Years ago, I embarked on a 14-day solo trip from Zion, Bryce, and Grand Canyon National Park, to Northern California to see the Redwoods along the Avenue of the Giants, then down the coast to New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur for a four-day silent retreat.
On my way down Highway 101, I passed by a vineyard in Mendocino that was seemingly on fire. When I saw the name of the vineyard on the two stucco pillars at the entrance—Saracina Ranch—I was intrigued, so I pulled the car into the driveway and put it in park.
Taking in the scene, I saw there were huge piles of burning vines with a farmer tending closely to them. Beside them was the empty vineyard that they came from. It was late-November at the time, and the farmer seemed to have cut the vines to the ground and was burning the branches at the end of the harvest season. I was curious because other fields in the vineyard seemed to have only been modestly pruned.
I recalled a book that I read earlier that year—Necessary Endings by Dr. Henry Cloud— who likened the well-known scripture passages about the pruning of the vines to the “employees, businesses, and relationships that all of us have to give up in order to move forward”. That book was pivotal in helping me discern that, despite such a strong sense of fear, obligation, and guilt, it was OK for me to choose to leave the organization I was working for and to let go of the professional network to which I belonged. Our belief systems were no longer compatible, and the organization was not healthy enough to navigate that in a safe and productive way. It got to a point where the longer I stayed, the more trauma I suffered, and the more chaos ensued in my life. Eventually, I chose to “prune” my 20-year career in ministry for the sake my mental health and spiritual growth.
Back home after my solo trip, I found myself down a research rabbit hole. What I discovered was a farmer often cuts down and burns his vines when the vineyard has become diseased, full of destructive pests, or too old to produce fruit. The fire kills the pests and the diseases, and removing the old vines from the soil allows the soil to rest. After a season of recovery and rest, new, healthy, and more productive vines can grow.
It has been eight years since I visited that vineyard. Eight years since I left my job. In the last eight years, I have undergone extensive trauma therapy, somatic recovery, 12-Step work (Al-Anon), and spiritual (re)formation. I have also worked tirelessly to build a nonprofit organization that serves pastors in the evangelical Church and to establish myself within a new professional network of pastors and ministry leaders. Yet, all the while, an entirely new landscape within my soul was starting to grow.
One Sunday morning last fall, my husband and I attended the Monastery of the Risen Christ for Sunday mass. MRC is a sister monastery to New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur, which has so profoundly impacted my spiritual (re)formation since my retreat on my solo trip in 2017. That Sunday, Father Daniel was giving the homily. As the fall season was finally upon us in California, he offered his reflections on the order of creation and how the seasons can mirror to us the natural ways God works in and through our lives.
Through the glass doors behind Father Daniel lay rolling hills as far as the eye could see. The center door was propped open, letting in a gentle breeze with the sound of leaves rustling in the trees. Birds were landing here and there like children playing while the grown-ups gathered inside. Oh, how I longed to be like one of those little birds, and how deeply I felt those hills were calling my name.
Father Daniel, gently turned the final page of his notes, rested both hands on the podium, and said, “It’s OK to let things die… When we do, we allow God to bring forth new life in the spring.” Then, he gathered up his notes and shuffled back to his seat. As we sat together in silence, his words It’s Ok…, It’s OK… echoed in my mind until finally the door of my heart opened to the question I needed to ask myself once again, What do I need to let die? My nonprofit? My dream of reconciliation with my family? My vision for moving to Italy? My vocation as a leader?
For the first time since leaving my job as a pastor—since I first stepped into a leadership role in the church 25 years ago—I allowed myself to imagine what it might feel like to not have to lead anyone or anything. I imagined who I might become if I stopped trying to be where I don’t be-long. For that brief moment, I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders. And, as Fr. Daniel called us to stand for the Eucharist ceremony, I thought my legs might just run out into the hills on their own.
“I have a number of different callings. And I think it’s possible to be called away from things I have been called to in the past. There are goodbyes as well as hellos in our callings. Because a calling doesn’t have to be for a lifetime.”
-Barbara Brown Taylor