Last Friday, I sat in my office with our Parish Administrator. We were discussing how essential it was (in the process of having our roof replaced), that the workers be especially vigilant that no leaks, no spots of rain water, should come through and damage the forty foot tall, pristine ceiling of our beautiful sanctuary.

Saturday afternoon, I received the phone call, that a blow torch (used in soldering the new copper roof) had set fire to the attic and the steeple; a four alarm fire was burning at the church. Upon my arrival to the scene, the Fire Chief explained that he had fully expected to lose the entire building. "Churches," he said, "are designed to burn, with their large open spaces." He and his firefighters believed it was a miracle that they were able to save the building.

The heat was so intense (in the attic covering the sanctuary) that the flames twisted and buckled steel beams. The amount of water required to put out the fire was so immense (and saturated the foot of cellulose insulation in the attic so thoroughly) that it rained hard in the sanctuary for three days, and the water was still falling yesterday when I left.

We had feared a water spot. Instead, we have sustained over $500,000 damage to the organ, and well over a million dollars of damage to the building. Now we are hoping that the ceiling will not completely collapse and crash to the floor of the sanctuary. Insurance will cover the vast majority of the repairs and restoration. And I have completely stopped worrying about water spots on the sanctuary ceiling. Yesterday, I was told that the organ will take at least nine months to repair. We'll be lucky to be back in the sanctuary before Christmas. There has been a strange and wonderful grace in the midst of the devastation. The congregation and the interfaith community in Worcester have rallied in ways I couldn't have envisioned in my wildest dreams; offering support, space, and assistance. (At least three Catholic priests have told me that our parish has been named in each and every one of their masses!…I love it when Catholics pray, not for the conversion of Unitarians, but for our increase and strength!) I have been stunned by the realization that my own heart could be so stricken by the flooding of the sanctuary. I, who have been known to mutter and complain about the high costs of bricks and mortar, I had taken for granted the elegant, simple beauty; and the sense of safety, and continuity, and protection, that our sanctuary offered.

It is within this unusually dramatic context that I speak to you this morning, on behalf of my fellow twenty-five year colleagues. (Only my most intimate friends know how close I am to a complete meltdown.)

So it is a good and fortunate thing that two weeks ago, I conducted an informal survey of my twenty-two colleagues. And, at least the way I interpret what they have written, it appears that through times of crisis, and in the routine of everyday tasks, the reality of what ministry is all about remains remarkably constant.

After twenty-five years of laboring in the vineyard…What do we know? Really know for sure? Very little! Surprisingly little!

Indeed, the work of ministry continues to test us, bewilder us, challenge us, confound us. And I quote the Rev. Dr. Rose Edington, "I am not surprised that life is so unpredictable. I am surprised that the older I get, the more mysterious I find life to be and that it bothers me less and less. I used to think I had to find some answer to or struggle with the mystery. Now, I'm more accepting of mystery and appreciative of the awesomeness of it all."

What do the vast majority of the twenty-four ministers listed in your order of service share? Almost everything. I was stunned in reading what my colleagues wrote to me, how similar our experience has been, despite differences in our politics, theology, life styles, and the kind of ministry and churches we serve.

Our hearts are broken, when the parishioners we love and cherish, die. Many of us believe we have been buoyed up and supported by God (who usually shows up in the form of human beings). Most of us have lost far too much psychic energy in worrying about pledge drives and obsessing about people who don't like us.

But always, there is the strong presence of grace. A grace that gives each individual called to the ministry; gifts, strengths, talents, and capacities to serve. And when our own strength fails? The work, miraculously, still gets accomplished, and we become acutely aware of the gifts of others.

What gets easier after twenty-five years? Almost nothing. Perhaps, we accumulate some technical skill. But in the essential areas, I have adopted a new mantra (via the N.Y. Times and a Roman Catholic priest named Lorenzo Albercete). Father Albercete wrote that there are just four things that we human beings need to know about ourselves.
 

1. Our absolute poverty (suffering will teach you how little you possess).
2. Our radical dependence (our vaunted UU self-sufficiency, autonomy, independence, our separateness is a fiction, maintained at great spiritual peril to ourselves and everyone else).
3. Our unquenchable thirst (we will always be seekers).
4. Our desperate need to be loved (us and everyone we know).

After twenty five years of service, you might be amazed at how many of us still struggle with self doubt. A colleague wrote, "A critical comment can eat away at me, and keep me up at night."

What comes through all the class of 2000 is what a privilege this work is and how grateful we are that somehow our gifts and strengths can be of use. I have come to believe that every parishioner comes to our churches with the same longing; that their gifts will be acknowledged and utilized and affirmed.

I asked my fellow ministers, in the survey, "What do you wish someone had told you when you were starting out in the ministry, even if you wouldn't have believed them?" And they replied, "That I needed to be able to handle others' disapproval." "Play to your strengths: we can't do it all. You may have to try to, but know what you're good at and what you're not so good at." "That sometimes you have to choose between church and family and that nowhere is it written that the church needs to win every time." "That ministers get tired out in May and June. And they eventually bounce back." "That the phrase 'get a life' could have been invented just for ministers—but the ineffable paradox is—the churches and the liberal cause we serve both give us a life worth living, even while it constantly tests it." "That all of my churches have had plumbing and heating problems."

What do we want? Rev. McLennan said it most distinctly, "Make my whole life a prayer."

And so, after twenty-five years in this calling, we are still working. Another miracle!

Upon the occasion of the writer, Elie Weisel's 70th birthday, Weisel reflected on what he has learned over a lifetime of enormous loss and stunning achievement.

I believe what he says offers a revealing summary about those of us who have only completed twenty five years in the liberal ministry. Weisel writes, "I am still waiting for Redemption. I have fought battles and won some, few in number, too few to derive pride and confidence from them. Anyway, I don't think I shall stop now. I trouble some people when I raise my voice, others when I don't speak up. There are people, good people, who often make me feel as though I owe them something. I don't resent it. There are some who understand my itinerary; others never will. I continue to learn—thus to take and give back—to reach out to others, to begin and begin again with every encounter. I have said certain words; I have kept others for future attempts to tell the tale that is waiting and will always be waiting to be told…I know that it is not enough. Help me, God."

May God help all of us who begin and begin again to further the work of the spirit. And may we find that sanctuary, which will outlast all the bricks and mortar, all the job descriptions, and all our sorrow. A sanctuary where we realize that our lives and our ministries, day by day and year after year, continue to be held up by a love and a strength beyond our imagining.