Meditation given at General Assembly Bridging Ceremony
The Rev. William G. Sinkford
Birth, youth, adulthood, old age, death. The cycle of life continues
as the generations follow one another in a rhythm the human community
has known as long as there has been a human community. Religious communities
help us mark these passages in our lives, help us celebrate and remember
the bridges we cross. It is a real privilege to be here with you tonight,
with all of you: those of you who will shortly celebrate the passage
from youth to young adulthood, those young adults who will walk with
you, the parents, relatives and friends who have come to witness, and
the others of us who are here because we long so deeply for you to continue
your journey of searching and service in our midst.
Memories will be created here tonight. For the Bridgers, personal memories
of this ceremony of transition. For parents, personal memories of joy,
pride, and loss (witnessing the growth of a child into adulthood means
that child, as a child, will live for us only in memory). For the gathered
community, memories of possibility and of hope. Because this ceremony
calls out in us the possibilities, the potential we can realize together.
Memories. I remember my own mother talking quietly to me when I was
about your age. She talked of the hopes of her youth, the dreams of
her generation to leave this world a better place for those of my generation
to inherit. My generation, too, had those dreams. She talked of the
reality that her generation had left so much undone. They had lived,
most of the time, caught up in the necessities of life. The things that
had to be done. She spoke with a sense of
almost failure. My generation,
too, knows that, despite our dreams and our commitment, we bequeath
to you a world still in need of restoration. Such will always be the
case. The work of healing the world is ever before us. My mother spoke
of the possibility of a Brighter Coming Day and told me that my generation
had the education and the love to make a difference. Perhaps we have.
In some ways I think we have. But I would echo my mother's words to
you.
You can do better than we have. You can see the world through
your own new eyes. You can imagine new ways that we cannot see. Those
in my generation have looked and searched for so long. Too often we
see only what we expect to see.
Memories. I remember one Youth Sunday service at my home church when
I was still in LRY. Several of the youth and young adults of the congregation
put together a service we thought would transform the place. Everything
we did was different. We approached the pulpit not down the central
aisle, but from the four corners of the sanctuary (perhaps an early
honoring of earth centered traditions, though we did not do it for that
reason). Not a sermon, but a conversation. We played our music, some
of it taped (a scandal in a congregation which prided itself on superb
quality live classical music). "Our music" was folk music
at that time. "The times they are a-changin."
And what did we have to say? We said that we had found real meaning
in the intimacy of the youth group, intimacy that we didn't often find
in that sanctuary. We said that we, often, didn't really feel welcomed.
We said that we heard plenty of lectures in school, we didn't need to
hear them in church. We wondered why none of us had been asked to serve
on committees, even the Board of Trustees. Any of this sound familiar?
What we wanted, I think, was to be invited "in". To be invited
"in" by the older members. An invitation to join, yes. But
an invitation extended from the heart with real generosity of spirit.
An invitation extended with the full knowledge that we would change
things, try things, succeed and fail. An invitation extended with the
full knowledge that adults, as hard as they had worked and as meaningful
as the community was for them
the full knowledge of the adult community
that our presence would mean change.
To the Bridgers, on behalf of this large family of faith, I extend
to you that invitation. Come in. Be with us. Try things, succeed and
fail. We certainly have. Change us.
Your task is simply to bring yourselves, bring your hopes, your dreams,
your energy, your needs. Our task, though perhaps hard for us, is also
simple. Our task is to welcome you, to exercise the sometimes-difficult
discipline of a radical hospitality.
You see, my mother was right. We leave much for you to do.
But my mother said one other thing. She said that she still had it
in her to make a difference. She said that she was willing to learn
from me, as I had learned so much from her. We could work together.
As you cross this bridge into adulthood, be not afraid. You do not
walk alone. And we will be there to welcome you on the other side.