The Broken Road

So, my church closed. Bill and I have attended Hope Reformed virtually all of our married lives. We were drawn there by the people, by the choir, by the commitment to social witness. We both served in a variety of capacities over the years, and our three older kids were baptized there.

It has been a great church for a million reasons. There were also struggles, some of which it eventually became impossible to overcome. Even as we watched the decline, even understanding that closing might be “the best” direction, the closing seemed to come suddenly, abruptly, with a kind of rip-the-bandaid-off feel. And then we were done.

Every loss, every grief is different, but each also brings up past loss and grief. In this closing I remember the closing of the denominational magazine I had served for many years, which also came about with swiftly and unexpectedly. In the loss of this church I also remember the loss of loved ones, particularly the loss of my stepmother and my mother, great ladies I still miss every day.

The church building will see new life as a church start. The new occupants will have a use for the furniture, the toys in the nursery, and the pans in the kitchen, but will have less use for the plates emblazoned with Hope’s monogram, the art donated by members long gone, or 50 white table clothes. So a few weeks after the final service, members were invited to stop by the church and carry home the flotsam and jetsam of 75 years of ministry.

Of course I went; I am a scavenger by nature. It also seemed important to honor these relics by keeping them in the family. The story of the church and its works still lives in these things: vessels used for God’s service, just like the people who worshiped and served there.  

The best part about the morning was reminiscing with the people there: remember this event, that person? There were pictures from youth groups in the past, the church’s original blueprints, some fabulous fancy coffee pots, and a couple of fake Christmas trees. We laughed and shared and clung to these last moments together. I love these people, and I will miss them. We will keep in touch some, I am sure, but we will ultimately go our separate ways. And that is grief.

Later that same afternoon, my niece was married. Well, technically she’s my step-niece, the daughter of my stepbrother, but when my father and stepmother married, they made a concerted effort to blend the families. When Dad and Mickie married, all of their kids were adults, so we never lived together under one roof, but in the early days of their marriage those of us who were local got together about once a month. And as we married and had kids, we managed to merge into one family. The kids, especially, saw no boundaries; they loved getting together, and still do. As close as some of them were, they always made room when cousin Elizabeth was in town from Florida, or when suddenly two cousins were brought in from Ethiopia. They had learned from Dad and Mickie that family is fluid and beautiful, and that a bigger circle brings greater joy and more love, not less.

Almost all of those cousins were present for Olivia’s wedding, along with their significant others. We got them all together for a picture, and I was struck by the beauty of it. When my mother died, I couldn’t have imagined that my understanding of family could be as large as it is now. When Mickie died, I couldn’t have imagined that, more than ten years later, we would still be as close and connected as we are.

Without the brokenness that comes with grief, we would not have this present joy, these relationships, this family. The brokenness of the past opened the door to new life and great love. I would have never chosen this path—my mother’s death—to get to where I am now. I still miss her, and still see the injustice in her painful death at a relatively young age. But I see the gifts that her death provided me: a deeper appreciation of life, and deep and loving relationships with people I might otherwise never have even met.  

My church family is about to be deployed to other churches, and I have no doubt that they will put their considerable gifts to service in these other congregations. They will carry on, and they will meet and love and cherish new people and new programs. As for me and my house: after working for a denomination for several decades—a tenure that did not end well for me—my people and I have had a bellyful of organized religion and probably won’t be church shopping anytime soon. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s never say never. I believe that there are good days ahead, and that sometime in the future, today’s brokenness will open wide to become the jagged path to great joy and great love. As always, I live in Hope. 

Closing Time

By Kelsey VanEyl-Godin

Today, my church is closing. I haven’t been a dedicated member in years, so this should be easy. Despite not being an enthusiastic church-goer, this is still tough. Church was a place of memories. It was socialization. So many of my friends growing up were from church. We bonded over camping trips and Sunday School, over pizza Sundays and Degage. Though I was not a consistent member, I know my church would have done anything for me. I know the people there love and support me no matter what.

Church-going has been difficult for years. Starting in high school, when I got my first job, Sunday mornings felt like my only time to relax. God and church were not a priority. Once I went to school, I avoided church altogether. Despite going to a Christian college, I never once attended chapel or “The Gathering” (Sunday evening service). I can count the number of times I’ve been in the Chapel on one hand (Not including my half-semester class that took place in the basement). I did try to attend a church for a while my senior year, but even that fell to the wayside during my 20-credit semesters.

