Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, June 22, 2025.
“We have shared a radiant hour,” we just sang. Looking back on it, radiant feels like a pretty good word to describe what we’ve had here together. I’m so grateful for you, and for this shared ministry we have been doing together. And that you will continue when I’m gone.
I grew up going to church pretty most every Sunday. Then, like many young adults, took a break for a while, until our young family found a home in this UU tradition. And then it became my job. And there’s never been a Sunday when I wasn’t glad to be here.
Like Psalm 122, Rev. Christine Robinson’s version:
I was glad when they said to me,
Let us go to a sacred place
A place where the divine is
to give thanks.
Though I know
That God is everywhere, I go gladly.
Back in the 60’s a lot of people went to church because they had to, or thought they had to. This is no longer the case—that cultural expectation is pretty much gone. And maybe that’s a good thing. It’s not hard to understand why people leave the church, when it’s hurt or betrayed them; or they experience it as irrelevant or hypocritical. I trust that you do come here gladly, and I’m grateful for that, and for your company. Despite its faults, I still love the church. And being your pastor has only served to deepen that love.
Lately I’ve been thinking about my grandfather. In retirement he took care of a summer chapel in the mountains of North Carolina. When we visited, he’d invite us kids to go with him early on Sunday; we’d help him open up and see that things were in place. He let us ring the bell, and as people came, stand with him a the door, handing out the bulletins. And sometimes, after church, and lunch, he’d take us fishing. Now there’s a sweet retirement gig.
It’s no wonder that I enjoy writers like Kathleen Norris and Marilynne Robinson, who write about church and celebrate what happens within its walls. Who tell stories about this unique kind of community and lift up what it still has to offer. Kathleen Norris has written about the little Presbyterian church in South Dakota where her grandparents belonged, that she joined herself after moving there. In one essay about that little church she describes something like what we do here, sharing joys and sorrows.
“I’ve been told that on Sunday afternoon the phone lines in town are hot with news that’s been picked up in church,” she writes. “For the most part it’s a good kind of gossip, its main effect being to widen the prayer circle. It’s useful news as well; I’m one of many who make notes on my church bulletin; so-and-so’s in the hospital; send a card, plan a visit.” Some of you do this too, don’t you?
She goes to tell a story about one day when the news was shared about the death of an old timer in town, and how this elicited some sighs and some storytelling that their new pastor, not knowing the deceased, wouldn’t understand. He was about to begin the prayer that follows the candles, but then someone else spoke up, and then another. I know what this is like: I have been there.
Kathleen Norris writes, “When the minister finally got to say his ‘Let us pray,’ we were ready. We had been praying, all along. We had been being ourselves before God.”
This is what I have been privileged to bear witness to, all these Sundays, you being yourselves in the presence of the Holy. Which is beautiful to behold. Sometimes a lot, but beautiful, you being yourselves. You see it too, don’t you?
Don’t we still need places like this? Where young and old get to know each other; and appreciate one another. Where tradition and innovation can dance together under the same roof. But you know faith communities are at risk these days. Temple Emanu-El in Haverhill just closed its doors, due to declining membership. This church will need your care and engagement and support in order to keep on thriving, to keep on being a place of love and care and justice-making. It will help if more of you start sharing the good news of this congregation, and inviting your friends. And when new folks come, to focus on welcoming them in, and helping them find their place here. I can’t overstate how important this will be.
Don’t people need a community these days, a place for support and solace, for healing and liberation? Isn’t this your calling, and one of your gifts? To be such a place, of welcome and care, of faith and love?
On this day I want to lift up and offer my thanks and praise for what I have experienced here with you: the quiet and transformative act of gathering for worship. Coming here to be part of something larger than your individual selves. Showing up for one another. opening yourself to the Holy, listening for the longing of your own soul. Just being, for a change; being still in a world that requires so much doing.
