These past three months of sabbatical, have brought to all our ears the fantastic sound of one song after another! So it seems from the vibrant stories and shared smiles, the easy laughter and the obvious strength and health of this good body. Together and alone, we have enjoyed many experiences that make our hearts sing. Thanks be to God for this unspeakable—but certainly not un-sing-able—gift!
From whence did this sabbatical gift spring? One of our scriptures this morning says that all things were made through a Word…a word of life and light. In our case, it was several Words, penned by the Lilly Foundation and formed into a question. Lilly’s one inquiry, repeated throughout the grant application materials, became a sort of mantra: “What will make your heart sing?” Behind that simple question lies a plethora of images and hopes, not the least of which was the hope that our thorough and creative application would net a sizeable grant to make it all possible. Now, two years down the road, and fresh from joy of sabbatical, I must say to you, that rejection never felt so good!
It is true, that when I received the letter from Lilly last October reporting to us that our grant request had been denied, I was unable to speak about it for several days. So much work, thought, prayer, had woven itself into our application…we on the committee were sure we would be accepted. By the time of the next—and what I thought would be the last—meeting of the sabbatical committee, my tears had given way to resignation. There would be no sabbatical. While all that depressing musing is true, it is also true that when I went to the committee—expecting to thank them for their hard work and dismiss us all with a prayer—they apparently were listening to a very different song. It was the song of rejoicing, of rest…the song of cooperation and hope…the song in which each note is played and appreciated as part of the whole. I remember the baffled looks on those dear faces as I dutifully reported to them that since we had no money from Lilly, we would have to cancel the sabbatical for now.
Eric Naftzger was the first to speak. In his direct, bass drum approach that often keeps us all on beat, he said, “Sharon, there will be a sabbatical with or without the Lilly grant. The church needs it, and so do you.” So continued the beat of life, the loving heartbeat of this amazing congregation, which helped us all sing into and through a fantastic three months!
More times than I am able to count, did that same sabbatical question surface to refresh my soul and refocus my mind: What makes my heart sing? To answer that question, I have stories and experiences that you will no doubt be hearing until I retire! For it was one song after another, for three solid months! Among them was, of course, what the Irish refer to as the 400 shades of green, apparent from nearly every vantage in Ireland. There was the 5,000 year old, completely leak-proof, passage tomb of Newgrange, just outside Dublin, where our ancestors placed their ancestors to honor them before burial. There were stone circles, some standing, others recumbent, one still in its complete form—113 stones called the Grange Circle of Lough Gur—dating back some four thousand years; built near a large populated settlement, perhaps as their temple, their open-air sanctuary. And there was Tim Casey, owner of the farmland on which that particular stone circle is located, who saw how much time we were taking with the stones, and walked across the street to share more stories than we could imagine. He showed us the standing stone in the next-door field that may have served the ancients as a kind of road sign, letting them know where to turn to get to the temple. He directed us to another, smaller, circle in a neighboring field; on that day cows were nibbling at the grass and lying near the ancient stones. He told us of a book written years ago about Grange Circle, and proudly showed us the photos in it of his very own children, playmates to this ancient temple.
On other days, there were dozens of other sacred sites—wells; burial cairns; consecrated hills; secluded oak groves; abandoned open-air stone circle temples; abbeys and churches dating to the earliest centuries of Christianity; standing stones; high Celtic crosses; the magnificent Hill of Tara from which, in ancient times when the Irish high kings were crowned there, a person could stand in one spot, twirl around, and see 60% of Ireland. As we walked the holy ground of our own ancestry, John and I came to laugh at the startling reminder repeated in nearly every field and pasture through which we trod: if you want to arrive at the temple, sometimes you’ll need to trek through some manure first! We came to laughingly appreciate that both the so-called sacred and profane are neighbors in the same field called life.
With good senses of Irish humor, John and I walked near fairy mounds, where, according to Irish mythology, the wee folk still live. We climbed Queen Medbh’s burial cairn just outside the city of Sligo, and in my soul I was temporarily immobilized by the centuries-old anger against injustice for which this feisty Irish queen is known. On another day, we touched walls unearthed in the Irish bogland that once formed a prosperous farming and trading community located on the northwest Irish coast some 8,000-10,000 years ago.
Later, we hiked up Carrowkeel in the west of Ireland and were rewarded with a panoramic view that included farmland, river, trees, quaint homes and pasturing livestock. On top of that lonely hill, we found ourselves surrounded by dozens of burial cairns, placed intentionally as mounded stony temples aligned with the summer solstice sunset. Each was piled high with rocks carried up that same hill we had hiked—carried thousands of years ago by unnamed ancients on their journey to honor their dead. Near the cairns were clusters of small stone circles, no more that a foot or two in height. One wonders, were these small circles private meditation places into which our ancestors in faith might have stepped for their own mini-sabbatical? In these holy places of Ireland, my heart sang one song after another!
