January 8, 2012
“And now let us believe in this new year that is given us—
new, untouched, full of things that have never been.”
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Another new year is upon us, and while one could argue, as my late colleague Roy Phillips did, that this yearly transition is merely illusory, more of a continuation, in fact, than a new beginning, still the idea that something new is about to unfold has always provided a powerful incentive for folks wishing to make a fresh start. The coming of a new year may not be a time for excessive optimism, but it is certainly a time for realistic hope.
I have never been a big fan of New Year’s resolutions. The reality is that in life there are many new beginnings, and many opportunities to start over. We needn’t wait until January 1st on the calendar to begin to make the positive changes we need to make.
Fortunately for us, we are followers of a religion that affirms that this kind of change is possible, and that it is possible to begin again. It is never too late. This hopeful outlook can help us through the many transitions that life places in our path, both those that are expected and, especially, those that are not.
For ours is a faith that refuses to believe that we are predestined to walk a particular path in life, or that we are forever tainted by some original sinfulness. Rather, our faith says that we are free, that we can change, and that we can continue to grow and to learn new things as long as we live.
We believe, therefore, that while change is inevitable, change is also good. This is not to say that change is always easy or welcome, because some changes are tragic. What it means is that we recognize that change may sometimes be necessary in order to move us and our world a little further in the direction of our brightest dreams. Even terrible changes can grow our souls and increase our capacity for compassion and empathy for others.
Yes, this faith of ours places a lot of responsibility on us. It means that we cannot succumb to a comfortable complacency or to a despairing fatalism. We can change for the better, we can make a fresh start, and because we can, we must. We are free. The choice is ours.
The great 19th century Unitarian minister Theodore Parker famously said that the “The moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” That is a hopeful statement, not necessarily an optimistic one. Similarly, sometimes the change that we experience, while difficult at the time, bears wonderful fruit later on; perhaps not even in our own lifetimes. At least, this is our faith.
I have great respect for people who have survived and thrived in spite of change and of unthinkable loss. They give me hope. I consider the hundreds of thousands of people who have come to this county in order to make a new life in a new place, leaving their old lives behind and starting over from scratch. And I am humble before those who have made positive changes in their lives by overcoming addictions and by confronting their deepest and darkest fears and temptations or by leaving destructive relationships. Such constructive and often heroic change is possible for each of us, regardless of the demons we face.
Some of us are lucky enough to have partners and friends who call us back to our better selves, often over and over again, allowing us to start anew on a more positive and life-affirming path. I know how important this is, as I, like many of you, sometimes find myself in a negative or despondent place in my life, in a rut, even though it may be what my late friend Ed Atkinson once called a “fur-lined” one. I need those occasional reminders that I can change, that I can break bad habits of behavior and attitude, and begin again. As someone has written with truth, “I never changed because it was a good idea. The pain of not changing became too great.”
The poet Theodore Roethke captures the potential of such attitudinal shifts in his poem “In the Time of Change”:
All things must change: the vision pass
The shadow lengthen on the grass,
The ship go down behind the sun,
The passion of the heart be done.
The flower droops; we cannot stay
The lovely miracle of May.
But in the time of change, a rare
Illumination fills the air.
There is a shift, a holy pause
Between what is and what once was.
The senses quicken with delight;
The scene grows pure upon the sight.
Our fixity is lost; the eyes
Look out with passionless surprise,
And in that instant we may see
The shape of an eternity.
What strikes me in this poem—and I realize that it could well be a poem about the moment of death, certainly the greatest and most terrifying change that we must ever encounter—is the idea that “our fixity,” what I take to mean our complacency, or our inability or refusal to look at things in a new or different way, can be overcome if only we are open to change, if only we are willing to pay attention in that “holy pause/between what is and what once was.” And God knows we could all use some “passionless” surprise from time to time (consider the current state of our political affairs) in order, as my friend Philip Booth wrote in his poem “Seeing Deer,” to “see what we see.” More clarity, less passion, is certainly the demand of our time.
It is really helpful in times of personal or societal change to have a faith which is not pessimistic about the future, for the problem, as Alexander Graham Bell once wrote, is often that “When one door closes, another opens, but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one that has opened for us.” We need a faith which points our gaze firmly in the direction of the door which is always opening before us, if we have but eyes to see.
