won’t do. All this is part of the interim process.
You’re going to get to practice, as a congregation, this living in-between. Being together in that holy waiting room, where openness and patience will lead to growth and new possibilities.
A theology of showing up is simple—it says that if we meet the Spirit anywhere, it is in this present moment. Not in the past, or the future, but right here, right now. So if you want to encounter God, or whatever you call that fathomless mystery; look around you. See that this time and this place is all we’ve got. If you want to be close to your loved ones, or help to heal and bless our world, the way you do that is by showing up. By being present, in heart and mind and body. By listening, and paying attention.
And in the in-between time you are about to enter as a congregation, there will be nothing more important than your showing up; being engaged here and doing your part to help move things forward. If you want to honor the ministry we have been doing together over these years, please make a practice of being present after I’m gone. Please know that your showing up is important and needed.
For these next few weeks, my work and joy is to just be here, present to each moment and encounter as best I can. But isn’t this each of our callings, all the time? To make a practice, and a life, of showing up. As Mary Oliver put it: “I don’t want to end up having simply visited this world.”
No, let us not be visitors and spectators on the sidelines of life, but be out on the field, in the fray, part of the dance. Let us vow to be awake while we are here, attuned to the mystery, grateful for the gifts and for the challenges. Trusting that we are part of a great and abiding Love, that will never let us go.
Now and forever,
Amen.