Starting Over or Staying Put

A book shelf of international travel guides

by Rev. Terry Davis

Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation on January 31, 2016

 A week ago last Friday morning, I was working from home . . . and I was waiting for Snowmaggedon 2016 to arrive in Atlanta.

Checking my emails, I opened one from a fellow Unitarian Universalist minister, the Rev. Jason Lydon, who is based in Boston. Jason is the national director of Black & Pink, an organization I had never heard of before his email arrived.

After reading Jason’s message, I went online for more information. I learned that Black & Pink is a community of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer prisoners and their “free world” allies who support one another. They’re deeply concerned about the prison industrial complex and the specific violence that LGBTQ prisoners receive. And, they act through advocacy, education, direct service and organizing.

While Jason’s email had provided few details about Black & Pink, it did get right to the point about what he wanted from me.

“We have a trans member recently released in Atlanta who is in need of food assistance,” his email said. “We got her housing, but at this point she needs food before the food bank opens on Monday. I’m wondering if this is something you can help with.”

Jason’s email continued, “She told me she could find a way to meet you somewhere. Her name is Lesley.” The email ended with Lesley’s cell phone number, along with Jason’s own contact information.

After reading Jason’s message, my first thought was to contact him to get more details about Black & Pink and Lesley’s situation. And, so I emailed Jason back with my questions. However, after several hours and no response from Jason, I started getting worried about Lesley and about Snowmaggedon. If the roads did get slick and snowy later that evening, I wasn’t going to be able to be of much help.

And, so I gave Lesley a call. I introduced myself and told her about Jason’s e-mail.

“Oh, yes, Ms. Reverend!” Lesley exclaimed in a cheerful voice. “Anything you can do to help me get some food would be appreciated! I can meet you anywhere you’d like.” There was a lot of background noise on her end of the phone, and I wondered if she was at a bus station or something.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m at the shelter at Peachtree and Pine,” Lesley replied. I remembered that place, as I often referred homeless patients to it when I was serving as a chaplain at Emory Hospital downtown. I also remembered that a Publix grocery store was close by and on the bus line.

“Can you meet me at Publix?” I asked, thinking I would buy Lesley a food card there. And, then I recalled the way the Peachtree-Pine homeless shelter worked – if you leave, you give up your bed to someone else who is waiting next in line for a place to stay.

“Oh, wait,” I said. “You’ll lose your spot at the shelter, won’t you?”

“Honey, I’m not staying at the shelter,” Lesley replied with a laugh. “I’ve got my own house. I’m just visiting some friends here.”

“I can meet you at the Publix,” she continued. “But I like shopping at Kroger better. And, it’s closer to my house, so I won’t have to carry my groceries so far from the bus station. Can you buy me a Kroger card instead?”

Well, I like shopping at Kroger better, too. And so, with that, I got in my car. I headed first to Kroger and then downtown to Emory Hospital, which is where we ultimately agreed to meet.

It was evening by then. The rain was easing up, but the temperature was dropping. I drove down the city streets I know so well, and I eventually pulled into the hospital driveway off of Peachtree Street.

As I got out of my car, Lesley walked out of the lobby to greet me. Just as she had described herself, she was a tall, African American woman with long, blond hair braids that were pinned up on the back of her head. She was wearing a sweater and blue jeans and a rather thin-looking jeans jacket.

“Oh, thank you, Ms. Reverend!” Lesley said when handed her the Kroger card and told her the amount charged on it. She gave me a hug and said, “If you ever need any help at your church, please call me.” I was touched by her sweetness and gratitude.

Lesley then took off for a Subway sandwich shop a few blocks away, where she said she planned to visit some long-time friends before taking MARTA home. As I turned my car back onto Peachtree Street, I could see Lesley walking with quick, long strides down the sidewalk. Her purse was clutched under her arm and the brown plastic Kroger bag with the food card inside was dangling from her hand.

As I watched Lesley walk away, it was clear to me that this was someone who was both starting over and staying put.

As a trans woman newly released from prison, Lesley was beginning a new chapter in her life. And, it was apparent that Atlanta and her friends were important to her and that she would likely be staying in the city for a while. While Lesley may have had no other choice than to start her life over and stay put, I think that wisdom and faith may be at work when we intentionally choose to do both.

To choose to start over and to stay put suggests that I have a hopeful attitude about my present circumstances. It indicates that I’m willing to hang in there and trust the process. And, it suggests that I have faith that I’ll connect to whatever it is that grounds me as I venture forth into new territory.

Not all circumstances, of course, are best dealt with by staying put and adopting a new attitude. Knowing when to stick things out and when to call it quits is often not easy. And, yet, as I believe Lesley’s story demonstrates, when it is time to begin again, we can find hope and courage for the journey by renewing our connections. We can renew our connections with those people and places that feel like home and they can help launch us with love and support.

