Leaving

I am leaving my church community of nearly 40 years. I was a part-time visitor during the early years of college, a full-on volunteer for the next big chunk, and an Associate Pastor for 14 years. I have poured my heart into that place and now I am choosing to transplant myself in another faith community as an interim pastor, a season that may only last 2 years.

The send offs from my beloved Berkeley church were moving and wonderful. Rarely does anyone get to hear about their impact on others as these kinds of affirmations are only expressed at funerals. I am truly humbled by all the people who allowed me to walk with them through some of their most tender and painful seasons. Their honest wrestling with God during life’s challenges has shaped the way I understand love and grace. I only wish I could have listened more deeply, walked more closely, and trusted God more fully along the way. I can't begin to count much less process the many, many heartfelt stories and appreciation people expressed to me in these past few weeks. Even now, hundreds of cards still sit unopened because I had no time for reading before leaving to lead another trip to Palestine and Israel. When I get back, I will set aside some time to read and savor each one.

After such an intense month, I needed some time and space to relax and reflect. I had hoped that a few days in Palestine before the pilgrimage group arrived would have provided the opportunity but instead, I found myself scurrying between Ramallah and Bethlehem seeing friends. Finally, on the last morning before heading to the airport to pick up the group, I set aside some time to quiet my soul, to write, and to process this last month. I headed over to Manger Square only to be interrupted by Palestinian friends who kept introducing me to other people who were walking by. When I complained that I wasn't left alone for even one moment, one friend playfully scolded me, “What else did you expect? You are in one of the busiest places in Bethlehem and it was crazy to think you could be anonymous!” How did this happen that I have come to know so many people who know so many people who know so many other people in this city?

But I don't really think the issue here is one of serendipitous circumstance or the relational nature of the culture. The issue is far deeper. To be honest, I didn't want to be left alone. I wanted to be found. Frenetic had been working for me. It was a way to avoid the question that has been wrapping my heart in a shroud of pain. How am I supposed to “leave” people I so deeply love especially when those relationships have been forged in the fire of tragedy and the crucible of crisis?

Tonight I stood by the Sea of Galilee, alone, apart, and finally still. I peered over the lake and listened to the waves gently lapping on the shore. It was then that I finally felt the rising tide of grief in my soul.

On this pilgrimage, I need to journey in this valley of grief and goodbye. I'm hesitant to enter, much less to linger there, but I know I must. My heart is at risk if I don’t. Without the vulnerability to face and feel this sadness, I won't risk being open to love another community again. But right now I'm not eager to walk down that painful path. I may stumble my way through but I'm trusting I won't be traveling there alone.