Clergy Blog

Dear friends,

In my youth group days, we used to sing Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle"—a heartbreaking story of a father so consumed with providing for his family that he keeps missing the moments that matter. The father has all the right intentions, and real responsibilities: "planes to catch and bills to pay." But while he manages the urgent, he loses the important. "When you coming home, dad?" "I don't know when, we'll get together then," his son asks. The chorus resonates because we recognize ourselves in it—always promising we'll have that quality time "then," when life slows down, when the project ends, when things get less crazy. And of course, they never do. Years pass, patterns repeat, and the father realizes: "He'd grown up just like me."

How many of us live caught in this kind of tension? We put off meaningful goals, deeper relationships, moments of presence—not because we don't value them, but because immediate demands feel so pressing. We love our families but rush through our time with them. We have so many things we want to accomplish or learn, but we defer them for just a few more months, when things quiet down.

The Talmud captures this tension perfectly: "The day is short, the work is much. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it" (Pirkei Avot 2:15). Rabbi Tarfon understood that we cannot possibly get everything done that needs doing, and this cannot stop us from engaging and trying anyway. The question isn't how to eliminate our responsibilities, it's how to balance them with longer-term wellbeing, for ourselves and all those in our care.

This summer's sabbatical gave me the gift of extended time for deep learning, mentoring, reflection, and renewal. I am deeply grateful to this community for making that time possible. In biblical terms, it functioned as shmittah—the sabbatical year when we let the land rest so it can be refreshed for another cycle of productivity. But all of us face this same challenge: learning to weave practices of renewal into ordinary weeks. How do we make space for depth in lives that demand constant motion? The answer lies not in shmittah, but Shabbat—renewal embedded in our regular schedules. Not just time off, but learning to find presence within time, allowing ourselves to regularly step back from rushing to remember what we're rushing toward.

As we approach Rosh Hashanah, we're called to heshbon nefesh—an honest accounting. This Rosh Hashanah, instead of just listing accomplishments, maybe we ask: When did I actually show up this year? When was I present instead of just productive? This year, may we find ways to catch those planes and pay those bills while still blessing our loved ones with our presence. May we learn to balance tending to immediate needs with nurturing what actually matters to us.

After months away, I'm looking forward to those moments of real presence with all of you—the conversations that happen when we're not rushing somewhere else. I've missed the particular gift of being together in this community, and I'm eager for those Shabbat moments when we can simply be present with each other.

Shabbat shalom,

Dave