Amid All the Falling
Beloved Church -
I always welcome autumn, especially here in the Midwest where seasonal shifts mean visible, tangible shifts - the weather gets cooler, the leaves turn deeper colors, fall blooms get taller, and our sweaters get thicker! Shift is in the air, a cooling gets in our bones - there is change, and preparation for what is next is all around. I read Parker Palmer years ago who likened seasons to cycles of spiritual growth in loose ways.
Along with other authors, Palmer points to how fall is a season of both abundance and grief, of change and adjustment, or slowing down and of watching for the light. Fall beckons us to see and feel, what is shifting, what is dying, and what is underneath it all.
Here Palmer's reflection on our season:
"Today, as I weather the late autumn of my own life, I find nature a trustworthy guide. It’s easy to fixate on everything that goes to ground as time goes by: the disintegration of a relationship, the disappearance of good work well-done, the diminishment of a sense of purpose and meaning. But as I’ve come to understand that life “composts” and “seeds” us as autumn does the Earth, I’ve seen how possibility gets planted in us even in the hardest of times... Deep down, amid all the falling, the seeds of new life were always being silently and lavishly sown. The hopeful notion that new life is hidden in dying is surely reinforced by the visual glories of autumn."
Deep down, amid all the falling, the seeds of new life were always being silently and lavishly sown.
This shift in seasons always beckons me to notice and give thanks for what is changing around me. I want to finish up summer's bounty and gardening, and then am stopped in my tracks by brilliant leaves and bright sunshine. I want to get out the blankets for the couch and my favorite mug for tea to warm my cold hands, and start a new playlist and new daily rhythms that help my body and spirit live into this truth - all around me there is falling. And all around me there is life. All around me there is change, the loss of light, the crispness in the air; and all around me is possibility, there are seeds in the dark, potential stretching into what might bloom up ahead.
This fall we're all walking into different "seasons" of our lives- maybe you're in the late autumn as Palmer wrote, noticing loss and grief, beauty and limits; or in your winter years that require rest, rejoicing, and pause. Maybe you're in your own early stages of spring blooms and newness, or the prime of summer with its fullness and demands. Wherever you find yourself, this fall season in the world around us remind us of the gift of sight, the work of looking for "new life that is hidden in the dying." Our work in all ages is to be present to what is going on around us, and feel it all - whether its slowing down, caring well for loss, whether its being thankful for what is or preparing and advocating for more. This press to believe in and wach for new life hidden in the dying is not Pollyannish or naive - but is the work of faith, its the habit of hope. It's reaching into the rustling leaves to find the blooms still fighting for the light. Its the prayer life that day after day proclaims frdedom, and healing, and trust before its ever seen in the natural. It is the relationships that fights to be healthy, to show up, to be whole. It's the moments we stop to be with someone struggling, or to listen to our children well, or to make room for someone with questions about their faith.
Fall reminds us of this both/and truth - that life is within death, that growth and light come from loss and dark, that all things have room and space to work together. Just like our congregation that is gifted at holding together complexities, at making room for the both/and that honors our legacy alongside innovatively growing in new ways, that holds many historic members alongside newer attenders and exploring visitors, that holds hope and joy alongside grief and loss, that holds tenacious faith alongside doubts and wondering.
Amid all the falling, in this season Beloved, may you remember both the light and the dark.
Deep down, amid all the falling, the seeds of new life were always being silently and lavishly sown.
- RevLiz