25th Reunion

Since our reunion in 1991, I have been busy growing five years older. The major requirement has been to keep on breathing and except for rare and infrequent moments, I am able to do this without even thinking. It's not that thinking is any more of a problem than it ever was: it isn't. Remembering is another thing. That has changed for the better. Some of my friends complain about their short-term memory, and I understand what they're saying. It's the other memory that has improved. My memory is so good that I can remember clearly and in ~eat detail things that never even happened. Such is the awesome experience of growing more mature. 

I think back on my Amherst education with great appreciation for the high quality of the faculty. and the non-rigid but flexible style of academic administration. Scotty Porter was the Dean who steered me through the requirements. I came to Amherst with two years of college and three years of theological seminary behind me. Already I was serving the Congregational Church in near-by Williamsburg. When I asked Dean Porter about choosing a major, he said, “We already know where you are headed. Take the most interesting and helpful courses you want, and then we'll see what we've got. When starting my final semester, I went to see the Dean with the same question. He looted over my transcript and asked, “how would you like to be an English major with a minor in history?” It sounded good to me so that's what I was. 

In the past five years, I've been doing less of the same. I still do some hit and run preaching here and there, and I'm phasing down my practice as a clinical psychologist. I enjoy both facets of my professioanal life, but assume I'll phase out and hang it up one of these days. I'll be 75 next July; that might be a ·good time to do it. In the meantime , Phyllis and I enjoy our place in Williamsburg, love visits from our daughter and her family of one husband and two boys aged 5 and 1. Phyllis is a playwright with a recent professional production to her credit.

I have written a book about ministry and the psychological and spiritual resources needed for an effective ministry. It's in the hands of an agent and the fates.

This Amherst area brings out the poetic soul of folks living here. I love to write poetry when the Spirit moves me. Here's a sample of my efforts showing how I'm mellowing out in my old age. Meekins Brook flows through my back yard at the fool of Petticoat Hill. Best wishes to all. 

 

The Bridge Builder

The crystal lace extends itself on Meekins Brook;

Its icy needles reaching out from either bank.

A world of magic glistens as you look

And see the water crystals forming rank on rank.

 

That island rock that rises in the rushing strearn

And in the springtime is a handy stepping stone

For those who need to cross~ now stands serene:

The building site of shining castles all her own.

 

Down there a balsam bough. like nature’s derrick falls

To catch the freezing mist while clinging crystal beams

Are lowered into place to frame the walls.

And from its island shores a bridge begins it seems.

 

Not all at once a bridge is tossed like Gramma's quilt.

Not in a day or overnight as it appears

To those who missed the building - not the built.

It slowly grows by frozen sweat and hardened tears

 

Until some wintry night the final channel seals,

And layer by layer it grows in thickness and in strength;

Then slowly, unperceived by busy folk, congeals

Into a bridge that one can walk upon at length.

 

Thus human rifts and alienating wounds are healed

With microscopic deeds of love. like growing cells

That multiply until one span’s revealed,

And then another, bridging angry streams and dells.

 

The quiet work of love lets human bonds abide,

And so transcends the rushing torrent's great divide.

 

John P. Webster