My own tendency, I know, is to look backward at the closed door, to gaze too “fixedly” on what has been and not on what might be, to miss seeing that “shape of an eternity” which is always there, and that is why I think it is important from time to time that we shake things up in our lives.
I’m not sure at this point that I would recommend moving and building a new house, even one that is only seven miles away, in order to shake things up. For me it has been a much more stressful and dis-orienting experience than I expected, filled with a certain amount of second-guessing and doubt, even while it has been fun and exciting to contemplate a new beginning in a place where I can pursue some long-dormant interests. But I know that when I have made such changes in the past, even uncomfortable ones, perhaps even wrong ones, they have almost always resulted in positive growth and in seeing things with fresh eyes. That is my hope this time around, also, though, of course, the jury is still out.
Trust me, I don’t think moving and building a house is necessary to make the kind of changes I have been talking about, though some of us do need a bigger kick-start than others to change the road we are on.
Years ago, in a New Year column, the wise Erma Bombeck wrote about how for years she had been “overdressed for New Year.” The articles of clothing that she wished to discard included “the mantle of guilt,” “the hair shirt of self-pity,” and “the belt of prejudice.” In her metaphorical footlocker was a goodly supply of anger, and “the jewels of frustration over things that I can never do anything about, but that I wear like medals to torture myself.” Also contained in her baggage were all the old grudges, “many of them antiques,” she wrote, “that I plan on handing down to my children.” “Every year of my life,” she continued, “the load gets heavier and heavier to carry into a new year.” “Frankly,” she concluded, “I don’t know if I can face a New Year without my clothes on. Can I look at old friends and see them for the first time? Can I keep my eyes forward and not look back? Do I have the guts to emerge with nothing on but a smile and a top hat? I’m gonna try.”
Ultimately, that is all that is asked of any of us: that we try. It is what our faith demands. Not that we succeed, but that we don’t give up.
Bernice Martin, the Board Chair of the First Universalist Church of Norway, Maine, where I once served, wrote a perceptive New Year column this year in the church’s newsletter:
Whether we begin our new year with the winter solstice, the lunar new year, or on January 1st, we find in this time of darkness limitless possibilities for the year to come. While not all the possibilities before us will take us where we want to go in our lives, we nevertheless find ourselves once again on the threshold of what could and will be. So what is it that we wish to nurture in our lives as we move into the growing light?
Making meaningful changes that shape the course of our lives can often come slowly. Reflection on our spiritual or life journey over the past year can reveal pathways that have led us to where we find ourselves today and point to possible headings for our tomorrows to come. As we look back over the year, what experiences call to us to open our hearts and minds more fully to what might be?
As we rest in the quiet of the long night and the peace of the dawning light, seeds of hope flow in the heart. It is a hope nurtured by new discoveries as we move through the changing landscape of our lives. It is a hope sustained by embracing the change we desire. It is a hope that trusts in the infinite possibilities of Holy Mystery and finds fulfillment in our actions in the world.
At this point in my journey through life, the view forward sometimes looks pretty scary. I’m not always sure I want to go there. But I am convinced that the only way to proceed is to embrace the inevitable change. And I am more certain than ever that, with a little hope and courage, it is possible to start over, to shed the old, worn-out clothing and baggage, and to become the kinder, healthier, and happier people that we long to be. So many of you have shown me the way to go, that all I need to do is follow in your brave footsteps.
Howard Thurman, the great Black preacher and teacher, once wrote,
I will sing a new song.
I must learn the new song for the new needs.
I must fashion new words born of all the new growth of my life—of my mind, of my spirit.
I must prepare for new melodies that have never been mine before.
That all that is within me may lift my voice unto God.
Therefore, I shall rejoice with each new day
And delight my spirit in each fresh unfolding.
I will sing, this day, a new song unto God.
May our songs, to whomever they are sung, ever affirm our capacity to “delight . . . in each new unfolding,” to embrace the change we seek, and to begin again. So may it be. Amen.
- The Rev. Harold E. Babcock
Reading: from “Moment,” a sermon preached by the Rev. Roy D. Phillips on December 28, 1975
