Christa's Rosemont Musings

Marked by God

2012-02-23T09:00:00.000-08:00

When you take a child to a Chuck E Cheez restaurant the doorperson uses ink to stamp a number on your hand and the hand of the child youare with. This is so that when you are ready to leave they can check to makesure you are leaving with the correct child. The ink is invisible to the nakedeye and can only be seen with black light – it lasts through hours of play andeven through multiple handwashings.

There are many ways we mark our identity - by the clothes wewear, our hairstyle, the car we drive, even the way we decorate the house welive in. But what about our Christian identity? Is there a way for people toknow that following Christ is an important part of our lives or is it aninvisible part like the stamp at Chuck E Cheez?

I’ve been reading Mark’s version of Jesus’ baptism thisweek. When Jesus is baptized by John in the Jordan river and hears God’s voicesaying, “This is my beloved son with whom I am pleased.” Jesus identity isconfirmed. From this point on his life changes – he moves into public ministryand he is marked by God. It does not matter what town he is in, it does notmatter which group he is speaking to, or who he is with; Jesus is absolutelyconfident in his identity as God’s child.

Many of us have been known as members of Rosemont UnitedChurch for a long time, but in a few months that will change. Rosemont won’t beour church home anymore. The good thing, though, is that our identity aschildren of God remains the same. We have been marked as members of God’sfamily, we belong to the Christian community, and even if we’re in a differentlocation, God is still with us. When we get to the next church there won’t beanyone standing at the door wanting to check our hands or our hearts for aninvisible stamp, but God’s mark is on us anyway.

It is my hope and prayer that God’s mark will become visibleto each one of us and to the world through our actions and our lives in themonths and years to come.

Graceful Acceptance

2012-02-16T09:00:00.000-08:00

After my grandmother died her doctor wrote a letter to thefamily outlining her medical history. As part of the letter he included hisobservation that she was a real lady – always gracious, gentle, and willing toaccept whatever help was offered. It’s surprising how rare that is.

As we move through these months together we find there aremany tasks to be done and yet it is so hard to accept help with them. Sometimesit’s that we don’t want to ask for help, we know that everyone else is busy anddon’t want to put pressure on them. Sometimes it’s that we don’t want to admitwe need help. And sometimes it’s that we just don’t think of asking. Thereality is that none of us can do all the work alone – we need each other, notonly to help out but also so that we remember we are all in this together.

One of the first things Jesus did in his ministry was to askpeople to follow him. Was he looking for students? Of course, but Jesus alsoknew that the work he was doing couldn’t be done by him alone. He needed othersto be with him – to challenge him when he needed to be challenged, to care forhim when he needed caring, and to help carry the load of the work they weredoing.

Like Jesus with his disciples, none of us are alone in doingthe tasks of closing our church – we are in this together. We continue to bepart of a community that cares for its members and sometimes the best way tocare is to ask someone else to be part of the tasks we have before us. My hopeand prayer in the months ahead is that we can learn to gracefully accept thehelp that is offered and gently ask for help when we need it.

Worries

2012-02-10T19:15:00.000-08:00

It seems like there are a lot of transitions going on right now - I had conversations with at least three friends this week who are all trying to figure out what God is calling them to do next. Heading into a transition often means looking back - to remember and evaluate where we've been. It means dreaming about where we could go. And it means becoming aware of the skills and assets we've got and where they might take us.

My friends are not alone, I am also in transition. While most of my time is taken up with the day-to-day tasks of ministry and closure, I spend some nights trawling the online job boards to see what possibilities might be out there for me. In the back of my mind I observe the people I meet and wonder if I might like to do what they do. There is no question in my mind that I am called to ministry, but there are times when ministry and life don't intersect very well and this may be one of those times for me. In Regina we have a number of ministers, including me, who are tied to the city and not a lot of openings.

Ever since we decided to close I've been trying to stay in the present and not worry too much about the future - I'm trusting that God will let me know what I need to do next when the time is right. But not worrying about the future is hard. When I meet new people and explain that our church will be closing, they inevitably ask, "So what does that mean for you?" and I don't have a quick and easy answer to that question. And then I worry.

I take comfort in knowing that I am not alone in my moments of worry and my deep desire to plan for the future. Jesus spent most of his ministry teaching, preaching, and healing. But every once in a while a hint of worry about the future came through his words. I hear this in many ways including when he warns his disciples that he won't be with them much longer, when he tells them they must take up their cross, and even when he loses his temper and tells potential followers that the dead should be left to bury the dead.

