Building Bridges
This morning I was one of the speakers at Universalist National Memorial Church , which had a "Bridging" ceremony as part of its Sunday service. I gave the Young Adults reflection, since I have some sort of special relationship with the Young Adults at church. (I'm the token fun adult perhaps.)
Here's the text for my untitled reflection. It was relatively well received (at least by the adults!)
We have come here today to celebrate the young adults in our family who are making transitions in their lives, and it is my privilege to offer a few words of reflection for these young adults. I specifically call these words of “reflection” and not “wisdom,” because I strongly believe in uplifting the wisdom of our youth, who have a sense of openness and a willingness to experience both the joys and anxieties of change as they leave behind the comfort of familiar places and move into unfamiliar territories.
I think it is fair to say that “young adulthood”—a fairly relative and vague designation!—is a time filled with these transitions. Some people like to say that this is a time of “growing up”, of leaving childhood behind and entering the equally vague territory called adulthood. This concept of growing up can be presumptuous, and I’ve never liked the feeling that “growing up” is something you do between 15 and 25 and then bam! You’re there, you’re a grown up. Certainly we can speak authentically about the need of growing into individuality and responsibility, but I’m not sure that this comes at a certain age. We’re all under the obligation to continue learning and growing, even a little bit, day by day. And let’s recognize that young adulthood is a time filled with expectations from family, friends, and society—expectations made all the more difficult as they are trying to meet the demands of school, work, and struggles over questions of identity. It is a time of many transitions and many stresses, and it takes some wisdom to navigate this perilous odyssey through an undiscovered country.
I can remember these earlier days in my own life distinctly: from my later years in high school, into my early years after college, I was constantly trying to figure out who I was. This wasn’t a terribly philosophical question as much as it was practical: What did I want to learn? Where do I want to work? What did I want to do with my life? (Footnote: fifteen to twenty years later, the questions haven’t changed much. There’s just less anxiety with the lack of specific answers.) During this time, I sought the advice of friends and elders, but ultimately what I had to learn was to hear my own voice. This is why, perhaps the best thing I can tell the young adults who are reaching new bridges on their journey, is to be open to the experiences of others who’ve crossed ahead of you, but the journey is still yours. Their mistakes are their lessons, and not your own. Be keen to your own wisdom. Be patient with yourself, give yourself the chance to make mistakes (and you will make them!) and be confident that you can learn your own lessons in life and grow into true wisdom.
I am reminded of the words from a Chicago Tribune article made famous through an Internet hoax and then a song by Baz Luhrmann. This text, a commencement address (misattributed to Kurt Vonnegut via the Internet hoax), basically advises caution about advice: It suggests, “Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.”
Now, before anyone pulls me aside and accuses me of encouraging rebellion or recklessness, I’m not saying to be foolhardy. I’m not saying that all advice is something to categorically ignore. I am saying, listen to it, and weigh it against your own life story and your needs. I would dare suggest that if our elders had not made the mistakes that they made they would not be the very wise people that they are today trying to sagely give advice and offer guidance. Mark Twain once said (if I can quote roughly), “Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgment”. Wisdom is a capacity open to all people, and it can only be cultivated by immersing ourselves in life’s many experiences, by crossing the bridge into unknown lands.
I wish we had a different concept, a metaphor other than “bridging”. Certainly, it is a metaphor that works well with the notion of life as a journey. It implies transition and a very distinct movement from one place to another, a changing of territories and terrains. Graduation certainly suggests this. Moving into or out of a faith community, a college, or a home certainly suggest this. And while crossing a bridge is a useful metaphor for entering a new territory, it also implies leaving something behind.
A close friend suggests different language is more useful. She prefers the metaphor of a book: In your life changes, you are closing one chapter of your life, and opening another chapter. But it is a chapter that builds upon the previous chapters, creating a fuller, richer story. You’re going to meet new characters, open new plot-lines, and reconsider the lessons of the prior chapters; but you’re adding to your story and enriching it, carrying those completed chapters into the future. Nothing is left to the wayside or consigned to the past of yesterday’s journey.
So I stand here with our congregation and honor the chapters you’ve already written, and say to you, go with courage and a sense of adventure. Write a new chapter to your life, and remember that at any point you can turn back to older pages and read them with a new perspective. Realize and claim your own voice of wisdom in these pages. And realize, as you move forward into your unexplored future—we’re all moving with you as well, writing our own chapters, creating with you a shared story of life and love and wisdom. We haven’t crossed the bridge ahead of you: we’re all on it together. Amen!
