Where Joy and Sorrow Meet: An Easter Meditation
The Rev. Joshua Mason Pawelek
Unitarian Universalist Society: East
Manchester, CT
April 8, 2007
I want to share with you a meditation entitled, “Breaking Ground,” from the Rev. Lynn Ungar. She writes:
Living in the violence of Spring
Living in a time
where shells are cracking
and shapes alter
Who can afford to risk
forgetting the danger
forgetting the moment
the crocus bulb breaks ground
Never knowing whether snow or sun or ice
awaits in warm or jagged welcome.
There is no safety in this restless season
Even the sheltering ground
rejects its own,
thrusting the life it held
into the untrustworthy
and insufficient care
of air and weather
There are no choices here
No careful path or
reasoned way
No holding in reserve for some more settled,
more propitious time
But only the unconsidered
faith of the crocus
whose saffron petals echo or demand the sun.
I offer this poem this morning as a reminder of the fullness of this season, of the full range of this season. For so many this season is a joyous time—a time to recall liberation, a time to celebrate resurrection, a time to witness the earth returning from its winter slumber in all its shades of green glory—a time for Persephone, for Passover and the Paschal Feast.
Rev. Ungar’s meditation suggests there is more to this season than joy and celebration. “Living in the violence of spring,” she writes, “living in a time where shells are cracking and shapes alter, who can afford to risk forgetting the danger, forgetting the moment the crocus bulb breaks ground never knowing whether snow or sun or ice awaits in warm or jagged welcome.” She reminds us of a danger in the world, a vulnerability, a fragility, a deeper pain: Easter also speaks of these. The story of Easter, as much as it is about triumph, as much as it speaks to that ancient human longing to transcend death, is also about death, is also about violence and oppression, about the human capacity to dehumanize, to turn on one’s neighbor, to deny. Let us not revel solely in the joy of this season, Ungar seems to suggest, without first taking the full measure of its sorrow. Let us not attend only to the crown of glory; let us keep in mind also the crown of thorns. It is perhaps more realistic and more authentic if we attempt to reside where joy and sorrow meet.
Ungar offers the “unconsidered faith of the crocus” as an answer to the violence of spring. We do not know what we shall encounter in those moments when we break through into something new, those moments wherein we change and grow. We don’t know what the future holds. We don’t know what might happen tomorrow. There aren’t always choices or careful paths or reasoned ways. There isn’t always a more settled, a more propitious time to break through, to find rebirth and renewal. Sometimes we simply need to rise up, ready for anything, resurrected, believing we can handle what lies ahead: joy or sorrow; violence or peace; clarity or obscurity; darkness or light, life or death. To embrace this season in its fullness, we must be willing to live at the place where joy and sorrow meet. We must be willing to step forward into the unknown with the unconsidered faith of the crocus, without knowing for sure what may come, but believing—believing—it matters that we take that step.
Now, if I may bring this theme from the universal to the particulars of this congregation, today we reside very much in a place where joy and sorrow meet. This morning we bear witness to and participate in the last holiday music choir Bob Richardson will conduct as our Director of Music. Of course there is joy as we celebrate with Bob his achievements with us, his joy at finding new love in the wake of his beloved Marilyn’s death, and his crocus-like faith embarking on a new chapter in his life after retirement. Likewise there is sorrow, for Bob has given so much to this congregation. Not only will he be sorely missed—clearly he is irreplaceable. I don’t believe there is another who can do what Bob has been able to do over the course of these nearly four decades. And as Bob retires we will certainly be like crocuses in spring, breaking through into something new without fully knowing what will come.
Today we begin saying our goodbyes to Bob. As I wrote in my newsletter article, let’s not wait until the end of June to say goodbye, let’s not wait to show our appreciation, let’s not wait to let Bob know how deeply we will miss him in this role. Begin today. Begin today. It takes a season to say farewell and best wishes to one who has given so much. And let us not shy away from the sorrow that accompanies this parting to focus only on the joy of reminiscing. Let us reside in that place where joy and sorrow meet, for this is the most authentic place to live.
Maestro: would you do us the honor, one final time, of leading the choir of the Unitarian Universalist Society: East. Lead with your confident conviction. Lead with your tireless passion for building community. Lead with your abiding love.
Hallelujah. Amen. Blessed Be.
