Dear Keren,
I sat in that building again today, as has become routine over the last three years since I left and came back. It's become a habit for me in the last couple months since I've known that the sun was setting on my time here to, every time I get the opportunity, look at all the people that have become family to me over the last three years. Sometimes it happens from up front, sometimes I secretly enjoy sneaking in late just to catch that few extra minutes of sleep--but also so I can sit in the back pews and just let the image of this whole messy, chaotic family find its roots in my heart.
But today was different. I sat at a different corner up front, then moved down to one of the wings halfway through the service. There was a candle-lighting piece in the later half of the service and again, I watched as all these faces--some familiar, some not so much--one by one came forward to light a candle. Some, I've known for a long time, and not just them, but generations in their family before and/or after them. Some I've just gotten to know very recently.
And then I noticed them. Ah yes, Jim and Betty were my landlords some years back--specifically, the year after the dark year ended. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure back then if I should allow myself to develop affection for them. After all, they were a part of that building--the one where the messy, chaotic family was learning then what it meant to live as family. All the murmurings, complaints, hurtful comments and attitudes... The many "care-cards" written to the leadership to inform them of how to do their jobs better. I was only twenty then. I wasn't prepared for my idealistic view of the institution to completely fall apart. The fact that this building was a major part of history and had a long legacy behind it didn't help keep my goody churchkid Becky-ish world from feeling like it was completely spiraling out of control. And then there was the part of the story where most of the people who were a part of this institution were people who had a long track record of ministry. Yet here we were fighting with each other over silly things like when rehearsal times clashed and this diva felt their contributions to the church was more important than that diva's so their rehearsal should take more priority.
And people wonder why I didn't want to go to seminary. If this was what people who have an extensive ministry repertoire end up doing to each other, then hell, no thank you.
But fast forward three years to today and we find Jim and Betty up front having just lit a candle. They proceed to kneel at the altar, and it's barely a minute later that I looked up and found Olive heading over to kneel and pray with them. And then I found tears in my eyes.
You see, Jim, Betty, Olive and her husband Savas are all people that I have come to love dearly in the more recent years since the dark year. They loved the part of Kingdom work that took them outside their own culture where they would spend most of their lives living in the in-betweens. And just for a few moments, I wondered what it was like for them to be a few years younger, living in cross-cultural settings in different parts of the world at the same time. And I wondered what kinds of friendships blossomed in the seasons where their paths would cross even if just briefly. Were they the kind that a "What are you doing? Can I come over now (and sit around and talk, or not talk, or do nothing)?" would not be awkward? Were they the kind that would last for a long, long time, till the day they find themselves back "home" again, worshipping in the same building again? Were they the kind that would still stay strong even after the dark years in a setting similar to the ones that they had just dedicated most of their lives to?
And this is why as much as that dark year redefined so much of who I am today, I hardly talk about it except to the few people. But lately as I have felt the need to validate my experience in ministry, or why I relate to the postmodern post-Christian culture as much as I do, this dark year has come up again.
Yet at the same time, watching Jim and Betty, and Olive, and all the other signs of vibrant family life in the post-dark-year era... Why bring up the past that only hurts and divides, when instead there's life and hope to look forward to?
Miss you,
Me
I sat in that building again today, as has become routine over the last three years since I left and came back. It's become a habit for me in the last couple months since I've known that the sun was setting on my time here to, every time I get the opportunity, look at all the people that have become family to me over the last three years. Sometimes it happens from up front, sometimes I secretly enjoy sneaking in late just to catch that few extra minutes of sleep--but also so I can sit in the back pews and just let the image of this whole messy, chaotic family find its roots in my heart.
But today was different. I sat at a different corner up front, then moved down to one of the wings halfway through the service. There was a candle-lighting piece in the later half of the service and again, I watched as all these faces--some familiar, some not so much--one by one came forward to light a candle. Some, I've known for a long time, and not just them, but generations in their family before and/or after them. Some I've just gotten to know very recently.
And then I noticed them. Ah yes, Jim and Betty were my landlords some years back--specifically, the year after the dark year ended. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure back then if I should allow myself to develop affection for them. After all, they were a part of that building--the one where the messy, chaotic family was learning then what it meant to live as family. All the murmurings, complaints, hurtful comments and attitudes... The many "care-cards" written to the leadership to inform them of how to do their jobs better. I was only twenty then. I wasn't prepared for my idealistic view of the institution to completely fall apart. The fact that this building was a major part of history and had a long legacy behind it didn't help keep my goody churchkid Becky-ish world from feeling like it was completely spiraling out of control. And then there was the part of the story where most of the people who were a part of this institution were people who had a long track record of ministry. Yet here we were fighting with each other over silly things like when rehearsal times clashed and this diva felt their contributions to the church was more important than that diva's so their rehearsal should take more priority.
And people wonder why I didn't want to go to seminary. If this was what people who have an extensive ministry repertoire end up doing to each other, then hell, no thank you.
But fast forward three years to today and we find Jim and Betty up front having just lit a candle. They proceed to kneel at the altar, and it's barely a minute later that I looked up and found Olive heading over to kneel and pray with them. And then I found tears in my eyes.
You see, Jim, Betty, Olive and her husband Savas are all people that I have come to love dearly in the more recent years since the dark year. They loved the part of Kingdom work that took them outside their own culture where they would spend most of their lives living in the in-betweens. And just for a few moments, I wondered what it was like for them to be a few years younger, living in cross-cultural settings in different parts of the world at the same time. And I wondered what kinds of friendships blossomed in the seasons where their paths would cross even if just briefly. Were they the kind that a "What are you doing? Can I come over now (and sit around and talk, or not talk, or do nothing)?" would not be awkward? Were they the kind that would last for a long, long time, till the day they find themselves back "home" again, worshipping in the same building again? Were they the kind that would still stay strong even after the dark years in a setting similar to the ones that they had just dedicated most of their lives to?
And this is why as much as that dark year redefined so much of who I am today, I hardly talk about it except to the few people. But lately as I have felt the need to validate my experience in ministry, or why I relate to the postmodern post-Christian culture as much as I do, this dark year has come up again.
Yet at the same time, watching Jim and Betty, and Olive, and all the other signs of vibrant family life in the post-dark-year era... Why bring up the past that only hurts and divides, when instead there's life and hope to look forward to?
Miss you,
Me
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