Melancholy day

This has been a melancholy day. My last day in my office; and saying goodbye to my staff. It hurts to leave people you care about. There has been a pleasant friendship among us. Delightful people they are. It's almost like leaving family behind.


Every time I leave a church I feel sad. I've spent part of my life there. I've invested my time, my energy, my skills, my prayers, and my emotional capital with a group of people who are trying to make life better in the context of Christian faith. 


It might sound silly, but I always walk around the church building and say goodbye to various spaces (e.g., sanctuary, office, parking lot, choir room, activities room); I think about what has happened in each space and thank God for people and events. My office is my work space. It is there that I have wrestled with Biblical texts; argued with God; prayed for the seriously ill to live; met with parishioners to hear their criticisms; talked with couples about to get married; met with grieving people to prepare a funeral. It's a sacred space. I said goodbye today.


We can't have life without leavings. Even if we live in the same place and work the same job, there are many leavings. But for us who do interim ministry, leavings are part of the ministry. We try to teach others how to say goodbye to former pastors and to parts of the church's history. We teach them to say goodbye to us. We're supposed to be good at it. But it's never easy. I have not yet let loose with the tears. But I've felt the dammed up damn tears waiting to gush forth.


I felt the heavy sadness today and told myself to get out of the basement and come upstairs and celebrate the achievements, the new friendships, the possibilities of the future, the soon-to-be proximity to family. But one thing at a time. I can't come out of the basement yet. These dear people deserve what I can give right now: my grief, a sign of my love for them.