Yesterday I happened upon the obituary of one Arthur Winston. A lifelong cleaner of buses, Mr. Winston shared this bit of wisdom before he died at the age of 100: “Stop in one place too long, you freeze up. Freeze up, you’re done for.”

After too many years in Egypt, the Israelites knew it was time to depart and start anew, even if it meant forty years of hardship and uncertainty. And in slightly more recent history, my husband and I embarked on our own season of adventure which eventually brought us to spend nearly a quarter of our lives living outside the U.S. As with the Israelites, we might claim a certain lack of preparation for these wanderings, but our overriding feeling, then and now, was how truly privileged we were to be able to go out and experience the wide world in this way. We had good health, few responsibilities, and an excellent exchange rate against the dollar. In Europe, the Middle East and North Africa, we settled in for a few years to work and learn.

While we faced none of the hardships of exiles or immigrants, it was a time of challenge, involving separation from the comfortable, known world and a readiness to make new connections and see in fresh, unanticipated ways. Living away from home, as exile, traveler, expat. or immigrant, makes you vulnerable and demands a heightened alertness at every turn. Just about everything is uncertain. There are the demands of learning a new language, understanding and adjusting to different cultural norms, grappling with new patterns and rhythms of daily life. It is both exhilarating and exhausting. We exchange ideas, marvel at unanticipated sophistication, and forge tender, tentative bonds with strangers. We reach towards one another and find many a sympathetic word and helpful gesture. We are reminded often of our common humanity.

My husband and I recall with great fondness the woman who offered her child’s bottle to quiet the cries of our own baby girl, and the neighbor who assured us as we brought our second daughter home from the hospital that we mustn’t despair: our next child, surely, would be a boy.

I light the chalice this morning in gratitude to all the people who ever shared their corner of the world with strangers, and in honor of all people who look for new beginnings when they have stopped in one place long enough.

As we come together today to celebrate Easter, and Passover, and the new beginnings of Spring, I find it appropriate that we also celebrate the dedication of a child -- our son, Benjamin. We honor the potential that his life holds, and we celebrate his officially being welcomed into our church family.

So I am mindful today of new beginnings, and of the circle of life. As we come to the end of winter, or at least what passes for winter around here, Pagans celebrate the rebirth of the land. All the seasons are part of the circle, as the death and decay of fall and winter makes possible the growth of spring and summer. Easter celebrates the resurrection of Jesus following his crucifixion, while Passover commemorates the Exodus and freedom of the Israelites from ancient Egypt and marks the "birth" of the Jewish nation.

All around me I find reference to the inevitability of these cycles.

My father-in-law passed away in February of 2005, and Benjamin was born 3 months later…a time to sow, a time to reap, a time to be born, a time to die.

I’d like to close with the immortal words of the Lion King:

From the day we arrive on the planet--
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round.

And so I light the chalice today for the glorious never-ending circle of life. Blessed be.