While visiting the capital city of Dublin, we were transported to a more recent history—only several hundred years old rather than several thousand! Viewing the magnificent Book of Kells, painstakingly copied and masterfully illustrated to honor the four Gospels of Jesus Christ, caused my Christian heart to sing. And those of you who know John, probably heard his heart singing when he stepped into the original long room library of Trinity College, the equivalent of three stories high and completely open, lined floor to domed ceiling with stacks upon stacks of books.
On our final day in Ireland, we were granted a long visit with Brigid—honored still in her homeland as both ancient Goddess and Christian saint. In her town of Kildare, which in Irish means, “The Church of the Oaks,” there is a place where Brigid’s fire is still kept lit, and two holy wells in her name from which refreshing waters have flowed for centuries. There is a Church of Ireland cathedral and a Roman Parish church that both bear her name. We saw them all, and marveled that, all these centuries later, Brigid continues to offer healing and warmth, nourishment and humor, and the balance that can come from walking in two sacred worlds.
As we flew from Ireland to the bonnie shores of Scotland, I gave thanks for our own Duncan Campbell who urged us to include visits to the Isles of Mull and Iona. Before arriving in those Celtic Christian homelands, we walked in the borders region where there were vistas and groves; river walks complete with a close sighting of a beautiful heron feeding near the shore; undulating grassy green hills bordered by taller darker green mountains and dotted with grazing sheep and cattle. There were breathtaking waterfalls, dropping hundreds of feet and thousands of gallons of water, rushing to quench the thirst of creatures below…and, speaking of water, there was in Scotland, rain, more rain, followed by still more rain. But, as in the pastures and fields of Ireland, the lesson was re-learned in new metaphor, if you want to enjoy the green, you must endure the rain. A day on Iona and another on its neighboring Isle of Mull brought more stories and images that must wait for another telling. Suffice to say that walking the land of our Christian ancestors brought refreshment to both body and spirit.
Finally, there were the three glorious weeks spent at my beloved Stonehenge made possible by your generosity. Several access visits where a small group of visitors are allowed an hour inside the stone circle brought some unforgettable experiences therein. During my weeks at Stonehenge, I read more than anyone ought to be allowed about those mysterious and magnificent Stones. Along with new friends, new insights, new opportunities to walk the land and drink in the entire landscape of Stonehenge, a phone conversation with the archaeologist in charge of the most recent dig, daily walks back and forth from my B&B to see my old stony friends, and enjoying Sunday church services in a small parish building that was built in the year 979 CE, well, you can imagine how happily my Celtic Christian heart was singing, one song after another!
Before all this glorious travel occurred, beginning on the very first day of sabbatical, nestled in a beach bungalow on the Pacific shoreline in Cambria, my heart sang though my mouth was still during a week of silent retreat. From that breathtaking vantage, God’s grace surrounded me enabling me to completely unplug from the work of ministry. Those of you who have become so wound around your work can fully appreciate the health to self and others that such unplugging offers.
All along this sabbatical journey, the Celtic saints were my traveling companions. Brigid of Kildare; Columcille of Iona; Patrick of Ireland; Ita, Cuthbert, and Columbanus; and Hilda of Whitby. Each carried a silver tray of blessings and lessons, and I did my best to remain open and receptive to their teaching. What I learned may not be able to be put in words for some time, but I imagine that you will see it in my eyes and feel it as the refreshment my spirit needed.
At a cognitive level, it is relatively easy to grasp the notion, that for these Celts, both ancient and modern, the Divine was revealed in the two great books of scripture and creation. They are to be read in tandem, say the Celts, for each informs the other, and each illuminates the truth of the other. Those of you who were able to read any of the sabbatical books or attend any of the summer series, may have become a bit weary of the seemingly repetitive nature of this most prevalent Celtic teaching. Yes, God is present and known through the Word, and as John’s gospel makes perfectly clear, that Word became flesh, tangible, touchable and reachable…thus is God also known through creation.
