Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 23, 2023
It is one of those perfect Maine summer days, low 70’s, crisp air, brilliant blue sky, and two competitive hummingbirds chattering next to me at the feeder. Make that three. A little male just chased the two females into the tree. I thought that season was over!
This is the first day since last year that I am writing in my screen tent on the deck. I don’t really know what took me so long. Although our prairie has been cut down to grass with hay on the side, I am surrounded by pink, purple, and white phlox, hundreds of black-eyed susans, bright orange nasturtium, and can hear our solar-powered fountain gently splashing in the bird bath. Certainly a more pastoral scene than my corner of the couch offered.
Now that I think about it, since retirement I may have been avoiding the spaces I equated with doing my work. I have written many a sermon/message in this tent. The most joyful part of my work hands-down. I also did a lot of liturgy planning and hymn writing at my desk in front of the wide living room window. It always gave me inspiration, like the osprey spreading its wings and the dragon fly lifted on the breeze. The trees in every season spoke to a different phase of the year and the heart. The empty branches rising in prayer and spring leaf buds hinting at rebirth. The dawn sky of Advent wearing the blue of hope and promise. But lately, I have been using the desk only for e-mail or word processing on the computer, never upon which to write. Any creative activity since January was done in one corner of the sofa. I did most of my grieving and my healing there under an afghan made for me by a dear friend. It was my refuge.
So what brings me outside today? What has changed? Perhaps I am moving from denial of what I have lost in the last seven months to acceptance. Joel and I participated in the installation of a colleague as pastor of another church on Sunday. It was strange putting on our clergy robes and stoles once again. But it was a reminder that even though we have let go the position of pastor at First Church, we are still ordained as pastor/teacher in the wider United Church of Christ. We are still called to serve the church and the world. It will simply have to take another form and be in a new place. Isn’t this the pattern of growth? To let go of one particular thing to open our arms to wider experience?
At the beginning of the installation service, the pianist played “Here I Am, Lord.” This was sung at my ordination service in Ohio. I was immediately transported back to that day in Septamber of 2000. It seemed that only yesterday I was taking the vows of ordination and feeling the weight of the hands upon my head as the Spirit was called to fill me and guide me on my way. A part of me was thinking I wish I could do it all over again. On the other hand, a deeper part knows that I am not the same woman anymore, except that I am still burning with a desire to know, love, and serve God in whatever form she manifests herself to me.
Finally, just before I set myself up to write in my tent, I was flipping through TV channels after the news. Sunddenly, there was Josh Fitterling, the new designated interim pastor at The First Church, leading worship on the local access channel. My first impulse was to flip on by, not wanting to deal with my feelings. But then, I just stopped and watched. I noted that he was preaching from the lectern, as I used to do, and not the raised pulpit. And yes, he belonged there. It was his turn to find himself at the heart of that good community. It was his turn to speak. To lead prayer. To love and be loved by the people. It is my turn to sit here on my deck in the summer breeze, listening to the racket of the ravens above me, the zooming by of the hummingbirds, and the whisper deep down in my soul – “Be still. Get ready to open your arms and your heart ever wider.” And I answer, “Yes.”
Dwelling in Presence 