Here's the text for my untitled reflection. It was relatively well received (at least by the adults!)
We have come here today to celebrate the young adults in our family who are making transitions in their lives, and it is my privilege to offer a few words of reflection for these young adults. I specifically call these words of “reflection” and not “wisdom,” because I strongly believe in uplifting the wisdom of our youth, who have a sense of openness and a willingness to experience both the joys and anxieties of change as they leave behind the comfort of familiar places and move into unfamiliar territories.
I think it is fair to say that “young adulthood”—a fairly relative and vague designation!—is a time filled with these transitions. Some people like to say that this is a time of “growing up”, of leaving childhood behind and entering the equally vague territory called adulthood. This concept of growing up can be presumptuous, and I’ve never liked the feeling that “growing up” is something you do between 15 and 25 and then bam! You’re there, you’re a grown up. Certainly we can speak authentically about the need of growing into individuality and responsibility, but I’m not sure that this comes at a certain age. We’re all under the obligation to continue learning and growing, even a little bit, day by day. And let’s recognize that young adulthood is a time filled with expectations from family, friends, and society—expectations made all the more difficult as they are trying to meet the demands of school, work, and struggles over questions of identity. It is a time of many transitions and many stresses, and it takes some wisdom to navigate this perilous odyssey through an undiscovered country.
I can remember these earlier days in my own life distinctly: from my later years in high school, into my early years after college, I was constantly trying to figure out who I was. This wasn’t a terribly philosophical question as much as it was practical: What did I want to learn? Where do I want to work? What did I want to do with my life? (Footnote: fifteen to twenty years later, the questions haven’t changed much. There’s just less anxiety with the lack of specific answers.) During this time, I sought the advice of friends and elders, but ultimately what I had to learn was to hear my own voice. This is why, perhaps the best thing I can tell the young adults who are reaching new bridges on their journey, is to be open to the experiences of others who’ve crossed ahead of you, but the journey is still yours. Their mistakes are their lessons, and not your own. Be keen to your own wisdom. Be patient with yourself, give yourself the chance to make mistakes (and you will make them!) and be confident that you can learn your own lessons in life and grow into true wisdom.
I am reminded of the words from a Chicago Tribune article made famous through an Internet hoax and then a song by Baz Luhrmann. This text, a commencement address (misattributed to Kurt Vonnegut via the Internet hoax), basically advises caution about advice: It suggests, “Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.”
Now, before anyone pulls me aside and accuses me of encouraging rebellion or recklessness, I’m not saying to be foolhardy. I’m not saying that all advice is something to categorically ignore. I am saying, listen to it, and weigh it against your own life story and your needs. I would dare suggest that if our elders had not made the mistakes that they made they would not be the very wise people that they are today trying to sagely give advice and offer guidance. Mark Twain once said (if I can quote roughly), “Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgment”. Wisdom is a capacity open to all people, and it can only be cultivated by immersing ourselves in life’s many experiences, by crossing the bridge into unknown lands.
I wish we had a different concept, a metaphor other than “bridging”. Certainly, it is a metaphor that works well with the notion of life as a journey. It implies transition and a very distinct movement from one place to another, a changing of territories and terrains. Graduation certainly suggests this. Moving into or out of a faith community, a college, or a home certainly suggest this. And while crossing a bridge is a useful metaphor for entering a new territory, it also implies leaving something behind.
A close friend suggests different language is more useful. She prefers the metaphor of a book: In your life changes, you are closing one chapter of your life, and opening another chapter. But it is a chapter that builds upon the previous chapters, creating a fuller, richer story. You’re going to meet new characters, open new plot-lines, and reconsider the lessons of the prior chapters; but you’re adding to your story and enriching it, carrying those completed chapters into the future. Nothing is left to the wayside or consigned to the past of yesterday’s journey.
So I stand here with our congregation and honor the chapters you’ve already written, and say to you, go with courage and a sense of adventure. Write a new chapter to your life, and remember that at any point you can turn back to older pages and read them with a new perspective. Realize and claim your own voice of wisdom in these pages. And realize, as you move forward into your unexplored future—we’re all moving with you as well, writing our own chapters, creating with you a shared story of life and love and wisdom. We haven’t crossed the bridge ahead of you: we’re all on it together. Amen!
posted by Peregrinato at 5/09/2004 11:18:00 pm
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