Post-Sabbatical Reflections

I sent the following as a "Final Report" on my sabbatical to the members of Church of the Pilgrims:

To All Pilgrims on the Journey:

When Saint Columba set sail from Ireland in 563 CE with twelve followers in their leather-bound coracle, the island of Iona was not their destination. In fact, they did not know where they would end up. They were living out the Celtic tradition of peregrinatio—Latin for “wandering” or “pilgrimage.” Peregrinatio was undertaken as a spiritual journey for the sake of Christ, but also to “seek the place of one’s resurrection.” Sometimes the coracle was actually allowed to drift, to land where it will. In this way, peregrinatio was intentionally open-ended. The journey was the important part. The destination was up to the Spirit.

So when I set off last April for twelve weeks of travel and study, I was not entirely sure where this journey might take me. With the support of the congregation, my sabbatical was blessedly devoid of any “end product.” I was not supposed to write a book, earn a degree, or devise some long-term plan for my life. Instead, in the words of the Lilly Foundation, I was to pursue those activities that “would make my heart sing.” Or, to use the words from the Celtic tradition, I was to “seek the place of my resurrection.”

I am abundantly aware of what a rare and precious gift it was to have been given this time. I continue to be immensely grateful to my family and to the congregation for your support in pursuing this dream journey. A colleague at Iona also on sabbatical leave commented that “every morning was like Christmas morning.” That was exactly how I felt. In those twelve weeks I packed in memories of a life-time. Every aspect of my journey exceeded my expectations. I am especially grateful for the time I spent with individual family members, and the opportunity to explore the world and experience different cultures.

Yet the purpose of peregrinatio is to return. You withdraw from a time in order return reinvigorated. While I embarked on my sabbatical with no specific “product” in mind, I did choose destinations that I imagined would not only be personally fulfilling, but also might have something of value for our life and ministry at Pilgrims. I was not disappointed.

Not surprisingly, the two destinations that were most relevant for our ministry here at the corner of 22nd and P were Taizè and Iona. They were very different experiences. At Taizè, Andrea and I were joined by nearly a thousand other people, mostly under the age of thirty-five. Worship was profound in its simplicity: the simple, chant-like songs we have come to associate with Taizè, with long periods of silence, and a few simple readings and prayers. The pattern of worship was enlivened by the addition of a few simple rituals—kneeling before the cross on Friday night; lighting candles Saturday evening; celebrating the Eucharist Sunday morning. Otherwise, worship followed the same daily pattern. There was no instruction or explanation. You simply joined in the flow.

On Iona, Kelsey and I were part of a group of only forty. Most were older adults. Worship was still rich and rewarding, but included more speaking, more instruction, more ritual, more prayers, and even an occasional sermon. While at Taizè, the daily Bible study followed no discernable pattern, at Iona the week had a programmatic focus. (Our week’s focus on “Poverty and the local congregation.” Not exactly a new topic for me, but the presenters had really cool accents!) Nevertheless, despite these differences, Iona and Taizè had several qualities and characteristics in common. I would lift up the following as especially instructive for our life together at Church of the Pilgrims:

Hospitality: Both Iona and Taizè are rooted in ancient monastic practices of hospitality. Neither started out as “retreat centers.” Soon after Columba and his barefoot monks landed on Iona, Iona itself became a place of pilgrimage, where visitors would come from across Europe to spend time with the monks (known as “Peregrini”—wanderers, or more literally, “pilgrims”!) and join in their daily routine of prayer and study. People were drawn by the community’s reputation for hospitality, compassion, forgiveness and healing. When George MacLeod re-established the Abbey center in the mid-20th century, he had no idea that Iona would once again become the destination for pilgrims it has become. In the same way, Brother Roger was taken by surprise when people outside the Taizè community began to ask if they could join the Brothers in worship and reflection. They did not set out to be a center for young adults. They simply responded to the young adults who came, and over time, their reputation grew until welcoming young adults became the center of the community’s life.

