Erik gave me the last two years of recorded Helix services. It made me feel warm, and it made me appreciate Erik more than ever – he thinks of those things. It also made me realize that I might not get to minister with Erik again for awhile and that stung. I put the CD’s in their box, neatly ordered inside the Gatorade cooler, I knew that was going with me and they wouldn’t fall out of there.
Then we worshipped.
Then we took communion.
Then we prayed.
Then we blessed and hugged.
As service ended, I thanked Jon for doing worship one more time, and we joked about football only being 30 days away. I guess that was my guys’ way of saying ‘thank you’ for his prayers during the service – and indirectly saying, ‘lets keep in touch’, life continues on beyond these doors. It was good stuff that he said.
Then we took the church apart piece by piece.
The busyness was a relief.
As the afternoon wore on, we loaded up and took the sound system out to Sunnyside, where it began. I looked at it sitting there in a pile, with all of its battle scars and memories still clinging to it like the stickers with which it was so-long labeled…and I sensed that the tide was changing and the numb feeling of constant activity would soon give way to sorrow. Very soon, very soon.
Then Travis and I drove home. And we talked and we reminisced for just a few more minutes, and then he and Kim departed.
I ate my Arby’s roast beef in about a minute flat, having not eaten all day. I opened a beer and it tasted good. Alanna and I silently went about bringing in the remnants of the Helix that we had claimed. I held the art in the sun and marveled at Travis’ skill with a brush. I must have stood five minutes looking at the painting, the view of Hawthorne so familiar, but strangely changed to my eyes. It was painted from a snapshot taken by person who I no longer am. The picture was taken by that man in another time, in another frame of mind, from another frame of reference. Had I known then what lay ahead, I would have been afraid, but I had my Jesus and that, I guess, is in the end, all that really matters. Then, Alanna and her mom and Ava left for Big-lots to pick up a table that Doreen had on-hold there.
Suddenly, the day with all its cares, was over. The busyness was done. And I was alone.
I walked out-side, glad for the first quiet of the day…long overdue at 6:10 PM.
I stood still for a few but shortly felt a restlessness flickering at my feet as the warm breeze rustled the trees, and the sun sank towards its 27,000 mph bath. I looked up towards the heavens as I often do, and said out loud to the silence “Love you Lord”, crossing my head and then my lips and then my heart as I sometimes do when I feel the Divine Profoundness pressing in on my temples. I learned it from the Catholics, a practice reminding myself whose mind, and mouth, and heart are these. And then I returned to my ponderings thinking the brief interaction over.
Suddenly, I again looked up and said, “it is just you and I again Lord”. And then the flood-gates opened. Burning hot and salty, without any chance of staunching this flow. I suddenly felt small and young again, but so very old too; all pumping up in shudder after shudder. Then slowly my reluctant tears gave way to silent sobs lest the neighbors hear from their patio and think something very wrong. I felt anguish – deep in my soul, at once a rush of emotions, and sadness, and relief all blended into one. Then up came memories good and bad, friends found and lost, friends living and friends having passed. All these things I watched and wept. Knowing that who I am has died, the new has come, and with the new come the trials and transitions and hurts that must accompany the task of loving others as we have first been loved. This is my first experience of laying down a commission at the Lord’s feet, and sincerely giving it back to Him. It is very strange indeed, defying all that I have come to know and understand as fitting the definition of the word ‘progress’. This decision has required great determination and at a personal level, all the trust that I can muster – daily having to work through to the re-conclusion that God is indeed, Good and nothing apart from Him bears that title.
My greatest fear is that the doors of ministry are shut, and that never again will I be able to teach, or lead, or be aligned with people like all of you again.
I think it is a rare and blessed problem with which I am faced. Rarely, do pastors get to walk away knowing that behind them is only good, is only what God has done, is only love, and change, and camaraderie, and friendship. This is a rare gift indeed. The sorrow lies in the fact that this exact ensemble. This exact and blessed group will never again be put together in this fashion and for all the very best reasons this causes me to grieve. To grieve for good reasons is my own definition of what is best meant by ‘sweet sorrow’.
As I stood there still sobbing on the back patio, I knew that the crescendo of grieving could not yet be at its zenith, not yet even be close to being ready to surrender to the everyday cares of life. I knew, and still know, that it is a pain that I must allow to wash through and over me. I must allow that stream to run until it runs dry, or it will do me harm if it is kept inside. As I watched it pass there, standing in the sun, I realized just how much I love you all, and just how much I desperately want you all to succeed. It is a desperation born of seeing so many fail and fall. You are all the best, and I want you to know that Alanna and I did the very best we could in this season of life to love you all well. For those for whom we have fallen short, I am very sorry. For those who feel well loved, we are thankful that you do.
For having the chance to be a part of, and even to lead the Helix, it has been my privilege and I feel more qualified and less worthy than I did at the beginning. You are all magnificent followers of Jesus and I want you all to walk away from this experience, if with nothing else, than that your eyes are now, more than ever firmly fixed on Jesus.
Then, the sun seemed dim through my tears and I realized I must write – I must hammer at the keys these things - and to its end, here it is.
This is my letter to you all saying, I love you. Fare thee well. We love you. Keep following Jesus. Don’t ever give up. Stay in touch. We are family now. Even if time and distance separate us, we are all adopted family and the blood of the Lamb is thicker than water.
Speakeasy in October so Cheers! See you there.
Rock on Helix. This party ain’t over yet. We’ve got a ways to go before we are home.
Blessings,
A.G.
Rev. Andrew Goodwin
Sunday, July 29, 2007
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