Distancing Myself

I had my big farewell with Ascension the last weekend of June. It was a bittersweet celebration of the time we had shared before we parted ways for what comes next. I was not yet officially finished for four more days, which I spent tying up loose ends: saving the files I thought I might need from my computer at the church, deleting my voicemail message, extricating myself from managing all church-related online accounts, and turning in my keys. I tried to leave all the information the interim pastor might find helpful in a three-ring binder. I slipped him my parking pass for the hospital. We did lunch and I introduced him to the staff. After I prayed with them, I quietly exited the meeting so they could carry on without me. It wasn’t nearly as traumatic as I had imagined. Everything was going to be fine.

On the night before my last day, I decided to go to the food trucks. They come to Ascension’s parking lot every Wednesday night as a way to create community in the neighborhood and pass along the revenue the church receives from the vendors to help organizations serving food insecure folks in the Baltimore area. I hadn’t been to the food trucks since they started up again back in May and knew that once I was retired, I couldn’t put myself in the position of rubbing shoulders with Ascension people, so I figured this was my last chance to go. I went, knowing I would run into members of the congregation, and my plan was to pick up my food and leave as swiftly as possible. But, of course, I couldn’t ignore folks. That would be rude. So I stopped briefly to greet them.

Technically, I was still their pastor. But practically, what on earth was I thinking? They weren’t expecting to see me. They had showered me with love a few days earlier and said their goodbyes. And I realized immediately that my appearance was a mistake. It was awkward to the point of embarrassing. 

Once a person makes a final, dramatic farewell to the people they love, they need to go. I should have learned this back when I was in college and the guy I had been dating since junior high was drafted. As he headed off to the Army, we had a deeply emotional goodbye, which included the loss of my virginity (something I had been saving for a worthy occasion, like sending a boyfriend off to war). We clung to each other amidst our tears, not knowing if we would ever hold one another again. 

A couple weeks later, he showed up at my college dorm unannounced. They pulled him off the bus when they saw that he had a bad knee from an old high school football injury. He didn’t call me to tell me this. He wanted to surprise me. And, surprised I was. I should have been thrilled to see him, but I wasn’t. In fact, it resulted in the end of our relationship. I was devastated when he didn’t immediately tell me he had been spared from Viet Nam. I had been crying over his fate for months, and he waited a couple weeks to tell me he didn’t even go. But worst of all, he put me through a gut-wrenching goodbye, and then he didn't follow through by leaving. He had been playing with my heart like a yo-yo. 

When a pastor leaves a congregation, it’s important to say goodbye in a meaningful way, and then leave. For the sake of the next pastor and the congregation itself, they need to move on. That’s the rule pastors live by. But it’s a little different for me this time. In the past I’ve always gone from one call to the next one. As much as it’s hurt to leave a church community, there was always another one waiting for me. This time, that isn’t the case. Yes, I’m looking forward to the future, living with Gretchen, Jon, Nicholas, and Justin, and whatever God has in store for me, but that’s nearly two months away. And here I am, cut off from the only community I’ve ever known in Maryland, while I wait for the moving truck to arrive on August 22.

It's a strange, liminal space for me. And that's okay. I have stuff to keep me occupied, and I enjoy my own company. To be honest, I need to be alone for a while. Some members of Ascension have reached out and asked to get together with me. A month ago, I thought this would be great. We could meet for lunch secretly, and no one would need to know. But it doesn’t feel that way now. I can’t do it. The very thought of it makes me want to run and hide. No, no, no! It seems that the deeper the feelings I have for the person, the stronger my aversion is to seeing them right now. And I am seeing the whole rule about the former pastor distancing themself from the congregation in a new way. It’s not only best for the congregation and their next pastor, it’s also best for me. I need to grieve so I can let go, and eventually move on. And I can’t do that unless I distance myself from Ascension. My heart can’t get through this any other way.

I need to distance myself. They need that, too. Not because those are the rules but because, right now, it's the best way to love Ascension--and myself.