Allow me to share one specific humorous story that relates to this Celtic insight. I was hiking around the environs of Stonehenge one day, and as it happened, the day before had rained bucketfuls. I had greeted the rain by staying in and reading more about Stonehenge, so by that next day, I was itching to get back on the land. The hike started on dry land, in full sun, but soon took a turn along an overgrown, overflowing stream. The banks of the stream, made muddy by the previous day’s rainfall, were a challenge, even in my good hiking boots. Soon, the ankle-high boots were covered in mud, and I had mud about halfway up both legs of my hiking pants. I was sure I was lost, and needless to say, was not a happy Celt! Just as I was pondering whether or not to turn around—not a pleasant proposition, as it meant retracing my sloppy steps through that mud—the path opened up across a beautiful river and I saw before me a grassy, manicured horse track. My hiking map indicated that such would be, so I thought I was back on track, so to speak. Walking easily between the beautiful River Avon on my left and a horse corral on my right, I stumbled upon a little fishing shack and enjoyed watching a group of swans float by. This part of the hike was so picturesque, it could have been a video greeting card. Ultimately, though it was beautiful, I realized I was not in the same place as the map would have me be. So I sought help.
The first people I noticed were tending a large garden. They had an oversized truck, and lots of fun equipment. One was climbing up a ladder and another on the ground saw me approach. I obviously looked lost, and admitted as much to the man on the ground. Showing him my map, I had no more than asked directions to the road, then he quickly escorted me away from the garden, through a 7’ high hedge that opened out onto a view of yet another manicured garden in the middle of which was a massive mansion. Knowing that such places in southern England often are open to the public, I asked, and he abruptly replied, “No, this is a private residence.” “Oh, sorry,” I responded and skipped to keep up with his leading me away. A moment later, he pointed to a driveway, and curtly indicated that was the way to the road. Parenthetically, being raised in Hemet offers me a certain naïveté about social flourishes, and this was such a moment. So I blithely thanked him, and by the time I turned back around, he had vanished into an out building.
Fast forward a few days. I was attending a meeting about the future of Stonehenge, and happened upon a large wall map that showed local hiking trails. I began to study the map, trying to see where I had gotten off track a few days before. While my finger rested on the location of the mansion I’d stumbled upon, a local woman came up and asked me if I needed help finding something. I told her that I’d been out hiking recently, became lost, and was helped to find my way by some people here on the map. She looked more closely at where I was pointing, and her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Why, that’s where Sting has a home!” And now, wherever I go, thanks to this good woman, a hiking map, and some gardeners-turned-security-guards, I can honestly say that I’ve been thrown out of better places! More important is the lesson that parallels the Celtic insight about God’s revelation: the sacred hiking trail was, for me, apparent both in Word on the definitive map on the wall, and in creation, through horses and swans and trees and grassy tracks, and yes, even through Sting’s sometime garden home. The Word on the page and the Word in creation…to the Celts, God is best heard through both!
The songs my heart sang during sabbatical were not always in a major key. There were questions that led inevitably to insights, and doubts that paved the way for growth. Before 3 weeks had passed, I wrote in my journal in early June:
“Underneath (or perhaps accompanying) the joy
of reading
of silence
of tasks completed
of travel plans accomplished
Is the not-quite fear
but unsettledness
an ‘itching’
that annoys
and knocks at my heart’s door…
No one warned me that ‘sabbatical’
was so personal
that rest would bring new sight
or that energy would so radically shift
No one challenged
my narrow definition of ‘sabbatical’
as ‘rest from work’
as ‘stopping to regain balance’
No one, EXCEPT YOU, SPIRIT…
Persistently you knock
Lovingly you whisper
Daily you nudge
Inviting my definition to expand
Challenging my expectations to focus
Urging my rational self to dance…
Thank you, Spirit!”
And to each of you, who in your unique ways, made this sabbatical season possible, I thank you. By offering generous financial support, by stepping up and doing more around here, by preaching, leading worship, reading books, having parties, sharing gifts you weren’t sure you had, praying and playing with our Celtic siblings in faith, in all these ways and in many more, you and I opened our mouths and let the songs of the Divine be sung through us.
Now what? Is there life after sabbatical? In the words of the psalmist, are there still new songs to be sung? You already know my response to that! At last week’s summer series discussion, a small group of us were sitting around and waxing eloquent about how well sabbatical had gone. And it has…better than any of us could have imagined. All of a sudden one person warned, “We’d best not get cocky!” I couldn’t agree more. For cockiness would lead to lethargy and lethargy to spiritual stagnation. What I have felt since my return last week, both in myself but more significantly in our entire body, is not cockiness, but a deeper, more abiding, more intimate caring and very humble gratitude that we have indeed been blessed during these past three months. This blessing has made all of us and each of us who took its bait, stronger and healthier. The sabbatical that has blessed us now invites us into ongoing blessing, much like Abraham Joshua Heschel speaks of in his little text by the name of Sabbath. Heschel writes, “…the Sabbath surrounds you wherever you go…”
I pray that this sabbatical season with its lessons and insights and multitude of gifts will surround us as we boldly, compassionately, lovingly step into our future together. The Word is among us, and that Word, friends, is light for us and life for others, that Word needs us for its singing, one song after another.