Hospitality is not about bending in the wind. Both Iona and Taizè have a life of their own into which pilgrims are invited to share. (See more on that below.) But they are incredibly adept and intentional in making people feel at home and a part of the community life. Each person, and each person’s story, feels welcomed and honored. This is their core evangelism. At Pilgrims I think we do this well, but as with all Christian practices, there is always room for us to improve and do better. In this regard I fully support Jonathan Mertz’s suggestion that the title for his position on the Session be changed from “Elder for Membership Development,” to “Elder for Hospitality and Evangelism.” Hospitality is a core Christian practice. Our goal is not to recruit new people into our “club” but to welcome all people (as our Mission Statement puts it), “into the circle of God’s grace.” Whether they are visitors from out of town (who we may never see again), newcomers to the neighborhood (who may choose to join us), or even long-time members (who may be with us every Sunday), all who come through our doors should feel as welcomed and honored guests. This should be a core discipline of the entire community, not just a committee.

Identity: The power of Iona and Taizè is that they indeed have something powerful into which you are invited. Both communities have a strong sense of self, a core set of values, a foundational set of practices that mark their community life. To be sure, both communities have undergone rather dramatic changes since their founding, and rigorous self-examination is also one of their core values and practices. But these changes are less departures from their founding principles, than growth that arises from their core values.

One aspect of their community that each has come to know is that they are experienced by pilgrims as places of transformation. In the Celtic tradition, both are “thin places” where the earthly and the heavenly realms are separated by a mere tissue, and the presence of the divine is especially felt. As I said above, they did not set out to be such a place, but they have come to respect the experience of those who have journeyed with them, and have learned over time how to cultivate such moments of transformation (for which they take little credit!). People come expecting that the experience might change them—and they are rarely disappointed. (Indeed, the expectation itself is part of what creates the openness required for such an experience to take place!)

I am persuaded that Pilgrims is also such a place for many people in our midst. The powerful stories of “Connection and Clarity” that members, young and old, told during the sabbatical time, bore powerful testimony to the sort of life-changing experiences that people have, often without our knowing. (We have long known that young people staying in our Pilgrimage have such experiences regularly.) I don’t believe we should take “credit” for this. I do think we should recognize it for the gift that it is. I also think it’s important to name it: Pilgrims is a place of transformation, perhaps not for all people, but often enough that we need to lift that up without apology. The more we see ourselves as a place where lives are changed, the more we cultivate the atmosphere for such life-changing transformation to take place.

A Church for Others: Part of the core identity that Pilgrims shares with Iona and Taizè is that we are other-centered. Iona was re-founded in the 20th century as a training ground for urban ministry, and has grown to include a passionate commitment to global justice and peacemaking. (As one long-time volunteer put it, people come to Iona seeking peace and quiet; they leave seeking peace and justice.) Similarly, one of the first acts of the Taizè community, founded during World War II, was to harbor Jewish refugees during the Nazi occupation of France. Peacemaking and the ministry of reconciliation is the cornerstone of the Taizè community’s values. The transformation that takes place at Iona and Taizè is intensely personal, but it is always other-centered. (I could say the same thing about my entire sabbatical. It was intensely personal, but much of the power of the experience came from those moments that brought me outside of myself, such as the immersion into another culture and exposure to the grinding poverty of the people of Guatemala.) Ronald Ferguson, in his history of the Iona community, writes:

At an isolated place on the island of Iona there is a circle of stones. It is called the Hermit’s Cell. It testifies to the need for times of withdrawal, in order to go back to the demanding and joyful task of Christian community, a community which is not an end in itself but is struggling to be a sign of the inbreaking of God’s rich kingdom of shalom.

So I was pleased on my first Sunday back after twelve weeks away to witness the flurry of energy focused outside our doors: Recruiting volunteers to serve at Open Table, lining up Pilgrims for the Washington Interfaith Network “Action” with Mayor Fenty last Monday night, sharing plans for the first-ever “Presbyterian-sponsored” vigil at the Sudanese embassy. This is an incredibly positive sign of health. There is, to be sure, a certain earnestness about all of this, but the mood on Sunday was joyful. We do these things because this is who we are, this is who God calls us to be. It is not a burden, it is a gift. We invite people on a journey of transformation, which includes a journey beyond the self toward God and neighbor.

