So, how did you spend your summer vacation?
That鈥檚 a question that most of us would be answering this time of year鈥攆resh off a season meant for rest, relaxation and renewal.
I鈥檓 sure that鈥攍ike me鈥攜ou gave it your best shot. In August, Adele and I tried to get away for our annual summer cruise on our sailboat. One of the many things I like about this ritual is that we have no itinerary. It鈥檚 actually one of the very few times in our lives that we are truly unscheduled. Each day we get up; we look at the weather report, focus largely on the wind, and try and decide where we are going to go on that day.
When I cast off the mooring, almost everything else goes with it. It鈥檚 close to a spiritual experience for me. And when Adele and I are on the boat, it鈥檚 just us together with the elements. And, as we started our annual summer cruise, I was looking forward candidly to a kind of peace that I haven鈥檛 experienced since last February.
But Isaias had other plans for us. Forecasts and projections quickly overtook our aspirations for a pleasant summer cruise. We had to find a safe harbor. We secured the boat and then we had to go ashore to wait out the storm. Our annual tradition鈥攁nd all of its peculiar and delightful rituals鈥攜ielded to forces far greater than the two of us.
So, how did I actually spend my summer vacation?
I spent it鈥攊n part at least鈥攖hinking about ritual. So much of what we find comforting, uplifting, and affirming about religion is a familiar action鈥攐r a set of actions鈥攔epeated over time, connecting us to one another, to those who came before us, and to those who most likely will come after us. Back when Adele and I were still traveling abroad, we always made it a point of visiting synagogues throughout the world. It was comforting to encounter familiar rituals even in countries and cultures where we could not otherwise understand the language.
Even outside of faith traditions, we mark and measure the passage of time in ritual. In birth and in birthdays, we welcome and celebrate life. In marriage, we recognize and encourage commitment. In death, we remember, we gather, and we grieve鈥攖ogether.
The thing that I found most disquieting about this pandemic is that it has stolen from us so much ritual鈥攅ven the simplest act of a morning walk into Harvard Yard鈥攆or me, into Massachusetts Hall鈥攇reeting familiar friends and colleagues is no more. These things that anchored us in countless ways have been swept away. We are unmoored, adrift, and鈥攊n far too many cases, I fear鈥攁lone.
It鈥檚 tempting to despair鈥攖empting to relinquish hope and to turn inward. But things that sometimes take from us also give us something in return. And as we enter the uncharted waters of a semester unlike any that any of us have ever encountered before, I offer a morning prayer in praise of new rituals.
Waking at home instead of on campus鈥攚orking at home instead of on campus鈥攖hese are actually commitments to keeping members of our community safer than they would otherwise be. They are our new ritual.
Wearing a mask鈥攅nduring a testing regimen鈥攖hese are daily celebrations of life鈥攜ours and the ones that you will save by being cautious and vigilant. Also a ritual.
Offering kindness鈥攑racticing patience and understanding鈥攖hese are meditations on humanity. Who are we? What are we doing here? How are we helping鈥攈ow are we serving鈥攐ne another?
May every moment of this most unusual year be a moment for finding new ways鈥攆or discovering grace in unexpected places and for renewing our faith in one another by creating new ritual.
Together, I鈥檓 confident we will weather this storm until we reach familiar ports once again鈥攕tronger and better for all we have endured鈥攆illed, I hope, with gratitude. Thank you.