Even when Jesus worried about the future he trusted that God would lead him into that future. Jesus trusted that God would have a place and a role for him no matter where he ended up in life. It is my prayer and hope that even when we begin to worry about what comes next we, too, can put our trust in God

Letting Go

2012-02-02T11:42:00.000-08:00

Before my children were born I had dreams, plans even, of what my family would be like. For a variety of reasons these plans have not all worked out - I don't have any daughters, but I do have two sons. Over the years I have had to learn to let go of some of my plans, change some plans, and even make some new ones.

We have made many plans at Rosemont about how we will wind down our time together as a community. We have prepared letters to members about how to transfer their memberships. We have sent letters to other churches asking them to send us a brief description of who they are so we can make informed choices about our next church home. We have created a time line for the next 4 months so that the many special events can be put on the board and we won't have space conflicts in the building. And yet, even with all our planning, it seems that there are always bumps in the road and new curves we have to negotiate. We are quickly discovering on this journey that there are things we need to let go, changes we need to make, and of course revised plans to develop.

This week I've been reading Hosea's description of God as a nurturing parent. God who helped Israel learn to walk, God who picked Israel up, God who had endless patience and love as Israel turned away and rejected God. In Hosea's description I see God experiencing all the feelings we are experiencing - the frustration, anger, sorrow, exhaustion, love, and joy. This brings me great comfort - God knows what we are experiencing here at Rosemont; God knows what it is like to have to change plans; and God knows what it means to have to let go.

My hope and prayer is that we can be gentle on ourselves and with each other as we move through this time together. Changing plans is never easy, but God is with us, encouraging us to take just one step at a time and face whatever challenge the road before us brings with faith and courage.

Songs of our Hearts

2012-01-26T14:33:00.000-08:00

This week I've been wrestling with finding the balance between new and old. As we start working our way through the long list of tasks that go with closing a church, we find ourselves reaching for comfort - the familiar hymns, the friends we've known for years, the building that has been our worshiping home. These things remind us of where we have been and who we are. So we have started to include some of our favourite hymns in each service - some of them haven't been sung for years and yet the congregation sings with great confidence and volume when they are played. These are the songs of our hearts and our past.

But as minister I worry about moving into the new, into the future. Will we be ready to move to new churches? Willing to accept changes? There are people in some parts of our denomination who absolutely refuse to sing the old songs because they now find the theology of the lyrics offensive. It's scary to think about going out to another church where our beloved music may not be welcome. And if our music isn't welcome, will we be welcome? Will we know the music they do sing?

Then I look at the text we are reading this week - Jeremiah buys some farmland in the middle of being under house arrest in Jerusalem while Jerusalem is under seige. He can't get to the land, he can't even see it, but he buys it because God has promised Jeremiah that the people will some day return to the land to live and farm. It is a message of great hope - the people of Jeremiah's time are being forced out of their homeland and into something new, but God and Jeremiah are showing them that even as they move out they retain the comfort of being a community - connected to one another through their faith in God and God's promises to them.

It is my hope and prayer that we can move out with the same confidence - trusting that we will find a new church home and that even if the songs are a little different, someday we will come to love them as much as we love our favourites here.

Sparkling Beauty

2012-01-20T16:56:00.000-08:00

I am struck by the many-layered, multi-faceted nature of grief this week. There is the gut-wrenching grief of doing inventory and realizing that each Sunday worship service we have means one less Sunday together. At the same time there is the smaller, on-going grief that comes with all of the ordinary changes in life.

While we are all grieving the coming end of this community, this church is only one part of the lives of the people who attend it and there are many other things happening in those lives - family members and friends moving to long-term care, illness requiring hospital stays, needing to downsize from the family home to something more managable, supporting adult children, and more. No wonder we are tired!

I said a few weeks ago in worship that I like sparkly jewelry - the way light shines on cut glass often brings a smile to my face. Our grief at Rosemont reminds me a bit of the jewelry I like so much. Depending on what we are experiencing our grief looks a little bit different every day and some days it is more beautiful than others. But we continue on - cherishing the memories that make us smile, knowing there is a lot of work ahead of us, and trusting that God will bring beauty to whatever we do.

Can saying good-bye actually be beautiful? I hope so. My prayer is that we will truly celebrate our life together, that we will love each other well in these final months, and that we will trust God to guide us.

