Cherish the Time

"Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light" - Mary Oliver

 Lately, when I make a plan, I use conditional forms: “probably we will go on vacation next spring”. “Hopefully we can come to dinner on Sunday.” And when I sent out last week’s service email I announced that we would be gathering in person in 2 sanctuaries and on zoom. But that’s not what happened- the door to the Cortland church broke as the team was arriving, and no one could enter the church. [sigh] It was not the return to “normal” we were hoping for.

Even so it was lovely to be in the Athens Sanctuary and on zoom last week with so many old and new friends. And to be with you all here in all our different places this week. And, knock wood, our multi platform services will continue. But I have certainly come to understand over these past 2 ½ years that any sense of certainty in the future was misplaced. It was always true that the future was unknown, but I feel this in a really deep way these days.

In her poem "In Blackwater Woods" Mary Oliver writes,

“To live in this world you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”

Oh, we have had to do so much letting go these past years. so many parts of our lives have been disrupted or lost- businesses closed, celebrations cancelled, beloved members and friends in our congregations have died, dear friends and members of our families departed.

But on this day, this joyful day when we are finally gathered together again in this moment, in this hour, I ask us to take up the practice in Oliver’s poem that comes before letting go, the other things she suggests we must do to live in this world:

“to love what is mortal;
to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;”

Hopefully we will have many other hours together, just like this one, but let us not take that for granted. We have been hungry for so long for things to get “back to normal” and I offer that this moment, today, is something like the normal we have been so hungry for -- the ordinary blessings we often took for granted until that strange week in March of 2020 when normal was not possible.

Hopefully part of what we have learned over these past 2 ½ years is to cherish those things we used to call normal, to cherish this time, right now, even though it’s still a bit odd and full of technical glitches, to appreciate it and cherish it just as it is.

It’s not easy, is it, to love this life, knowing it is temporary? Oliver names a fundamental paradox that I have struggled with over the years- How can we enjoy what is wonderful and beautiful knowing it will come to an end? In ordinary times It’s easy to put knowledge of our impermanence aside, to act as if there is plenty of time, as if things will always be this boring, ordinary way. On the other hand, when our impermanence is right up in our face like it has been lately, it’s easy to detach, to disengage, so that we wont’ be hurt by endings and departures. It is not easy to love what is mortal, and it is not easy to let go.

The story of the tiger and the strawberry can be found in many versions and variations over centuries and different parts of the world. It is often said that Zen teacher DT Suzuki told this story in this brief version:

“A man walking alone in the wild suddenly finds himself chased by a tiger. he starts to run but soon arrives at the edge of a cliff. with no way out, he jumps and, luckily, manages to grasp a vine. the abyss yawns under him, the tiger threatens him from above. two mice, one white, one black, appear from a crevice and start gnawing at the vine. as the vine grows thinner and thinner, the man notices a plump fresh strawberry. he plucks it. how delicious it tastes!” [i]

Like any good parable or Koan, there are many possible interpretations. Right now I am inspired to ask- can we be clear enough, brave enough, present enough, to pluck the strawberries right in front of us, despite the yawning abyss and hungry tigers? Maybe…

seizing a juniper berry

This year, instead of worrying about our future, or striving to “get back to normal” I encourage us to cherish our time together, exactly as it is. To cherish the unique beauty of each member and friend and visitor, to cherish that feeling of connection and warmth we seek when we come together. We have just welcomed brand new members into both the Athens and Cortland congregations, and they joined us not because of who we used to be, but because they found something valuable, something worth cherishing as they experienced this weird in between time with us. How can we make this a special and inspiring time for them, and honor the fresh newness of their time with us?

At the same time, I know that even now a number of our dear friends are are making plans move so they can be closer to family. Just knowing about such plans invites us into a kind of in between time, preparing in spirit and heart for the anticipated separation. Transition times are uncomfortable, and we can often race to the finish, race to the “new normal” we hope is ahead. But these past 2 years have taught me that there is no promise of normal somewhere in the future, there is only now in this very fluid, quixotic life. Can we challenge ourselves to taste this moment, this precious time together like a juicy red strawberry?

Kurt Vonnegut writes:

“… I had a good uncle, my late Uncle Alex. He was my father's kid brother, a childless graduate of Harvard who was an honest life-insurance salesman in Indianapolis. He was well- read and wise. And his principal complaint about other human beings was that they so seldom noticed it when they were happy. So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is."
So I do the same now, and so do my kids and grandkids. And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, "if this isn't nice, I don't know what is."  [Vonnegut A Man Without a Country" p. 132]

If that story about tigers and strawberries feels a bit too high stakes, Uncle Alex’s spiritual practice feels quite achievable. I have adopted this practice myself in recent years. Just noticing and naming those ordinary moments that feel, well, nice. I remember the first time I tried it -- I was visiting my sister after a long time apart. There was the usual hubbub of traveling and arriving and the noise of our teens and preparations of dinner, and we found ourselves standing outside – just a quiet ordinary moment in the temperate night air, “If this isn’t nice, what is?” I offered and she started- “what is?” she asked. “Just this moment of finally being together- a quiet moment under the stars” She paused and looked around. That was all, no tigers, no fireworks, just a noticing and arriving in a moment we had waited for so long, and that was all too quickly over.

Who knows what the future will bring? Probably some joyful things, probably some hard things. New people will come into our lives, people we care for will depart. There is, in truth, no such thing as permanence in our mortal world, so let us cherish this time, this unique, unrepeatable time. This is a challenging spiritual practice- it is not easy to love what is mortal, it is not easy to let it go when the time comes. That is one reason we gather in community: to remember how precious life is, even and especially the ordinary moments, and to savor it together. Let us cherish the time.




[i] https://moritherapy.org/article/zen-strawberry-story/