One day last spring a college friend of Lisa’s, Ann, was visiting. Ann is a PK, and since half of us here are either a P or a PK (preacher or preacher’s kid), you can imagine that conversations sometimes meander into the topic of church stuff in one form or another.
In my years of being a P, I’ve found that a subject that people inclined in this ecclesiastical direction enjoy most is making suggestions about what a P can preach about on a Sunday morning.
On this particular day back in April Ann was extoling the virtues of the book The Fall of Freddie the Leaf.
After exclamations of disbelief that I had never heard of it before, Ann insisted that I do a reflection on it.
“And now, what’s it about? And it’s a children’s story? Because we don’t do children’s stories in our services at this point.”
I have no memory of emerging from that conversation being entirely clear about what the book was about, or how ‘usable’ it would be. But as a nod to our friend, I took a leap of faith and ordered it.
Because it’s an autumn-time book I knew that, if there was some “there there” I would save it until now.
It didn’t hurt my feelings to discover that there are ribbons of compassion and gratitude – last month’s and this month’s themes – woven in. So this Sunday that straddles what has gone by and what is just now beginning seemed to fit nicely.
There are other observations about this little book to be shared, for sure. But first, let’s learn a bit about its creator. Leo Buscaglia was an author, motivational speaker, and professor.
He was nicknamed ‘a cheerleader for life’ because he would say things like, “Life is a banquet, and most poor fools are starving to death.” Mostly associated with the topic of love and human relationships, he emphasized the value of positive human touch.
He was known for always getting on the elevator and putting his back to the door and introduce himself saying “This might be the only chance I’ll ever get to meet you and I don’t want to miss this chance.”
Closing in now on the subject for our exploration today, Buscaglia would rake the leaves in his yard and put them in a room in his house so he could sit and study them, because he was fascinated that God would go to the trouble to make every leaf different.
He said, “Imagine how proud God is of us if he goes to that much trouble for a simple leaf on a tree.”
Let’s now hear about one particular leaf on a tree. Here is the story of The Fall of Freddie the Leaf.
[READ THE FALL OF FREDDIE THE LEAF]
We heard about the importance of one’s purpose in this book. The purpose of this book was made clear in its dedication at the front… “Dedicated to all children who have ever suffered a permanent loss, and to the grownups who could not find a way to explain it.”
I now understand why Ann, and many others I’ve since learned, are so enthused about this story.
You wouldn’t think that a children’s story would impact people deeply, and that one about death would be received so positively. But this is more than a book for children, and its inspiration extends beyond loss associated with bodily death. This book is about life as much as it is about death.
If we’re living , then two things are also true. If we’re living, then we are experiencing transitions along the way. And with almost any transition comes some kind of loss.
As our church attempts to live fully into our purpose [we heard a lot about that in the book], we are currently going through quite a transition, change of season, the likes of which we have not seen to date.
To give perspective to this, through the lens of Freddie and his tree, I imagined our church as a tree.
I see the roots are our history, that which grounds us while remaining unseen and unchanged by the blowing winds of the times.
The trunk is our values, our core, that which sustains and stands strong.
The branches, that part of us that extends outward in the world, is our ministries, outreach and connections…our partnerships with Centennial and Wesley United Methodist, our Green Team efforts, our civic presence at events such as rallies.
And then there are all of the individual leaves, which are each one of us with our different NCC histories and thus our varying hues which have evolved with the changing of the church’s seasons.
The historical roots remain steadfast, as does our trunk of values and our purpose to be like Jesus in our inclusion, compassion and joy. Our branches still are spread gloriously and openly.
But the winds of change are rustling our leaves. Often, when winds kick up, the attachment of some leaves become not as strong, and the breezes carry them away.
As sobering as that is to experience, it’s a natural part of change.
We are on the precipice of major change. Where we call home and who and how we identify denominationally are no small things.
These transformations are chosen and largely embraced, and thus are overarchingly to be celebrated. And so we will.
But I encourage us to pause before we get headlong into the implementations of this change to appreciate from whence we’ve come:
– where and by whom we were given birth – this space which has sustained us – those who sustained us through leadership – those whose leaf through the passage of time has dropped away through death or simply moving on – those whose leaves are currently beautiful autumn colors that come with time – those whose buds are blossoming, adding beauty and fullness to our tree
Call it autumn-time nostalgia as the winds pick up and the temperatures drop off…leading us inwards towards deeper introspection.
In the coming weeks there will be a flurry activity, from packing boxes to figuring our where furniture will be placed in new spaces;
From keeping painters and carpet-layers on schedule to making a final determination about which denominational names will grace our sign outside of our new home.
In the calm that comes before such a blessed storm, may we pause to ponder our NCC tree, in all of its seasonal transitioning splendor.
And may we appreciate our own leaf, and all the leaves past and present that have and will contribute to, as the slide reflects…our new beginnings.
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