In this morning’s reading, author Harper Lee reminds us of how powerful and grounding that feeling of home can be – even when home is imperfect. In her novel Go Set a Watchman, the little girl Scout that we knew from To Kill a Mockingbird has grown up and is now 26 year-old Jean Louise Finch.

Jean Louise returns to Maycomb, Alabama from New York City to visit her father Atticus, who is aging and declining in health. During her stay, Jean Louise encounters some ugly and complicated truths about Atticus and the extent of racism in her hometown.

And so, while she appreciates Mr. Fred’s offer of a Coke and the simple welcome it represents, she also believes that Maycomb could never be irresistibly “in her bones” like it is for him.

“Maycomb’s just like any other little town,” she tells Mr. Fred after he tells her his story about longing for home after being away for 10 years.[ref]Harper Lee, Go Set a Watchman, (HarperCollins Publishers, New York, NY: 2015), 154.[/ref] But, Jean Louise later acknowledges that Mr. Fred is probably right.

She reflects on why Maycomb is special and concludes that:

          It was not because this was where your life began.
          It was because this was where people were born
          and born and born until finally the result was you,       
          drinking a Coke in the Jitney Jungle.[ref]Ibid.[/ref]

In other words, what makes the feeling of home so powerful isn’t that we were born and raised there. Rather, it’s recognizing that we’re one part of one, long chain of human connection. This long connection is not only powerful, it’s inescapable. It carries us to our present moment and will stay with us until the end.

This idea of an inescapable connection is also reflected in the story The Runaway Bunny that Elizabeth read this morning.  No matter where the little bunny imagined he might go, his mother guaranteed that he could never leave her behind. The mother bunny was steadfast, and the little bunny, would never be rid of that.

*****

Whether we’re starting over in life or staying put or doing both, I believe that steadfast connections to whatever grounds us – friends, family, or familiar places and rituals – will keep us whole during times of uncertainty and transition.

Lesley’s connection to the Peachtree-Pine shelter, her preference for Kroger, and her friends at the all-night Subway sandwich shop were the familiar faces and places she sought as she also took her first steps to begin a new life for herself.

What about the rest of us? What keeps us grounded? How can we find ways to stay spiritually and emotionally put as we begin something scary and new? For me, I will admit that the things that ground me are rather ordinary. I keep a daily journal. I read from the same two meditation books that I’ve used for years in my morning spiritual practice.  I walk take my dog Miles for walks every day. I meet on Mondays with my interfaith clergy group. I watch Downton Abby on Sundays with Gail curled up with a blanket on the sofa in our living room.

These and other regular, simple activities keep me anchored in my life. They make it possible for me to participate in new, “starting over” activities.

What about Northwest? Do we know what keeps this congregation grounded and whole? Can we rely on them as we venture forth and attempt new things? These seem like important questions to consider as the congregation continues its conversations about its future.

As many of you know, next Sunday Northwest will be holding its second all-congregation conversation about what we value . . . and what we believe we uniquely give our members and the wider world.

And, as many of you know, this discussion was precipitated by an offer Northwest received last fall to buy this property. Yet, rather than be distracted by questions of selling, Northwest’s leadership has wisely (in my opinion) kept these discussions focused on identifying what drives Northwest’s existence today and how the congregation will remain viable for future generations.

So, why does Northwest need to think about and articulate these things? Why can’t we just go on having worship on Sunday, religious education for our children, and coffee time after the service?

My guess is that if you’re ever observed or been part of a team or organization with no plan or direction, you know that it usually doesn’t last long or end well. Enthusiasm wanes. Things start to stagnate. People start to drift. That’s because it’s the nature of any living, breathing thing – including a vibrant congregation – to change. If it isn’t allowed to do so, it will soon become a dying thing.

That Northwest is having these conversations about your future is, I believe, a very good thing. It says that you care not just about the present, but about what you leave behind. It means you acknowledge that the world is changing and that you want Northwest to remain relevant and necessary as it does.

And, so, it seems that Northwest must start over and it must stay put. If Northwest remains welcoming to newcomers and continues to work for justice in the wider world, the congregation will change in presence and personality. And, if it remains committed to the spirit of community, then I’m hopeful that it will move through these changes with thoughtfulness, with courage, and with an ever-renewing sense of purpose.

And that is a GREAT thing!

*****

I started my sermon today telling you about Lesley. And, I’ve ended it inviting you to think about the future of this place. My takeaway message to you in both instances is this: don’t let go of each other! Hang on to the friends and community that give you a sense of well-being. Ask yourself and each other hard questions about what troubles you. And, don’t let the discomfort that comes with contemplating change cause you to run away.

We are a part of one, long chain of connection. May we remember that and support one another as we start over and stay put in our lives and as a faith community. May it be so. Amen.

 

(Photo credit: Travel Guides by VanessaC)