Community: Taizè and Iona may be other-centered, but that does not prevent them for being intentional about the cultivation of community. Community does not just happen. It is fostered. It flows from the core practice of hospitality, is strengthened by the community’s core values, and flourishes in the community’s outreach. At both Iona and Taizè I experienced the transformation of a group of strangers into a community of brothers and sisters in Christ. It did not just happen in worship alone. At Iona especially, the forty of us worshiped together, ate together, washed dishes and mopped the floor together, studied together and played together. We were self-conscious about the cultivation of community among us, and were sensitive to its dynamics. We named it as a primary value and goal of the week.

Sometimes I think we can be almost apologetic about the importance of community. Either we feel that focusing on ourselves is somehow a distraction from more important pursuits outside our door, or we give in to the individualism of our culture which looks at the mutual obligations of community with suspicion if not disdain. Yet time and again newcomers to our life together name community as the most precious gift they are seeking as they search out a church home.

One of the most successful activities during the sabbatical period while I was away were the “sabbatical dinners” organized by Ashley and the Sabbatical Planning Team. They not only intentionally mixed people up, so that each dinner included people young and old, new and long-time, but they engaged people in a common activity, and created a fun but safe atmosphere to share each other’s lives. Community is not the same thing as being “friends.” Community includes people not-like-us as well as people who are like us. In community we not only share our lives, but care for one another through the rough patches. In true community, our individuality is not lost, but honored. We are accepted as we are, even as we are growing together in new ways. While this often happens in unexpected ways, it does not just happen by accident, and is worthy of intentional effort. Like hospitality, it is a practice that we can learn, talk about, improve on, and never perfect.

Small Groups: Community grows in many ways: In Sunday morning worship, through volunteering at Open Table, while working together to prepare lunch for our monthly Buffet. But an essential component is a small group, a group small enough where everyone knows your name, where you have an opportunity to tell your own story, where you feel safe enough to be open about your own life, where we can hold one another mutually accountable. We do this in a variety of ways at Pilgrims: at Theology on Tap, in our Lenten studies, in our “upstairs” Adult Education classes. We also have several more “social” gatherings of Pilgrims: Under 40, Friday Club, New Mommies, the (mostly) Northern Virginia Supper Club. However, I am persuaded that we still have a long way to go in this regard. Everyone in the life of the congregation should have an opportunity, and the encouragement, to be a part of a small group. I suggest that assessing and expanding those opportunities should be a priority for our work together over the next year.

A Rule: The Iona “community” is not just those staff and volunteers who live and work at the Abbey center. It is rather a community of several hundred people, mostly in Great Britain, who are bound together by a common “rule.” (The idea of a “rule” for community life arises from ancient monastic tradition, especially from Saint Benedict.) Iona’s “rule” (see http://www.iona.org.uk/community/issues.htm) is five-fold:

1. Daily Prayer and Bible-reading
2. Sharing and accounting for the use of our money
3. Planning and accounting for the use of our time
4. Action for Justice and Peace in society
5. Meeting with and accounting to each other.

Each year, each member of the community discerns whether they are prepared to live by their common rule in the coming year. (There are also several hundred more “Associate Members,” mostly outside Great Britain, who also strive to live by the community Rule as they are able.) There is no shame in determining that in the coming year other priorities prevent full participation. People join and drop out and join again. Each year new people petition to become members (most of whom are also full members of their local congregation, and several of whom are clergy.)

What would a “rule” look like for us at Church of the Pilgrims, and how would it relate to the categories of membership spelled out in our church constitution? I don’t know the answer to that, but I think it is a conversation worth having. Are there ways in which we are mutually accountable to one another within our community of faith, and are there core practices to which all members of the community are asked to participate? (At present, for example, the Session struggles each year to determine our constitutionally defined categories of “active” and “inactive” members. We have adults who are listed on our rolls as “active members,” but who rarely worship with us on Sunday morning, make no pledge to the church, and do not participate in our congregational life. Would there be any wisdom in developing our own process of discernment in which each adult member was asked on an annual basis to determine for themselves if they wished to continue as a member of the community for the coming year?)

