Reflections of our summer at Meeting Ground:
Sea-Grass and the Further Shore
by Carl Mazza
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind

- William Wordsworth, Ode on Intimations of Immortality

A remarkable summer has ended for our community. It was a time of many arrivals and departures, moments of communion, and much gain as well as some loss. Thinking back on it, the image of sea-grass comes immediately to mind. It is the tall, thick, striking vegetation that grows wild on sand dunes by the ocean's edge, a habitat for myriad and diverse life.

Watching it from a distance, against the backdrop of the great ocean, one is impressed by the serenity. Yet, in the particular, the sea-grass is not a tranquil place. The saga of life, with its competitions, comings and goings, struggles and aspirations - presses continually, without respite day or night: insects, birds, animals, and sea life abound. If any can rise above the crowded thicket, they can glimpse the larger reality of life: the sky above is boundless, and the horizon vast.

It is like the human community itself. In the wild sea-grass of earth, set on the edge of the limitless coast from which we came, we live and work, hope and dream. We build with one another a web of relationships and understandings which carry us at times out of the boundaries of earth and to that place in the heights where we catch a brief glimpse of the dazzling further shore.

The sea-grass is our home, for a time, and it can be, in itself, enthralling and amazing. Yet. as the human community, it may also be an experience of sadness, despair, even cruelty. We sense the present reality of our earth-home can never be the fullness and finality of all things. Especially after glimpsing the distant coast, we are completely aware that our real home is there and, at times, we yearn to return to it.

Over the past hot months at Meeting Ground, among our many visitors included: Mona and Jim, former Nazareth College volunteers and recent newly weds who spent a part of their honeymoon at Meeting Ground recalling good memories with us. Also, Christie and Rodney Dennis, a retired social worker and head of the manuscripts library at Harvard University. In his career, Dr. Dennis had handled and studied the actual manuscripts which were produced at Clairvaux Abby, St. Bernard's twelfth century monastery. His experience brought to us a sense of having come full circle at Clairvaux Farm. These were some among the many who spent time with us, enriching our common life.

This summer we also came to know several hundred young people who came from as far as Cape Cod, Massachusetts, the Carolinas and many places in between! They inspired us with their hard work and faith through many hot, humid, even rainy days in which they accomplished miracles!

Nancy Matthews, our summer intern from Union Seminary, organized and coordinated workers and work alike, and found the time to endear herself to everyone in the community. She reminded us so clearly that successful work is as much a matter of building good relationships among people as it is in exercising good construction skills. Nancy had a wealth of both talents, and she refreshed the meaning of the term for us: labor of love.

Yet, in our patch of sea-grass, there was also some remarkable loss. Many homeless persons and families came, stayed a while, and moved on. As we come to know each one, there is bittersweet sadness in their departures - even if it is to a new and better life. And we especially mourn the death of Barbara.

She was middle-aged, a resident at Wayfarers' House for several months, and had just moved into her own apartment as she was beginning a new life for herself, filled with anticipation and hope. Her life from childhood had been most unhappy, the world of the sea-grass was, for her, mean, abusive, and unbearably negative. It had taken her years to know and then believe that her fellow human beings could be trusted, that there were indeed some who actually believed in her, and were not intent on seeing her debased.

For those who have the good fortune of being born and raised in nurturing homes and environments, it is often difficult to comprehend the awesome impact of such unapologetic and unrelenting cruelty and violence in a life of a child who becomes an adult. Such experience leaves only a dismal and frightening picture of earth-life, and leaves little hope of any possibility for a bright future.

Yet, in the course of her life, Barbara had begun to meet persons who really cared, and, in time, she was able to reverse her outlook a bit and to imagine a bit of the beauty, imagination, and wonder of life. The move to her own apartment, after years of homelessness, was a part of that bright new outlook, as was the possibility she could finally regain her health. A bit of human compassion had been Barbara's saving grace. At long last, she saw above and beyond the sea-grass to the beautiful horizon of the place where she knew she belonged. It was the possibility at last that she might find her way "home."

All this was finally coming to pass when, ironically, the disease and ill health which had always racked her body returned with a vengeance. Without warning or preparation, she died suddenly, only at the beginning of her great dream and larger journey.

This summer, Barbara helped us all see more clearly. She reminded us to get beyond the clamor and illusion of our life at the edge, rise to the height of our imagination and gaze for a while across the vast expanse from where we came and to which we return. She helped us to remember the importance of human compassion in every endeavor, and that when all is said and done - only our good work of genuine care for each other will really matter. She beckoned for us never to give up the dream of home for ourselves, for each other, and for the human community.

As the memories of summer now fade, and we prepare for the crisis time of cold weather, we carry the strength of many friends gained and some illusions lost. In our comings and goings we pledge to work to keep the promise alive: a home for all, which none can ever take away. And to strive to make real, amid the sea-grass, the dear enchantment of the further shore.