Unfinished Work

I’m sitting at my laptop on a table with a calendar hanging over it.  The calendar sports several pictures from days gone by:  my husband and his sister singing in church at about age 12 or 13, my youngest son strumming a guitar, my husband reading a newspaper with a teddy bear under his arm, and my youngest son leaving the church amidst bubbles with his new bride on his arm.  

It’s the large picture in the center, however, that draws one’s eye first.  It is a smiling 3 year old, my first born son, who is eating freshly frosted sugar cookie.  Outside the window behind him, snow sits on the window sills and the snow on the roofs beyond the window is deep.  In the fore ground are unfrosted sugar cookies: the bottom of a snow man, a couple of candles.  By the turtleneck and long sleeves and the chapped lips on the child, it is clearly mid winter.  

It’s a memory I cherish of my oldest son’s earlier Advent seasons.  The enamel topped metal table and matching red chair upon which my son kneels reminds me of a different time when my children were so very small.  His baby teeth shine in his bright smile.  His eyes twinkle with joy as he “sneaks” a bit of a cookie he’s supposed to be decorating for Christmas.  

Those were very different times. Life was simpler.  The laughter of children in the house made a different atmosphere of daily living.  It was a harder life.  Our income level was only just enough on which to live without receiving welfare; we struggled to pay off our student loans.  It was a time of stress as we juggled the roles of young parents, freshly minted pastors, part time social advocates, and full time naïve young couple.  

As I look at this picture now, I long to tickle that little boy’s tummy with my fingers to hear him squeal with laughter.  I remember all the good times we had in that little house in Pennsylvania.  And it all feels like something I’d want to do again. 

Only I don’t.  Even if it were possible, I wouldn’t repeat those years.  Yes, I remember them fondly. Yes, I feel things were easier then.  But I wouldn’t want to repeat them because it would mean losing out on the experience of today. Today, when my sons are young adults exploring lives of their own. Today, when as empty nesters we have the joy of being able to pick up and go whenever we choose without regard to school calendars or nap times.
 Today, when I am wiser, more mature, and certainly a different person that I was 24 years ago.  Today, while a very different era, still offers its own joys, challenges, stresses, and—yes – sad times.  

I can’t go back; I am not the same now as I was then.  I can’t go back; it is not possible to turn my adult sons into children again.  I can’t do it over; I’m not young and spry, limber and energetic.  I don’t want things to be the way they used to be even if I’m not completely happy with how things are today – because I know in my heart of hearts that I wasn’t as happy then as my memories would like to lead me to believe.  

What is true in life, is also true in the church.  We can never again be what we once were because the world is not the same now as it once was and because you and I are not the same people we used to be.  We have grown older, (hopefully) more mature and more wise, and (hopefully) to a different place on our faith journey.  We can never again be what we once were because the world doesn’t need us as we used to be; Christ needs us in the world as he calls us to be for today.  What worked in the culture of yester-year cannot work in the world today.  

Friends, we’re not in Kansas any more.  We are in a new era when the Church is not dominate in culture (if indeed it ever was in our lifetimes), where the choices of belief systems have developed along side of our capitalistic, consumer based economy, and where people of faith struggle as an alien culture in a strange land.  

Working through the change of the church is constantly unfinished.  When we stop changing we die.  We must remain relevant to the ever-changing world in which we live.  And to do that, we must not focus upon the past or wish that we could repeat it.  Our focus must be on getting out of the church and listening to our neighbors and the strangers around us. The center of our focus must be upon God by living God's mission for this world: loving the world into restoration and reconciliation with one another and in union with God.  We must adapt our traditions so that they speak to the neighbor and the stranger.  And we must develop an attitude of mutuality with which to embrace those who choose to sojourn with us.  

May our work never be finished.