But people did read it, and some of them became my friends. And some of my friends read it too. Over the course of the last year, however, I seemed to run out of things to say. Or at least things I could say outside the safe space of my spiritual director’s office. It largely became the place that I posted the sermons I preached at St.Martin’s in the Fields Episcopal Church in Forest Acres, a wonderfully diverse community of faith that stood as a bulwark against the narrow divisions of left and right, conservative and liberal. And then, I just had to choose silence while my personal life careened out of control. My marriage ended, my kids were gone, my house suddenly empty and quiet. Silence seemed to be a course of both wisdom and necessity.
As the ancient Hebrew poet once wrote:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
And so it is again, a time to speak. Perhaps this time, no one will read it, having decided that I had wandered away and wouldn’t be back. If you’ve stumbled here whether accidentally or by choice, I hope something I say can be useful to you in this new season.