packing up

Sorry for the quiet week. The reality is, not much to report. Teens came by all week long to help Andy and other staff box up their offices and load them into their cars to head for home or the new office. I went in one day to show the staff how to use the new online mail (hooray for Google Apps, not that some of them will ever use it, but it's nice to know that I've done my part to train them).

We had our final service at Covenant on Thursday, a joint service with both congregations attending. It was a lovely service--much more uplifting than many Maunday Thursday services I've attended. The music was provided mainly by the choir from Grove City College (I think, someplace like that in Pennsylvania anyway) and they were stunning--ethereal, reverent, delightful. Bill's sermon was wonderful...my main memory of it is that he opened with a personal story. It's unusual for a pastor, I think, but he is a very private person and it's rare for him to use a personal story as an illustration, which is unfortunate because I think it adds real depth to the message. The pastor is not just preaching the Word anymore, but he is showing us a little bit of himself in it, adding in his own humanity to share with us. And isn't that what God did with Jesus? The Word became flesh--he clothed himself in humanity and took everything that entailed upon himself. He took a love we couldn't understand because it is so far above us and brought it to us in his hands. Which we promptly nailed to a cross.

We noticed some tears towards the end of the service, but Andy's comment was he felt that they were shed mainly by those who had chosen to stay. I did notice one person in particular wiping away tears and I wondered what his/her thoughts were last night, the last night before we truly go our separate ways. A man from Covenant prayed for New Hope (kind of) and Bill prayed for Covenant (with much love and charity, which impressed me because my impression has been that he has been a focal point of more than a few attacks). I can't say that I was very sad last night, even as I sat with two of my children in the only church they have ever really known. There are faces that I know I will not see on a regular basis anymore, as they are choosing to stay, but many of those who are choosing to stay are unfamiliar to me, for varying reasons. The separation from the people I have come to call my church family is sad, but I feel no twinge of regret over the building, the property, or any of the things we are leaving behind. After all, that is all they are: just things.

I wish I could share deeply with you today, anything about Easter, but I will confess to having nothing. This week, Michael and I discussed God's inadequate battle tactics: instead of squashing Satan with his thumb, stepping down among us in his undeniable glory, or giving us signs which no one could dispute, he chose instead to send his only son in abject humility in order to rescue us. Beginning his career as a helpless newborn, learning masonry from Joseph, wandering Israel homeless for three years, and finally dying a painful and despicable death--really, is this the kind of God anyone in their right mind would choose to follow? I think not, but we do, each and every day. But one day, when we are confronted with the undeniable fact of his glory, when Jesus asks us, "Do you really love me?", we will be able to say, "Lord, you know that I love you." And he will know it, because we've loved him even when there was no good reason to do so. Easter is our reminder that glory waits for us beyond the cross, beyond the grave.