Winter, 2024
There’s this odd moment in winter, almost at it’s midpoint, where we celebrate Groundhog Day. Many people, perhaps most of the hosts on morning talk shows, will await the verdict to be delivered by Punxsutawney Phil in Pennsylvania, or Shubenacadie Sam up in Nova Scotia, or others of their kind in New York and Georgia and who knows where else. Whether or not these creatures “see” their shadow that morning tells us how much more “winter” we will experience.
And as usual, I expect it will be a mixed message. As it is with just about every other prognostication, the meaning is all up to interpretation. It will depend on where you awaken, and in what part of the country – whether the sun is shining or the morning sky is clouded. But as silly as all that Groundhog Day hoopla is, it reflects something deeply human. We want to know, with as much surety as possible, what is going to happen. Who will win the Super Bowl? How bad is it going to get in Washington? Will democracy survive? Will wars ever cease? What’s next for us?
We are always like this. We want to know, and we hope that the minutiae of weather lore or a statistical study or the latest polls will provide an answer. Sometimes we’ll grasp at anything that gives us a sense that we might actually be sure of something, even if we really don’t believe it. Early February also brings Candlemas, a cross-quarter day that falls between the Solstice and Equinox. It is a holiday that celebrates the beginning of spring – even if the temperature is frigid or ice covers the fields. One of the ancient names for this holiday is Imbolc, which means “in the belly.” And at this time of year the green and growing things are in the belly of the Great Mother, where they hide from our mundane, limited vision.
But as if sensed by a keener and wiser sight, all the stirrings of the season of growth to come — the quickening of life, the mystery of what is yet to be — are there. We are in what the ancient calendar called “fallow times.” Although concern for the fecundity of the fields and the birthing of lambs are far removed from our daily cares, there is something of value to us in marking and celebrating this “fallow time.”
What has this got to do with UURMaPA, you might well ask. As I reflected on those thoughts, I reflected about how “retirement” can so easily end up being month after month of “fallow times.” And that may not be the most healthful and helpful way for us to make our way through these elder years.
It’s often recommended as we retire that we find some meaningful way to contribute to society. I will confess that for a few years that felt to me like a big “ask.” We can’t all be like Jimmy Carter, who was a great exemplar of active service to the greater good. But we can do the smaller things that are of service to our families, to our local communities and organizations.
Even as we are living through some very challenging events in our country and our world, we can turn our thoughts and hearts to a greater sense of possibility. We can cautiously shake off hibernation, to emerge from comfortable burrows and warm caves. It is a time for new beginnings.
So as we welcome another season into our lives, I encourage you to think about where “service” might lead you this year. And in particular, I draw your attention to two particular opportunities right here in UURMaPA! Please read the “Help Wanted” ads in this Elderberries edition and if you can, spring into a new way of supporting your community.
Yours, in the faith, Susan Veronica Rak (retired but not retiring!)