I broke my silence.

     It is my tendency to say what I think. Sometimes that can be a good thing, but not always. As a form of discipline, since joining Grace, I've avoided congregational meetings to be certain that I don't say something I later regret. A congregational meeting was scheduled for today before the news about our pastor's retirements were announced. The purpose of the meeting was informational with no decisions pending. "Perhaps it's time for me to attend" I though and so I did. That's when I broke my silence.
    The final item on the agenda was information about the process of choosing new pastoral leadership. The discussion was ably led by the chairman of our congregation who is the perfect person to help us through the transition. When I sensed some anxiety that we find new leadership quite quickly, I was moved to speak. This is what I said in effect: "While we're all grieving the departure of Dan and Mary the real grief will strike after they leave 6 or 7 months from now. A congregation that calls new pastoral leadership before it has done it's grief work runs the risk of calling unhelpfully. Let's not hurry the process."
    Much of grieving is about history. When Joanne died I lost the one person with whom I'd shared 54 years of marriage memory. There is no one who can replace that role. When Dan and Mary leave they will take with them 27 years of history that they shared with the congregation plus much they shared individually with each member. No one can replace that role. Such grieving operates on its own time table; longer for some shorter for others.
    This announcement of pastoral change has been a powerful reminder to me of the significance of history, i.e., shared and lost history, in grief. In the land of grief I'm learning to live with that which I cannot know because I can no longer ask. It is still hard.  (Ask your questions, people, while you still can.)

Takk for alt,

Al