Released

On Sunday afternoon, I led my last worship service as an ordained Minister of the Word in the Christian Reformed Church in North America. The service wasn’t in a Christian Reformed church – it was in the auditorium of the long term care home where I am the pastor. Before the service, I set a vase of six roses on the table at the front of the room – funeral roses given to me by the daughter of a resident I’d buried a couple of days prior.

I passed out the songbooks to the gathering residents, greeting them by name and making sure the books were turned to the page of our first song. I played a prelude on the digital piano – an arrangement of His Eye is on the Sparrow. One of the residents sang along.

I led the service based on the conclusion of the Lord’s Prayer, including a communal reciting of Question and Answer 128 of the Heidelberg Catechism. (The service is ecumenical, and the residents are from all sorts of traditions, but they’re fine with me bringing my reformed self to the work of worship!) “We have made all these petitions of you,” Answer 128 prays, “because as our all-powerful king, you are both willing and able to give us all that is good.”

At the end of the service, I told them they were about to receive a blessing that would be special to me. I didn’t get into all the details, but I told them that I had been ordained 19 years ago as a Minister of the Word in my denomination and that I was going to be released from that ordination later in the week. I assured them that I could still be their pastor, but that I wouldn’t be serving them communion, wearing my collar, or raising my hands to bless them for a while. “Eventually I’ll be ordained in a different denomination,” I said. “But this blessing is special to me because it will be the last one I give in an important chapter of my life.”

I raised my hands and felt the familiar energy of that holy moment rush through me – not only to the ends of my fingers this time, but also to my eyes, which filled with startling tears. The words of Numbers 6 were heavy and sweet in my mouth as I caught the eyes of as many residents as I could. “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine on you and be gracious to you. The Lord turn his face toward you and give you his peace. Amen.”

Mirror neurons fired and some of the residents reflected my tears. We sang Abide With Me. I played a short postlude and then brought the roses around to each resident. Some of them cannot see or hear very well, but most could touch or smell the orange, red, yellow, and white blooms.

Two days later on a windy afternoon in Cobourg, Ontario, I was honorably released from the office of Minister of the Word in the Christian Reformed Church. Though I look forward to a future ordination in the Reformed Church of America, I do not plan to rush into it. I want to experience the un-reverending and welcome the emotions, thoughts, and callings that come in the wake of it.

I will lean into the release – the sorrow of it, but also the freedom of it.

The penultimate chapter of Marilyn McEntyre’s book, Word by Word: A Daily Spiritual Practice, is accompanying me this week. Each day in this week of my reading, she explores an aspect of the word ‘leave.’ “How apropos,” I thought as I scanned the themes of the days:

Leave…

• yesterday behind
• what fosters no love
• what has served its purpose
• when it’s time to rest

My ordination in the Christian Reformed Church has served its purpose. And now I leave it behind and join Marilyn in her daily reflection: “Part of my morning prayer,” she writes, “is that I be kept aware of and attentive to my deepest purposes, which reveal themselves in God’s good time. Yesterday’s manna is no longer fit to eat. And if I want a share of today’s good wine, I’ll need to be ready with new wineskins” (200).

Indeed.