Loved to the End

"Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end."

John 13:1, NIV

This is the week that I have been dreading.

It's an emotional rollercoaster sort of a week. But, as a friend reminded me this morning at church, isn't that so often true of the life of faith--the highs and the lows held together, somehow each necessary for the other--death and resurrection inseparably bound to one another by some kind of strange, invisible cords.

This morning, I had the privilege of becoming a member at the church I love, the church that has become home over the past year and a half. Two years ago, I was hurting, and I wasn't sure what it would take to find another church I could call home--today, I finally got to officially become a member of the body of Christ in this particular place. There's much so joy and gratitude in that. (Those of you who know me will appreciate the fact that this moment would have come sooner, in the spring, but I was out of the country on the Sunday when I was supposed to transfer my membership, presenting a paper at an academic conference in Virginia, and delighting in every minute of the chance to dabble in academics again.)

But in the background of the celebration today is the fact that two days from now will be my final day pastoring the community that I love at House Blend. On Tuesday evening we will gather for a final supper to celebrate with gratitude the good gifts that House Blend has brought to our lives over the past ten years, not least of which is the community itself and the relationships that have meant so much, and we will say a final official good-bye to House Blend before it officially closes its doors.

I can't even begin to know how to process so much joy mingled with so much grief.

If I've learned anything about being a pastor, and I think I've learned quite a bit over the past two-and-a-half years that I've been at House Blend, it's that the work of pastoring is primarily about love. But how do you stop loving a group of people just because someone decides that a ministry has run its course? What does it look like to end well, when the most vital work that you are called to do is not to plan programs, or to find ways to serve people, or to provide ministries that meet people's physical needs, but to love one another as God has loved us? To wrap up a program is one thing. To stop loving someone is something else. And as anyone who's had a relationship end knows, whether because of a parting of ways or because of a death, it's no easy task to stop loving someone.

During this season of ending, it's become apparent to me that I have no answers, easy or otherwise, about how to go about this work of ceasing to be a pastor. At the end of this week, I will officially no longer be the Community Pastor at House Blend Ministries. But that in no way means that I will love these beloved people any less than I do today. 

The only way I can think to do this is to follow the example of Jesus who, having loved his own who were in the world, loved them to the end. 

So, this week I will love my people as best as I know how. I will love them as best as I can through this week of official endings. 

And then things will change. My title will change. The structures that have shaped this community will change. 

But I'm certain of this: The love that I have for these dear brothers and sisters is real, and so much more is God's love for them. And when the week is over, when everything has been said and done, I will entrust each one to the One whose love will never end and whose presence abides always. Because in a resurrection economy, what feels like an ending never truly gets the last word.

These words have been the benediction for our potlucks week in and week out at House Blend over the years. They are the words that I will pray once more over my community in a couple of days, and the words that I will continue to pray in the days and weeks to come, as a reminder that I can trust God's ongoing presence and care in the places that I cannot be--as a reminder that as I lean into the necessary letting go, there are strong hands waiting to continue the work of love and care.

May the peace of the Lord Jesus Christ

(and the endless love of God)

go with you wherever he may send you;

May he guide you through the wilderness,

Protect you through the storm.

May he bring you home rejoicing

at the wonders he has shown you.

May he bring you home rejoicing

Once again into our doors.

Amen.