Worship: You might expect, given Iona and Taizè’s reputation for unique worship, that I would name worship first. But I wanted to list it last to intentionally focus on other, often-overlooked aspects of their community life. Nevertheless, it would be impossible to talk at any length about either community without focusing on their worship life. For both communities it is the heart of who they are. As should be clear by now, it is not all that they are, but it is at the center. As I said above, worship at Iona and Taizè is very different. But they do have several things in common.

First, worship is where the core values and practices of the community are celebrated, lifted up, and reinforced. There is a congruity between what happens in worship, and what happens outside of worship.

Second, worship at both places are what I call “primary spiritual experiences” rather than “second-hand spiritual experiences.” You don’t “talk” about God, you experience the presence of the divine. In the “mainline” tradition of my Presbyterian childhood, worship was often an experience that was held at arm’s length. At Iona and Taizè (and at Pilgrims, I hope, most Sundays), worship is a first-hand, participatory experience that engages you body and soul. In different ways, worship in both places was multi-sensory, where music, icons, candles, incense, singing, silence, prayer and movement swept you up and spoke to your heart as well as your head. Yet it is important to note that part of what made the experiences so rich is the hospitality that each community practiced (see my first point, above). You were gently invited, and skillfully encouraged in your participation. Nothing was forced. There was something powerful, yet casual, about the worship environment that is hard to name exactly. Perhaps it was that at Taizè no one told you what to do. Sing, sit, pray, watch, whatever—how meaningful the worship experience would be was somewhat up to you. You could sit up front and kneel on the floor. Or you could sit on a bench along the back wall. Or that at Iona on the first night the Song Leader wore bright green pajama pants with purple tennis shoes. At both communities you felt that you could simply come as you were. No special prerequisites were required.

Music: Again, though the music was very different at Iona and Taizè, it was of central importance at both places. Because I was a participant and not a worship leader, I was more aware than I have been before of the power of music in creating community. In some ways, worship at Taizè was very individualistic. You didn’t pass the peace. There were few opportunities to interact with your neighbor. Yet the experience of singing—and singing, and singing, and singing—in a large gathering of people was incredibly intimate. The music itself created community.

At Iona I discovered anew the power of singing in harmony to create community. Each worship service, the Song Leader would skillfully teach new songs to the congregation (something I have been endeavoring to do, much less skillfully, these past two Sundays). Within just a few minutes, this gathering of strangers (including not just the forty of us who were staying at the Abbey for the week, but several dozen visitors who were on the island just for the day), were singing together in three-part harmony! It reminded my of the experience of being in choir during college, one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. No wonder our choir members love being in the choir! So why not make a choir of the whole congregation!

This is not to say there is no role for the choir. Even in participatory worship there is still room for performance. A beautiful performance, whether on organ or flute, by choir or soloist, can also enhance our worship experience. But it does shift somewhat how we understand the choir’s role. Their purpose is not primarily to wow us with a stunning performance, but to lead the congregation’s worship, and to encourage the congregation’s singing. Which means that Rob’s most important role is not “organist” or “choir director” but “worship leader.” (In this regard, I am particularly pleased that during Rob’s Continuing Education program this week at Virginia Wesleyen College he will be taking a day-long workshop on the music of Iona! Talk about synchronicity!)

Which is not to say that what we want to do is simply mimic the music of either Iona or Taizè (not that we can’t borrow from both) but to discover and create our own musical traditions that are organic to our worship at Church of the Pilgrims. What makes worship so powerful at both Iona and Taizè is that they not only borrowed (in the case of Iona, very beautifully borrowed from the Third World), but created. Which is what we want to do at Pilgrims, not just in relation to worship, but in all areas of congregational life. There is much that we can learn from communities such as Iona and Taizè, who have built rich traditions and world-wide reputations. My hope for the next several months is that you might join me in reflection and discernment as we seek to deepen our own core values and practices at Church of the Pilgrims, seeking to live out our Mission Statement, where we affirm together, that

