(by request, my homily from Sunday)

The first reading for the Solemnity of the Ascension shows Jesus ascending into heaven. The Apostles are standing there, watching Him go.

And then a couple of angels ask them, “Why are you standing there watching Him go?”

If it were me? My answer would be, “I’m standing here because I’m not happy about Him leaving. Consciously or unconsciously, I struggle with change. And I am in no hurry to deal with what comes next.”

How do I know that’s what I would say if I were one of the Apostles? Because that’s what’s always going on inside me, whenever I have to deal with any kind of significant change.

I know that’s true for a lot of you as well. Because you’ve told me.

We’ve been talking together about the upcoming change for us here at St. Al’s. With Father Clint moving to a new parish, and Father George coming to be our pastor.

One thing I’ve learned about change – no matter how sideways I get about it, it still happens. Me getting bent out of shape about it doesn’t stop it from happening.

All it does is make me and the people around me miserable.

And it sets me up to miss the good that God wants to do for me through that change.

God has a plan for each one of us. If you’re still here, it means that God isn’t through with the good work that He wants to do in and through your life.

Contrary to how it can feel in the moment, the changes that happen to us are one of the ways that God’s purposes are fulfilled in our lives. God uses those changes, often in ways that we would never imagine. If we’ll let Him.

But whether change becomes a deepening of God’s grace in our lives, or another heel-dragging, “here-we-go-again” moment? It all depends on how we handle change. Simply put,

If you don’t manage change, change will manage you.

Because change is going to happen.

When I was in third grade, we all liked our teacher, Mrs. Pemberton. She did a great job of explaining things, was patient with questions. It seemed like she was always in a good mood.

Or as third grade me would have put it, “she’s nice.”

Towards the end of the school year, we learned that the school’s long-time fourth grade teacher – everybody’s grandma, the beloved Mrs. Wakefield – was retiring. And we were getting a new teacher, Miss Julie.

Nobody knew anything about her. Miss Julie had never taught at our school before. So the rumor mill went nuts. All kinds of crazy stuff about what she did and how she did things. The only constant? It was all negative. Solely because she wasn’t Mrs. Pemberton, just because she wasn’t Mrs. Wakefield.

It was almost like, because we liked Mrs. Pemberton, because we had been looking forward to the amazing Mrs. Wakefield, Miss Julie must be bad.

But no matter what stories we told each other about what we had “heard” about Miss Julie? No matter how bent out of shape we got? It didn’t stop the change from coming.

Because – as you know – you can’t stay in third grade forever.

Looking back on it now, I feel bad for her.

Because she walked into a classroom that was ready for her to be the worst teacher in the history of teaching.

We were ready to take everything she did, everything she said, in the worst way possible.

We had wound ourselves up to the point that we were actually a little disappointed when she didn’t have cloven hooves, horns, and a tail.

What we actually got in Miss Julie? Didn’t live down to any of our expectations.

What we actually got was a new teacher. With her own style. Her own way of doing things.

It wasn’t better than the way Mrs. Pemberton did things. It wasn’t worse than the way Mrs. Pemberton did things. It was good. It was just different.

Or as fourth grade me would have put it, “she’s really nice.”

And by the end of the year, after we got over all of our nonsense, after we got to know her, we didn’t want to lose her. We wanted her to be our teacher next year too.

Since you and I can’t stay in third grade, how do we handle the change that’s coming for us?

We’ve got a couple options. We can get bent out shape about it in advance. Trading fourth-hand rumors. Repeating things that we heard from someone who heard from someone who heard from someone.

Falling into the same trap that third grade me fell into. Thinking that because Father Clint is good, Father George must be bad. Winding ourselves up with all kinds of nonsense.

So that we’re ready to take everything he does, everything he says, in the worst way possible.

That’s one option. And if you like making yourself and the people around you miserable, that will do the job.

Or…there’s a different way of doing it.

It comes from the work of one of the great philosophers of the 20th century.

I refer, of course, to my great-grandmother, Jessie McCloy. Everybody called her “Cokie.”

And one of the things that Cokie always said was this – “Every pot sits on its own bottom.”

What does that mean? It means that you judge people on their own merits. Not on what you’ve heard about them. Not on someone else’s experience of them. But on your own lived experience of them.

Just like you want other people to judge you.

We all have family and friends who’ve been divorced. How do you judge them?

My late uncle was married and divorced five times. His five ex-wives had nothing good to say about him.

But my lived experience of my Uncle Phil? It doesn’t track with any of that. He was an amazing uncle to me. Even though he died in 2004, I have a Phil-shaped hole in my heart to this day.

Isn’t that how we all want to be judged?

Not on what other people have heard about us. Not on someone else’s experience of us. But on that person’s own lived experience of us.

That’s what “every pot sits on its own bottom” is all about.

Not playing the “what-if” game, but reserving judgment. Giving everybody a fair chance. Letting people rise and fall on their own merits.

Just how we want people to judge us.

That’s how we need to handle this change. Intentionally.

Following my great-grandmother Cokie’s advice.

With hearts open to God working in us through this change.

Because if you don’t manage change, change will manage you.

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