applauded my ordination at Christ Covenant MCC, October 2, 2005.
I
miss a custom I created for myself when living in Southern California. New
Year’s Eve parties left me wanting some more meaningful way of observing the
passing of an old year and the welcome of a new year. I did not want to “pray
in” the new year as we did in my Baptist church with us kids keeping one eye
open to see the sanctuary clock silently clap its hands together on the number
12.
But
the ticking of a clock or the descent of a ball in Times Square felt
artificial, so I began watching the sun set as I walked along the beach in
Santa Monica every New Year’s Eve. I would spend the time revisiting the events
of the past year and imagining what the new year might bring, thanking God for
the good and the bad as well as the possibilities. It was something I could do
alone, well before the parties. And it felt more natural.
This
bit of shoreline is the sanctuary where, in college, I ruminated on my
sexuality, spirituality, and call to ministry. This is where I thought I’d like
to be reincarnated as a seagull so I could stay near the shore and see my
friends on the beach occasionally! This is where I stumbled onto a gay meeting
place long before I knew about gay bars. This is where, on a day off from my
church work, I would do a long run and work out on the outdoor gymnastic bars.
This
is a walk I’ve shared with many friends, including some of you, and others you
might know, such as John Boswell, Isabel Rogers, and Malcolm Boyd. This is the walk
that Henri Nouwen declined, insisting instead that we sit down on my sofa and
“have a really good talk”!
This
is where I walked weekly on Thursday evenings with a partner to share whatever
was on our minds and hearts. This is where we walked one Easter after worship,
ending up at Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy’s hangout, the S. S.
Friendship, bumping into an old friend there whose partner we learned had died
the previous week, who gave me the Easter message I needed to hear, “He died in
my arms. I felt him leave his body. That’s why I’m sure I’ll see him again.”
This
is where I took my mom and her dog for her last walk along the shore a few
weeks before she died, where she mischievously chose an ice cream cone over
lunch. And this is where at least some of my ashes will be scattered.
Though
I live far from that shore now, I go there often.
There
is no lighthouse there, but in college I composed this poem using the metaphor,
which feels all the more apt in later life:
To Be the Sea
The sea beside, I stand alone,
By seasons, wait and search
To be discovered and to discover
In boundless quest.
The sea has all at any time—
No search nor wait.
At most a lighthouse
Can beam an instant
Before bowing to the sea.
This
post originally appeared as “New Year” on January 1, 2014.
Please
visit my website: https://chrisglaser.com
My
final post on my blog “Progressive Christian Reflections” will occur next
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I
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