Pinball Grief

2012-01-12T10:31:00.000-08:00

Grief is a funny thing - well not really. It's just that we seem to rocket around from joy and celebration to tears to being so busy we can barely think about what comes next - a bit like pinballs shooting around in a pinball machine.

This week we are all learning to count and re-count. The inventory has begun and like our own homes, it's amazing how much stuff can accumulate in the corners and shelves and cupboards of a building in 60 years. Some of the things we pull out bring wonderful memories and some things we wonder why we ever kept. After all, who needs a globe that has no stand and whose maps are so out-of-date it still lists the USSR as a country?

I've been reading about Elijah this week and the start of his time as a prophet. The first three stories about Elijah tell how he faces circumstances that should mean death for him and yet somehow, God brings life to Elijah and the people around him. It is miraculous; and it reminds me that we worship the God of life.

Even as we grieve the ending of our community as we know it, and for some of us it feels like a very real death, the people we know and love will not disappear from the world when we close our church. They will still be our neighbours and our friends and we may even end up attending a different church with them. This gives me hope.

Elijah's relationship with God reminds me that new life is possible, even in the midst of death. Yes, we will still rattle around like pinballs in a game and it may get more hectic and crazy before we finish. There will be tears and anger and laughter and frustration and all the many things that come with saying good-bye. But maybe, just maybe, if we keep our eyes open we will also begin to see the signs of the new life God offers us in the midst of our grief.

Grief is a funny thing - well, not really.

Church for Sale

2012-01-05T14:29:00.000-08:00

The "For Sale" sign went up on the corner of our lot today and suddenly our closure - which we've been talking about for months, became much more real.

I've been reading about Solomon and the Temple in 1 Kings this week. One of the things Solomon did during his reign was solidify the borders of Israel his father David had established and part of that work included building the Temple. The Temple was a monument to faith and God - it was a solid physical symbol of the faith community and God's presence among them. For the last 60 years that has been the role of our building as well - it has been a physical symbol of the faith that lives within us and God's presence among us.

Solomon's Temple was destroyed when a foreign empire took over the country. The destruction of the Temple did not mean that God abandoned the people of Israel, God found new and different ways to relate to them.

God will not abandon us either. Even when our building is sold God will remain among us, reminding us that we are part of a larger community of faith. As we move into new worshiping homes we will discover that some of the traditions may be different but God will remain the same - encouraging each one of us to live to our fullest potential and see the world through God's eyes.

It breaks my heart, but it's got to be said: anyone want to buy a church?

Christmas Eve Illusion

2011-12-29T11:49:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve was lovely - some tears, many hugs, and some friends we have not seen for many, many years. It was a homecoming for some and a good-bye for others. Yet the comment was made, "I don't know why they are closing. Why aren't they trying to form a 2-point charge in the city?"

This wasn't the first time I've heard this comment, or something like it. Ever since the news started circulating that Rosemont is planning to close, people have offered a variety of solutions: try part-time ministry; become a multi-point charge; just try harder. We considered them all and the people of this church have tried very hard to be faithful to their ancestors who built this church and their descendants who might have been part of it. The decision to close was not made lightly or easily and only came after 2 years of conversation about what we believe God is calling us to do.

And yet on Christmas Eve people who have not been part of our conversation were bound to wonder because the church was full - full of families and children who now have their own churches in their own towns, but were home for one final Christmas Eve service at Rosemont.

This coming Sunday, on January 1, it will be a very different picture. I imagine our congregation will be even smaller than our usual 55 - 60 people whose average age is 75+, and while we will still be celebrating the Christmas story and holding onto that last little bit of holiday cheer, we know that with the new year comes the time for the hard work of grief and closure.

May God bless us on this journey we are on together.

Self-inflicted Pressure

2011-12-22T12:41:00.000-08:00

We are all very aware that this will be our last Christmas together at Rosemont. It brings tears to our eyes and our tree in the sanctuary is filling with Rosemont Memories. As the final Christmas Eve service looms I find myself trying to make this Christmas Eve even more special, more memorable, and more perfect than the others we have shared together. This, I fear, is an impossible quest.

The service will be what it is - we will all make our own contributions in our own ways. There will, I'm sure, be mistakes made - I hope we have the courage to laugh at ourselves. There will also, I trust, be memories made to keep - I hope we have the wisdom to cherish them.

In the days leading up to Christmas Eve, I find my prayer for us this year is that we will all be present together - present enough to let the Spirit enter our hearts, to let the Christ-child remind us of the miracle of God's love, and to let God guide us on this difficult path we have chosen.