Falling Into Seasons

by Bob Setzer
The other evening while going on a run, I felt something not felt in a long time: I felt cool. Not air conditioned, pretend cool but wet, clammy T-shirt, chest-tingling cool. I couldn’t believe it: still September in Macon, Georgia and the crisp, cool embrace of fall was in the air.

The last couple of years, we didn’t get much fall. Punishing hot summers extended well into the “winter” months and then suddenly, the blooms were back. In February, as I recall. The autumn leaves went from green to brown to dead with hardly a moment’s burst of autumn glory to mark their passing.

I’m hoping for better this year. I’m hoping for a fall where jackets and cardigans are essential rambling around gear. I’m looking for a fall where hot apple cider drives the chill from your bones. I’m aching for a fall where a bright, colorful canopy of leaves lifts the eyes and the heart to the Artist behind the masterpiece.

For much of my life, fall was the season of new beginnings because that’s when I, or my daughter, or the kids in the neighborhood went back to school. Fall meant new notebooks with fresh, unmarked pages, new pencils with sharp, unbroken points, new classes, new friends, new challenges. Now that school starts in early August, the elegance of starting school when the world around us beckons change, is lost.

But in the church, at least in our church, fall has long been the ingathering season, the regrouping time, the time for reconnecting and starting again. We return from our summer travels hoping to see --and be seen by-- our fellow worshiper a little more often. Come October, our brain trust of talent--also known as “committees”--is turning over a new leaf and the family budget is being reworked and hopefully, funded. The long, dawdling season of Pentecost--from June to December--is almost over. Soon Advent, the restart of everything will be here complete with the Chrismon tree, and Cherub choirs singing.

Yes, I love the fall and the beauty about to debut all around us. But we are formed not just by the sights we see but by the stories we tell: the story of Abraham and Sarah, Moses and Miriam, Peter and Mary Magdalene, and supremely, the story of Jesus. We are also formed by the stories of the brother or sister at our side, behind and before us, in the family of faith. So this fall, bring your summer stories, your fall hopes, and your best and brightest dreams to the top of Poplar. Because for many of us, like the tired, summer trees aching for autumn glory, it’s time for a new beginning formed by a Spirit-breathed, Story-fed hope.