I've always known I never wanted to climb the ecclesiastical ladder and be a District Superintendent or Conference officer. Fortunately, nobody else wanted me to climb that ladder either, as to my knowledge, I've never even been in the running for even the lowest of such posts. The Powers that Be must have clearly seen my managerial aptitude or my administrative ability and decided not to promote me to my level of incompetence. That's OK by me; I've been happy everywhere I've been appointed, especially in Sinclairville where I've been for the past 33 years.
All that came to mind this morning as I hopped on the bike and headed down the road to Frewsburg where I was slated to sing at the Zion Lutheran church there. I had stopped by Park church to pick up a couple song sheets in case I needed more than the one I had rehearsed. I arrived as the band was finishing their rehearsal and people were beginning to file in. Worship commenced at 8:30, and I was able to participate somewhat as I stood in the foyer. As the band and congregation sang, I prayed. I blessed the congregation, various individuals who were responsible for leading, and for pastor Joe as he would be bringing the Word of God to the people. Then, face to the wind, I headed down the road. As I drove, there arose within me an almost physical reaction to what I had just left.
I arrived in Frewsburg, was greeted warmly, and set up to sing. Worship was expectedly more liturgical, which I don't mind, but I found it somewhat awkward to flip back and forth in the hymnal to find where we were at any given moment. However, the Gospel was preached, hymns were sung, and we worshipped. It was good to be with this branch of the Family.
On the way home, I had an errand to run, and a little time on my hands, so I stopped at my office away from my office: Starbucks. I bought a couple pounds of joe and a double espresso, and planted myself at one of the outside tables right in front of my bike. A young couple, counselors at a nearby camp, asked if they could sit on it and have their pictures taken. No problem; it's a Ural and I'm used to it by now. As I was packing up for home, a little red Subaru drove up and a familiar voice shouted out to me. It was Dr. Sherri Rood, my District Superintendent, stopping by enroute to her next appointment. "How's retirement," she asked. I haven't seen her since that pivotal day in my life, and I responded by telling her how good it's been, but also of something that has surprised me.
My reasons for never wanting an appointment beyond the local church had to do with my decided lack of talent and interest in all things administrative. Had I ever had that job foisted upon me, my ineptitude would have been apparent to everyone, and whoever followed me upon what I was sure would have been a shortened term of office would have a real mess to clean up. What I discovered today however, was totally different. I told Sherri, "I've developed a deeper appreciation and admiration for those of you who serve in this capacity. In just the few weeks I've been away from Park, I've felt like I've been cut adrift, with no rootedness in the life of a congregation. The people with whom I've been privileged to serve are family to me, and being absent from worship at Park has been more difficult than I've imagined. And that's with having been given the green light by pastor Joe to come back. I worshipped with my Park family last week, but this week, I again felt like a homeless child. Sherri said she understood, as I am sure she does.
Today, I am grateful for the family of God, for those specific brothers and sisters in Christ with whom I have been placed. I am grateful for the sense of belonging, the connectedness I feel just by being with them week after week. I don't understand how some folks can hop from church to church, or absent themselves from it week after week. They don't know what they're missing! And I pray for those Christians in Iraq who are persecuted, displaced, pursued from place to place for the Name of the Nazarene. When the writer to the Hebrews spoke of those who have no enduring home, I understand a bit more clearly the ache and longing for a permanent residence. We are truly pilgrims in this world, but I for one, am grateful for the opportunities to put down roots instead of tent pegs, and am looking forward to the day when God's people are wanderers no more.
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