6 minute read
INTERLUDE IN SEPTEMBER
FACE TO FACE
Interlude in September
Susan Zimmerman
Interlude. “An intervening or interruptive period, space, or event.” (Merriam-Webster.com)
I like the sound of this word. It has a graceful musical ring, and indeed, Webster’s second definition is “a musical composition inserted between the parts of a longer composition.”
The experience of an interlude, whether in music, or a short time span during the day, or a brief season of life, can be pleasant and uplifting.
Late summer, that time shortly before Labor Day (the practical and unofficial end of summer) and summer’s actual, meteorological end on the autumnal equinox (this year, September 22), has always seemed to me an interlude of sorts. Yes, I know. By then school has long since started, fall activities have kicked in, and schedules are filling up with new to-do lists and mounting expectations. The evening twilight creeps in much too soon, and there might already be a tinge of coolness in the air. Gardens need to be harvested, and pumpkin spice everything is taking over coffee shop menus.
But still. A seasonal interlude, a final embrace of summer warmth and languor, can exist. I know because I lived it growing up.
The Sandwich Fair, the Midwest’s oldest continuously running fair, and the last of the season county fair in northern Illinois, is hosted by my Dekalb County hometown. Since 1888, it’s been held every year (except for 2020) the Wednesday through the Sunday after Labor Day. In the eyes of many, the heart of the fair is not the carnival or the vendors or even the country music concerts in the grandstand. This is an old-fashioned agricultural fair, with display entries of livestock, garden produce, flower arrangements, baked goods, arts and crafts, photography and collections from wonderful to weird (this year’s exhibitor’s guide includes wasp nests [no wasps allowed] and Star Wars Pez dispensers.)
The fair is and always has been a local effort and major source of local pride. Generations of a local board of directors (including, at one time, my grandfather) have kept the fair going through world wars and the Depression (though sadly, not during the height of COVID. Local and area residents sell tickets, park cars, run food stands and manage exhibit buildings. For a week in early September, it feels as if the entire town comes together to showcase its annual five-day celebration.
Which brings me to the idea of interlude. One of the biggest delights for schoolchildren growing up in Sandwich was the way the local school district accommodated the fair. School would usually start the last full week or so in August. Then came Labor Day weekend, and then—FAIR WEEK. Tuesday through Friday after Labor Day, we went to school for half days only. Not only were these half days, but they were easy half days. Lower expectations. No homework. If you were caught nodding off in class, well, everyone knew you had probably been up late the night before enjoying the fair at its best, when darkness fell, and the lights glowed on the carnival midway.
My family always made the most of those glorious late summer days at the fair. My parents would provide my brothers and me a generous ration of carnival ride tickets, and we would race to see how many rides we could fit into one afternoon. They were less indulgent on tickets for carnival games (which always seemed kind of rigged), but that didn’t matter when there was so much else to do. 4H exhibits where kids our age showed their cows, pigs, and goats. The home arts building with mouthwatering displays of cakes, pies, cinnamon rolls and cookies. The honey vendor with his eye-riveting display box of live bees. Otto’s train ride with a real steam engine whistle. Cotton candy, lemonade shakeups and syrupy sweet elephant ears.
Beyond the break from school and the fair entertainment, this late summer interlude was something to savor with all your senses. To this day, even if I don’t make the trip to Sandwich to attend the fair, I am attuned in early September to its sights, sounds, tastes and smells. Warm, sunny afternoons. Cooler evenings. Happy crowds. Gracious old oak trees still in full leaf. The taste of barbecued pork chops and buttered sweet corn. The roaring crescendo of the tractor pull. Lights on the Ferris wheel spinning against the night sky. Singsong calls of the game vendors. And yes, even the pungent odors of farm animals. The sensory rush brings lingering hints of summer possibilities still to be grasped.
My September memories of a hometown county fair are a limited analogy of the real interlude I seek in my daily walk with Christ. But they do help me consider what interlude can do to refresh my spirit and encourage me for the days ahead.
There are so many instances in the New Testament where Jesus seems to call himself and his disciples into interlude. His prayer times in the early morning darkness. Retreats to the Mount of Olives. Teaching by the sea (who hasn’t found the very presence of water lapping a shore to becalming?). Taking a nap in a boat, even during a terrifyingstorm. Dinners at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus.Private times teaching and explaining his parables to hisclosest disciples. A conversation by a well. Directing thecrowd to sit down and enjoy the dinner of bread and fishhe miraculously provided. All of these, in a sense, are atype of interlude, moments of refreshment, reflection, andat times, deep communion that bring peace and comfortto busy and distracted souls.
But beyond his example to us, Jesus himself is our enduringinterlude, our only way to true rest amid life’s pressingdemands. In Matthew 11:28-30, he urges, “Come to me, allyou who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentleand humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (NIV)
In September, as summer’s intense light and heat fadeinto cooler and shorter days, the accompanying shift ofslower days into busy and hurried ones seems to set asideopportunities for interlude. Yet interlude doesn’t alwayshave to be a week or two of vacation or a long lazy summerafternoon at the beach. It can be as brief as a walk aroundthe block, a 10-minute tea break, observing the dance ofclouds in the sky or a quick text or phone exchange witha good friend. It can be as simple as taking a meaningfulpause to appreciate God’s gift to us of our senses and howthey let us interact with his creation around us.
But most of all, true interlude comes from times ofScripture meditation, quiet prayer, listening to a hymn orsimply joyous awareness of the magnificence of our Lordand Savior, his power beyond anything we can think orimagine and his incredible grace in salvation.
This fall, take time for interlude.