“We are pilgrims,
together on a spiritual journey,
trusting God to show us the way.
We follow Jesus, seeing God's image in every face,
inviting all people into the circle of God’s grace.
We joyfully worship in song and in prayer,
and eagerly proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ
in word and in deed:
by caring for each other, serving neighbors
in need, and seeking peace with justice.”
(Mission Statement of Church of the Pilgrims, Adopted January 2006)

Final Blog: Good food, good wine, good company, and a walk in woods

Cheryl and I take the red-eye home tonight, and somewhat bleary-eyed, I expect to show up at the office tomorrow, so for all intents and purposes, my sabbatical is pretty much over. It has been an amazing twelve weeks.

I would like to begin this final entry by expressing my deep gratitude to those who made it possible. First, of course, to Cheryl for supporting me in this and all things, and for holding down the fort at home during my long absences. Then to my associate Ashley and the rest of our wonderful staff at Church of the Pilgrims, for making my sabbatical absence a meaningful time for the congregation. (I confess to some post-sabbatical jitters: Ashley has done such a great job, will they want me back?) Then to my sister Janet and my beautiful daughters Andrea and Kelsey, for accompanying me on key legs of my journey. Time alone was well spent, but the time with them was even more precious.

Cheryl's father and his wife, Bob and Jan Keil, joined us in California. After a couple of days site-seeing in San Francisco, we headed up in to Sonoma County to taste some wine and indulge in Nothern California Cuisine. (That's the "good food, good wine, and good company" part). Our hosts at the Bed and Breakfast welcomed us as if we were guests in their family home, and joining the other guests around the breakfast table in the morning reminded me that hospitality is still practiced well in some corners of our individualistic culture.

After dropping Bob and Jan off at the airport Sunday night, Cheryl and I headed south to Sunnyvale, where Cheryl is coordinating another teacher conference for the U. S. Department of Education. On Monday, I was on my own. After exploring all my options, I decided to head over to Big Basin Redwoods State Park, which is in the Santa Cruz mountains, about an hour and a half away, and the largest stand of ancient redwoods south of San Francisco. I arrived about 11:30 a.m. and asked the ranger to show me a good two-hour hike. She recommended Buzzard's Roost on Pine Mountain, which has 360-degree panoramic views of the mountains and the Pacific Ocean. She warned me that it was a steep elevation to the summit, and the guide books recommend you allow three to five hours.

I wasn't sure I really had five hours to devote to this hike, or that my over-fed body was up to the steep climb, but I just couldn't resist the idea of one more "mountain top" experience as my sabbatical came to an end. So after fortifying myself with a chicken-salad sandwich at the camp store, I threw caution to the wind, and headed off up the trail. Worried about the time, I moved at a pretty good clip, and actually made it to the top in less than an hour. (I would have said I'm in better shape than I thought, except for my sore muscles this morning!).

It was totally worth it. Just as you reach the top, Pine Mountain emerges from the timber line, and suddenly you can see in every direction. The sky was entirely clear except for some low-lying fog along the coast. As I ate my sandwich, perched on a cluster of rocks ("Buzzard's Roost"), I couldn't help but think this was a fitting end to my adventures. This was the last of many experiences that literally took my breath away. I thought of one of my favorite Taize songs (and since I was completely alone on the top of the mountain, I sang it out loud) :

Bless the Lord, my soul.

And bless God's Holy Name.

Bless the Lord, my soul,

Who leads me in to Life.

Then I headed back down the mountain-- also a fitting metaphor for my sabbatical. Like my walk in the woods, this too must come to an end. So this afternoon I will pack up our bags, figure out how we're going to get all this wine home to Washington, D.C., and then we will head to the airport, already my thoughts focused on what I need to do when I get back to the office.

It will take some time for me to entirely process exactly what this experience has meant to me. It has exceeded all of my expectations. I worried before hand that returning to work after so much time away would be difficult, and perhaps it may be. But for now I am looking forward to getting back, catching up with life at Church of the Pilgrims, and figuring out how to creatively integrate my experiences with our ministry at the corner of 22nd & P. That, too, will be an adventure.