Sunday morning. I walked into my office as I have for sixteen years. Usually, the early quiet is deafening. Which I like. It invites the heartfelt focus I need on the cusp of leading a service of worship.
Last Sunday, however, the quiet did not exist. Not because noises were blaring, a faulty alarm was beeping, or musicians were rehearsing ahead of the service.
Audibly, the normal silence was wholly there.
Visually, however, it was next-level loud.
Strewn across every square inch of my office floor were balloons. Red, blue, green, yellow, orange, and pink. There were also balloons in my office chair, the trash can basket, and the recesses of my book shelves.
(Nobody can be uncheered with a balloon. - A. A. Milne)
If a flat surface existed for a balloon to hang out, a balloon was there.
It was incredible to take in, and I knew this had required a whole lot of deep breathing from someone(s). Over and over.1
I made my way into the room the only way I could - I stepped straight into the balloons and immediately popped a couple. At which point I noticed that some of the balloons had notes on them.
I quickly stopped to avoid further pops, and I began taking in the words around my feet.
Notes of kindness.
Notes of love.
Notes of sadness-and-support all in one.
Notes that took some deep exhales, I know.
Two weeks before this moment, I had announced to the church that God is calling me out of congregational ministry altogether and into a new season of life where I’ll be focusing more fully on speaking and writing in ways that connect beyond the church. It’s also a season where I intend to spend more intentional time with our two young boys.
Given the genuine goodness, vitality, and love of this congregation - plus the fact that I’ve spent my entire career in ministry - it was an incredibly difficult announcement to make and a very difficult one for the congregation to hear.
Much more can and will be said about all of this. But - for now - what stands out in this moment is the fact that while no two reactions have been precisely the same, collectively the congregation has shown a stunning, humbling level of grace.
Grace with sadness.
Grace with confusion.
Grace with anger.
Grace with encouragement.
Grace with kindness.
Grace with support.
And yes, grace with balloons.
From first to last, it’s been deeply moving.
And it has left me (nearly) without words - and so I find myself leaning on a few from Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead:
I’m writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you’ve done in your life, and everyone does wonder sooner or later, you have been God’s grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle.
I write today to let a congregation know they have been the gift of God’s grace to me.
A gift from the first day I arrived, which coincided with the day my mom died. Quickly and without hesitation they became a pastor to the pastor.
A gift amid the pandemic when more than a few continually checked in on our family (there’s that pastor to the pastor thing again), wrote notes of encouragement, and surprised us with a myriad of unique kindnesses.
A room-full-of-balloons gift amid the unexpected news of my departure.
—
(Like balloons, we are nothing till filled - Herman Melville)
Who have been the balloon people in your life?
The over-the-top, colorful, all-out cheerleaders whose love was not deserved but still it poured forth?
The ones that have been something of a miracle - whether for a single moment in time, a short season of life, or over the course of an entire lifetime?
Perhaps you could write them? Text them? Call them? Try an ol’ fashion face-to-face word of thanks?
I do think Marilynne Robinson has it right - sooner or later everyone does wonder what they’ve done in life (and if/how any of it was truly good, helpful or meaningful).
Also…
What would it look like to deliver some balloons in the coming days?
Anyone notably deserving?
How about someone notably undeserving (that is the whole idea of grace, after all)?
And sure, it may take some extra effort. It may even leave you a bit breathless.
But it may very well do the same for them.
Grace often does.
Shout out to the FPC Georgetown Youth who came up with the idea, got together, and made it happen. That was next-level!
What a very blessed story of how God works around you and through you. I love the notes that were left with each balloon, very heart felt❤️❤️. God is working through you and your transition to bring out the love and strength in all of us. You will be missed at the church, but we know you will reach so many others with your calling. God bless, Sharon
Very cool. I may have told you before, but maybe not. My husband had a mid-career hiatus of nearly a year, and although it came with some anxiety, it was the BEST year for our family. It also provided the reflection time needed to figure out next steps. I hope this for you and your family. Thank you for being such a grace-full part of our church family during this unique time.