NOVEMBER MELANCHOLY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” November 5, 2023

It is November. I don’t need to look at the calendar to know this. I can feel this month coming from the inside of me. Maybe it is the loss of the vibrantly colored leaves or the hue of the sky and dwindling light, or perhaps it is a physical remembrance of a divorce that was finalized the Tuesday before Thanksgiving so many years ago, for many years this month has been a time of melancholy for me. Just as sounds and sights are revving up for holiday celebrations, inside I feel a kind of revving down, a desire to be silent and alone. At this point, I expect the sadness to sink in and stay for a while.

I used to run from it. I made lots of plans, keeping myself busy and connected. But I have learned over the years that this is just exhausting. It makes more sense and does more good to honor those feelings. Be with them. Now, to be sure, melancholy is not clinical depression. It does not bring me to a place of hopelessness and despair. It does not need to be treated. Neither should it be ignored. I have found that feelings, especially those with no immediate apparent cause, teach a good deal about life, our own lives in particular.

On Saturday, Joel and I were supposed to go to a Fall Sunrise Association meeting with other clergy and lay participants. But my November heart wasn’t in it. So after Joel left, I made up my nest next to the window. As a few leaves flew by, I felt in sync with the autumn scene outside. I too am in a phase of loss. I thought about going out, lying flat on the ground, and sharing this cyclical grief with the earth. But I confess my fear of late season tics kept me inside.

I wondered how I could facilitate whatever it was I was needing to let go. After an hour or so of silence, I knew what I had to do. I turned to the other side of the room and took in the piles of boxes and files full of papers, sermons, presentations, class preparations, retreat plans along with all the books I’ve collected in years of learning and teaching. It is a bit disturbing to see one’s whole life stuffed into cardboard containers. I knew that it was time to begin the sorting, the difficult and time-consuming process of deciding what goes back up on shelves, what can be given to others, and what needs to be donated somewhere or simply tossed.

This room, one half with its fine new shelves and window seat, represents the stage in my life following retirement. I can feel the other side totally weighing me down. It is certainly a major contributor to my melancholy, reminding me of a past I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to be held back by. Besides, it is time to finishing painting the room, get rid of that “bagel” for “azurite blue”, decide what stays and what goes up on the walls, if anything. This is meant to be the simple hermitage that I’ve been longing for my whole life.

And so, let the emptying begin. I expect it will provide times of sadness as well as moments of great joy. Just a few posts ago, I was beginning a geographical life review on our trip from Maine to Wisconsin and back. Perhaps this will take me on an extended journey of my intellectual development. It helps to think of it that way because I know there is much more ahead, this time more focused on my heart. When I was about twelve, I remember saying that what I wanted to do was to “think more deeply into God than anyone else had ever done!” How is that for adolescent hubris? Well, all these years later, I’ve learned we don’t really “think” our way into God. All those academic programs taught me that. But we are all already in God. What I want to do in this phase of life is deepen that knowing and pass it on. For that I will need to keep preparing my soul and opening my heart. Perhaps November melancholy will transfigure into December joy.