Long Island's Oldest Reform Congregation
140 Central Avenue - Lawrence, NY 11559
(516) 239-1140
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Rabbi Brooks R. Susman
The millennial fever has hopefully passed. All of those rations, which were stockpiled in the event of “shutdown”, now may be safely consumed at the proper table above ground. Even those who properly claim that the millennium does not truly begin until January 1, 2001 will not have that same “doomsayer” quality which we have heard for the past several months. So what of tomorrow? We have spent so much time on its anticipated arrival that we have concerned ourselves with little else. Let then, the words from several centuries ago still the quest for millennialism. Sydney Smith was an early nineteenth century cleric. He wrote, “We know nothing of tomorrow. Our business is to be good and happy today.” Is this not what we truly want? We seem to spend so much time and effort considering all of our tomorrows that we risk losing today. Seen in a more specific context, Smith’s words might gain a more meaningful resonance. In anticipation of this New Year just passed, how many of us thought of it, planned for it, and prepared for it to the exclusion of much else. Of course, how many times will we experience the century’s, let alone the millennium’s turn? But how many New Years do we have in our lives? If the Bible serves as precedent, “threescore and ten or if by strength, fourscore!” Think of it, just over two months of days allotted to each of us. Thank God there are 364 intervening days, 364 todays to feel, to search, to touch, to drink fully and well. I pray that we mark each of our days together. I hope that the following words of Wilfred A. Peterson, which my father shared with me, will contribute to each today: Slow me down, Lord, Ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind. Steady my hurried pace with the vision of the eternal reach of time. Give me, amidst the confusion of my day, the calmness of the everlasting hills. Break the tensions of my nerves and muscles with the soothing music of the singing streams that live in my memory. Teach me the art of taking minute vacations-of slowing down to look at a flower, to chat with a friend, to pat a dog, to read a few lines from a good book. Let me look upward into the branches of the towering oak and know that it grew great and strong because it grew slowly and well. Slow me down, Lord, and inspire me to send my roots deep into the soil of life’s enduring values.
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