It has been my great privilege to be your minister for these 17 years, to be your pastor and your spiritual leader. To get to know you, and be with you at pivotal moments in your lives. To lead worship here, and to preach to you from this pulpit. I have loved it, and will miss it. And I will miss you.
“Sometimes I have loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday,” Marilynne Robinson’s aging pastor says, “It is like standing in a newly planted garden after a warm rain. You can feel the silent and invisible life. All it needs from you is that you take care not to trample on it.”
Worship is a tender thing. The Spirit is like a shy animal. A sanctuary for the spirit is not made of stone, glass or wood. It’s created by those who hold the space, with care and attention, from the front and from the back, and those in between. It takes care and tending. And you know how to do that, don’t you?
Marilynne Robinson again: “You can feel the silent and invisible life… And that was such a quiet day, rain on the roof, rain against the windows, and everyone grateful, since it seems we never do have quite enough rain. At times like that I might not care particularly whether people are listening to whatever I have to say, because I know what their thoughts are.”
There’s something to be said for not always listening to the preacher, right? Letting your thoughts go where they will. Resting in the sacredness of this moment, which is what worship is made for. This agreement to be together for a time, with nothing to do but be open to what is stirring in our own hearts, and to the Spirit moving in our midst.
We’ve come to the end. I wonder how it’s going to go. We don’t all say goodbye in the same way. Some of us will slip out quietly, others would like to avoid goodbye altogether: “See you later,” we say. Some of us have feelings and need to share them. There’s no one right way.
I’ve been thinking about this, wondering what it will be like; for this ministry to end, to walk away for the last time. And here’s what I hope—that it will be like an ordinary Sunday. You’ll leave when you’re ready, folks will filter out, and eventually it will be the other Frank and me, turning off the lights, checking the doors, walking out together. Sharing a few words in the parking lot, and taking our leave.
I have loved, so much, these Sundays here with you good people. Sensing the silent and invisible life, the Spirit moving in our midst, all we kindred, pilgrim souls; loving one another, giving our hands to struggle, helping heal and bless our world.
This is my prayer for you on this day, and in the days to come: Dear God, please be with these good people, give them strength and courage for the living of these days, help them to thrive in the days to come, bless them and keep them, now and forever more,
Amen.
Following the sermon the congregation and worship leaders joined in this ritual of release of covenant:
Marie Morey, Chair, Board of Trustees: At the start of Rev. Frank Clarkson’s ministry here, we entered into a covenant with him, saying these words: “We offer you a congregation eager to grow in spirit, to seek the truth, and to love one another. We ask you to be our minister; to share in our joys and our sorrows, our searching and our finding. Will you accept the responsibility of leading us? Will you be our guide and companion on the way?”
Frank said, “I will, with God’s help and with your support.” We have traveled this way together for 17 years, and we have helped and blessed one another on the way. Now it is time for us to release Frank from this covenant. Please rise in body or spirit and join in this ritual of release:
All: This is an ending, and a beginning, for us all.
Abbe Wertz, and Congregation: We thank you for your service in our pulpit. We accept and cherish its power of freedom for ourselves and others who will preach from it, and release you from our service as worship leader.
Taffy Jervey, and Congregation: We thank you for your presence as our pastor, and for the pastoral care you have provided us. We accept its power of compassion for ourselves and release you from your role as pastoral caregiver.
Bo Crowell, and Congregation: We thank you for your prophetic voice. We accept it for for ourselves and release you from your service and support as one of our voices for justice.
Shawna Marion, and Congregation: We thank you for your professional leadership. We accept its power of discernment, vision, and knowledge, and release you from your call as our professional leader.
Marie Morey, and Congregation: With love and gratitude, we, the people of the Universalist Unitarian church of Haverhill, do release you, Rev. Frank Clarkson, from the covenant you made with us, as our minister.
Rev. Clarkson: With love and gratitude, I end my ministry with you good people. It has been my great honor and privilege to serve here, alongside you. Though we now go our separate ways, you will remain in my heart and prayers.
All: This is an ending, and a beginning, for us all.