"My Last Memo" by Rev. Barbara Merritt

We are like birds that spend the night in the same tree, and then, in the morning, fly off in different directions. At least that is the metaphor I heard in India to describe the transitory nature of all human relationships.

The Hassidic tradition tells of an enlightened Rabbi, who was visited in his home by a traveler. The visitor was startled to see that the apartment was furnished with only one small table, a chair, and a bed. He asked where all the rest of the Rabbi’s possessions were. The Rabbi replied, “ I am only a visitor in this world. I have no need to accumulate (or to take care of) a lot of extra baggage that I cannot take with me, when I leave this existence.”

Birds in mid-flight; a holy man living with intentional simplicity; neither of these images are any comfort to me now, as I leave the church. My career has spanned 27 years in Worcester, 35 years in parish ministry, and counting seminary, 38 years where my identity has been thoroughly invested in being a Unitarian Universalist minister.

You cannot imagine how many books I have accumulated in this time period. (Talk about not traveling light!) Old sermons fill several file cabinets. After so many years at one church, things felt pretty comfortable at 90 Main St. Here, there were rituals and routines and relationships that seemed like they might go on forever. Nevertheless, even the endless discipline of a weekly memo (or a semi-weekly memo) is coming to a close for me. This is my last memo as the senior minister of First Unitarian.

I sincerely thought that saying good-by would be easier. I have been ready, for a while, to say good-by to committee meetings, and evening meetings and denominational politics. I have given my entire adult life to this profession, and it was a good run. But I knew in my heart, and in my bones when it was completed and over. Yet I find myself utterly unprepared to say good-by to the people of this parish: to you, the members and friends, to the staff, to Tom. THIS is formidable. THIS part I simply don’t understand how to do.

The Unitarian Universalist Minister’s Association has an ethical code which I must, and I willingly, submit myself to. It gives clear instructions for a minister upon retirement, and concrete expectations for a Minister Emerita.
These “best practices” have been honed through decades of accumulated experience around the departure of clergy, and the start-ups of new ministries.

The rules can be briefly summarized as follows:
1) I am no longer the settled minister at First Unitarian. The Rev. Thomas Schade is now “the one and only” minister of this parish. All requests for marriages, christenings and funerals must go directly to him.
2) For the first year, I am to have no contact with parishioners, with the exception of a handful of personal friends. (Friends, in this situation, are strictly defined as those I have previously vacationed with.)
3) My central job as Minister Emerita is to support the ministry of the settled minister, in this case, my colleague and friend, The Rev. Schade. We have worked with remarkable co-operation over the last 11 years. In order to continue to live in that “right relationship” I will not be available for any consultations, or commentaries on what is happening in the church, now that I am gone. I can greet you at the grocery store, and talk about the weather, or the environmental devastation in the Gulf of Mexico. But I am not permitted to share my opinions (favorable or unfavorable) about the radical new placement of the furniture in the Bancroft Room, or anything else about the parish.

These strict rules were not invented by Tom, or the Prudential Committee. They have been shown to increase the health of churches, as ministers and congregations navigate through the real and complex emotions that arise, as we face the challenging task of letting one another go.

Up until this week, I had thought that such severe boundary settings were good protection for the congregation, the institutional church and the new minister. Now I discover that I need them too. Frankly, I don’t want to say good-by to members or staff. I don’t want to have to wait a year before I can listen to our wonderful choir again. Having gotten exceptionally comfortable, over these many years, in this present constellation of relationships, it is extremely tempting to put my faith in what has been. In times of change, it is natural to be nostalgic about the past, and to wonder why we can’t just say in the same tree, for all time. Here, we might build some permanent nests! Here, we might capture, and preserve a reality we have come to appreciate!
But no one, not even long-tenured ministers, or 225 year-old congregations can stay static in any one time or place. This creation, being what it is, is always changing, always presenting us with new challenges, new opportunities for growth, new limitations, and new horizons.

So let my last benediction, not be about what has passed between us. Let it be about what is to be. A future that I truly believe contains more joy than the past could ever hold. The words from a Broadway song, said it best:

The Sweetest Sounds, I'll ever hear
are still inside my head
The Kindest Words I'll ever know
are waiting to be said
The most entrancing sight of all
is yet for me to see....
and the dearest love in all the world
is waiting somewhere for me.

That song has always reminded me, that someday we may experience the love that God has for each of us. What I wish for all of you, and for myself as well, is to move closer to that love: to hear more music, to experience greater kindness, to see more beauty. All of that possibility lies in front of us. Thank you for providing me (and my family) with a wonderful, if temporary, spiritual home. May your love of truth, and your willingness to take seriously the spirit of Jesus, allow you to worship God, (as you understand the holy), and enable you to be in the service to humanity, and to all that lives. May you experience God’s greatest blessings in the days and years ahead.