One of the reasons church going has been tough is because I struggle to believe in God. Though I have never felt particularly close to God, I appreciate what they represent to people. No matter your religion, God is a person you can turn to when you are faced with a crisis, and God will do their best to help you. Whether you enjoy praying, attending church, reading the bible, going to “Jesus camp,” or any combination of those, God is important to many people.

I have also struggled with feeling accepted in the Christian community. I am a VERY liberal person, and sometimes I feel like there is no room for me in this pew; there isn’t enough bread and wine for me during communion. While I know that not all Christians are super conservative, I have this nagging feeling that I don’t belong.

Church and God are not exclusive; you can believe in God and not go to church. You can go to church and not believe in God. There is no right or wrong way to do religion. When I think of church, I think of the times spent during youth group, eating pizza and playing “Dr. Dew pong.” I think of trying to convince our Sunday School teachers to take us out to eat instead of having class. I think of the camping trips our cluster took, and how fun it was to all hang out and play games and take walks and talk to each other about everything. I think of baptisms and communions, of old hymns and new ones, of all the people who have come and gone over the years. I love my church, and the little community it provided for me over the years, so separate from the rest of my life. Saying good-bye is never easy. I will miss this building, and all the people inside. Thank you. You may be closing, but you will always be my church.

Forward

If you voted for Trump, I’d like a few words with you. These are not intended to be angry words, but are words of advice from my own experience. It’s probably not a surprise to you that I was an Obama supporter. My support and trust of him led me to neglect my duty as a citizen. I wasn’t always paying attention to what was going on in DC (or even in my own state), and in retrospect, there were times when I wish I had challenged him, provoked him, or encouraged him on various issues.

So I would like to encourage you to pay attention to what is going on in the Trump administration and the Republican dominated Congress. Really pay attention to what is being said, what is being done, and how things are being done. Many who did not vote for 45—and even some who did—are voicing concerns over many things, including:

• ·         Some of Trump’s picks for cabinet posts and advisors. Many of them have a long and very public history of support violations of civil rights or who have spoken publicly against the agencies they are now in charge of (I’m looking at you, Betsy DeVos). If these people and their policies offend you or make you nervous, speak up. It’s your right and your responsibility to keep an eye on them; they work for us.
• ·         Repeal of the Affordable Care Act. Repeal will actually hurt people, and that probably includes people you care about. Outright repeal, even partial repeal, will be a disaster for many, and will not likely save money for your average working person or small business.  Get the facts and speak out.
• ·         The disrespect for care of the earth. Science is real. National parks should be preserved for the next generations. Wildlife is important. All of these things are under attack by the current administration, so if these things matter to you, speak up. Call your senators and representative; contact the White House. Make your voice heard; that’s how democracy works.
• ·         The constitution—the document upon which our government is built—is not being respected or upheld. The uptick in hate crimes against Jewish and Muslim people, threats against the press, and some pending legislation that would limit everyone’s right to assemble are threats to all of us. Freedoms are shared and protected, and if they are curtailed for some of us, they are for all of us. The courts exist to protect us and to uphold the law, and if our leaders do not head them, our democracy is in peril. This is not hyperbole.

No matter who you voted for, stay educated on the issues important to you. Discern the difference between opinion and fact, and learn to research the latter—or at least read the whole article, not just the headline. Fact checking is pretty easy with Google; be sure to consult a couple of sources and/or experts. Test out different news outlets. All have some bias, of course, but there are several that consistently do good journalism.

Please don’t repost things that are not fact-checked, and please treat everyone—even those with whom you disagree—as children of God. This means no name calling and no calls for violence against them.

No matter who you voted for, don’t feel that you have to support everything that elected officials are doing. This is how democracy works.

We as a people are evolving. This is painful work for everyone, because it means we must let go of some things, and change is hard. But there can be better days ahead for all humanity if we work together at this evolution. I really don’t want anyone left out of this movement; I want us all to feel appreciated, heard, respected and, yes, loved. So pay attention to the way the world is now and the ways that it is changing, for good and for ill. Then set your sights on who we can be in the future and work toward that. We won’t all agree on the way forward, but it would be wonderful to build on common ground. Slashing and burning programs doesn’t give me much hope, but the idea of building something new together: that’s the stuff that dreams are made of.