Can You Hear God Laughing?

As I looked forward to my eventual retirement through the years, I emphatically said, repeatedly, that when I’m done, I’m done. No interims for me. I wanted to find a local congregation and worship in the pews like everyone else, or if it I darn well pleased, sleep in on a Sunday morning. After 43+ years in the parish, I had earned that! And, quite frankly, after the past few years, I was so exhausted that I didn’t think I had it in me to do much more.

During my last year, I was keenly aware that everything I did was for the last time. The last time I would look into the candlelit faces of the people in my congregation as we sang “Silent Night.” The last time I would pour baptismal water onto a forehead. The last time I would announce, “Christ is risen!” and the congregation would shout back, “He is risen indeed!” Everything I did was with a sense of relief mingled with melancholy.

I gave away all my books, enough to fill a barge. I passed on vestments, artwork, preaching props, and all kinds of other things that I was certain I would never use again, and a younger pastor might find helpful. I was leaving it all behind, and passing it on, and it felt good. There had been so many times in my past when I came close to walking away from parish ministry, but for some reason, God wouldn’t let me go. And now, it was finally time to move on.

And then, before I even retired, Mother Gladys, an Assistant to the Bishop of my new synod contacted me about serving as an interim pastor. To say I was less than receptive is an understatement. But I’ve lived long enough to know that I can never slam the door on the Holy Spirit without spending time in discernment. So we decided to have another conversation once I was closer to retirement.

I learned that I’m an anomaly in the Metro New York Synod. When pastors retire, they normally move away from the city; they don’t move into the city. I also learned that the synod is in dire need of interim pastors these days. And as much as I kept telling myself, “That’s not my problem. I did my time,” the love part of my love/hate relationship with the Church was tugging at my heart. I told Mother Gladys, “Well, it would have to be very, very part time, and it would have to be very, very close to where I live.” Did I really just say that? I couldn’t believe those words were coming from my mouth.

She ran a couple possibilities past me. One involved a greater time commitment and considerable driving. Nope. And then the other was a small congregation that would be closer to where I imagined I’d end up living. Gretchen and Jon were still looking at houses at the time, but they soon landed on the place where we’re now living, in Glendale (Queens). The congregation in question was a mile from our house. And they only needed someone to preach on Sundays, meet with the Council, and provide coverage during emergencies.

It was difficult for me to say yes to this. When I initially met with the Council, they were as reticent about the whole arrangement as I was, although for different reasons. Like so many other congregations right now, their numbers shrank during the pandemic, and they really couldn’t continue going in that direction. So they were approaching the possibility with caution. I was something of a gamble to them. (They had no clue about my own misgivings.)

We decided to give it a try, and after a month, I agreed to serve with them for 12 months. Now I’m struggling a bit to understand how I can help them move forward, given the limited time I am with them. (I’ve never been one to leave well enough alone.) So, we’re figuring it out together.

And here’s the big surprise in all of this, for me. The more time I spend with the people of Trinity-St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church in Maspeth, the more I’m enjoying it. It’s been a long time since I was part of a small congregation, and I am remembering how much I love small congregations. The caring within community is a beautiful thing to be a part of. And Trinity-St. Andrew’s does it so well. In such a short period of time, they have already captured this pastor’s heart.

So here I am, once again doing something I swore I’d never do. And I can hear God laughing.