To everything there is a season
A time to be born and a time to die
A time to laugh and a time to weep
A time to speak and a time to keep silent.
—Ecclesiastes
* * *
I reached a personal milestone yesterday.
No one in my family and none of my friends or former parishioners noticed it. But then, half the parishioners who witnessed the original event are dead, so I can’t blame them.
But the others? Come on. A parade would’ve been nice. Or a bronze statue on the church porch. I’d have been happy with 50 turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.
Alas, nothing!
Fifty years ago yesterday (July 25, 1976), I was installed to the office of Minister of Word and Sacrament at the historic Shepherdstown Presbyterian Church, established in 1743. I was 29 years old.
(“Minister of Word and Sacrament” is Presbyterian nomenclature for “pastor.”)
I had a license to preach, marry, bury, and baptize.
And I did.
For 41 years.
250 weddings. 250 funerals. 125 baptisms. 2,000 sermons.
I enjoyed my work and the people it brought into my life. I could have kept going. But then, to everything there is a season.
I retired July 1, 2017.
It didn’t take long for me to miss the weddings, baptisms, confirmations, PeaceFests, Easters, Advents, and children’s Christmas Eve services featuring dozens of children and stuffed animals around the crèche, concluding with Terry Tucker leading a sing-along of “The Friendly Beasts.”
That’s a lot to miss.
But I did not miss the pressure of producing a sermon nearly every Sunday. In the Presbyterian tradition, you’re only as good as your last sermon, or so we were told by some sadistic seminary professor. It’s not true, but some brain worms burrow deep.
So I relished one certain part of my retirement—no more weekly deadlines.
Nirvana.
And then one day, out of the blue the Devil pranced into my cave.
I’m so damn glad you ain’t preaching anymore. All that talk of love, peace, and understanding made me puke. I hope your little light never shines again.
And that was the Devil’s gift to me.
Ever since, I’ve been publishing a post every Sunday hoping to brighten the world a little bit here and there. Yes, it’s a lot of fun. But it’s also a lot of work. And it can be stressful. Weekly deadlines loomed.
Yesterday I reached a milestone. I took a deep breath and yielded to the season.
The Devil’s Gift and I are taking a three-month sabbatical.
See you in November.
Nobody is allowed to die.
