Okay, so I know that I haven’t written much in the last ten days or so. I read somewhere that when people get writer’s block, it’s because they are lacking passion. I certainly hope that is not true. In my case, I’ve just been contemplating change a lot lately and for me, change has to be a solitary thing absent even of the written word.
I don’t cope well with change. I am a creature of habit and while I don’t necessarily resist change, I certainly approach it with a bit of apprehension. Even when I know that the change is a good thing, as the age old saying goes...I have a tendency to choose the devil that I know versus the devil that I don’t know.
This past week involved some change with one of my closest friends and in doing so, all of my fear and anxiety regarding change came flooding to the surface once again. I’ve been very blessed to have some extraordinary friends in my life and in turn, I’ve come to realize that usually the best of friendships have to endure a period of tribulation and the real test of longevity is always found on the other side. In many cases even, you never fully understand the depths of your friendship (or how much you love them) until it’s been put through the ringer and left hung out to dry. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been better able to respond through the eyes of compassion and a shared desire to endure versus my usual reaction of emotional fear (which seldom gets me anywhere but into trouble!). Nonetheless, maturity gained or not…my quickness of breath never fails to follow me every where I go in patient anticipation of the long sought after “normalcy” that was once taken for granted.
As I spent the weekend thinking about this, Steve and I attended the very last service held at the Metropolitan Bible Church (aka. the Met). Since Steve and I are considered a “mixed marriage” (two different Christian denominations marrying each other), we’ve made a very big effort to attend services that reflect both of our religions. We tend to alternate between the Met and Blessed Sacrament Church but lately, we’ve found ourselves at the Met a little bit more often than usual.
The Met was built nearly 76 years ago in the depths of the Depression when a group of a hundred Christians got together and decided that while they may be poor, they were still rich in love with Christ and needed a place to celebrate. Now, three quarters of a century later, the Church has been renovated and expanded multiple times and has five different services every Sunday (two of them held off site at Carleton University). Now, due to the ever increasing needs of this ever expanding congregation and watching the ceiling fall down more than once, a new building has been built and the Christian community is moving to its new home next weekend. A beautiful new place to worship on acres of green space with many new and much needed facilities will house a new generation of believers and begin a new legacy.
This kind of change though, doesn’t come without its own sense of apprehension. We tend to get so used to the way things are that it’s often very difficult to let go and embrace the possibility of how things could be. We become afraid, vulnerable and reluctant to let go of what we’ve known for so long, even if it does mean opening ourselves up to better and bigger opportunities. Most of the service last night was spent passing a microphone around and giving members the opportunity to reflect on their favourite memory of the Met. One gentleman began going there when he was three years old with his grandmother. He was baptized there, he was married there, he said goodbye to his wife there and now he will have to watch condominiums be built there…as will we all. But Pastor Reid tried to ease our anxious minds by reassuring us that no part of what we love will be left behind. He quoted Hebrews 13:8 stating that "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever” in order to remind us that Christ will be the same in our new sanctuary as he was in the old.
As I walked out of the doors for the last time and ran my fingers along the bricks, I thought of our old Church, my dearest friend and the changes that we are enduring together. I thought about how much I’ve loved singing in the sanctuary and how much love hearing from my friend every day. I thought about how much comfort I’ve found among its walls and how much comfort I’ve found in my friend’s words. I thought about how grateful I was for having such a place to worship and how grateful I was for sharing in my friend’s life. And for the first time, I thought about how much I would miss this building and how much I would miss my friend if I wasn’t willing to endure the change…both of these experiences have been incredible gifts from God.
Yes, it’s always hard to adjust to a different framework and the growing pains of new surroundings but, at the same time, it’s even harder to enjoy any relationship, with God or with loved ones, when the ceiling is crumbling down around you. So, instead, you endure the agony and hard work of putting back together the broken parts of your foundation and finding yourselves a new place to reside…a place with a bit more room to grow. Often times, change is just that, growth; we just grow out of our broke down churches and our new friendships, and if we’re really lucky, we move forward with courage into the more mature and better suited versions of what we’re leaving behind.
Sometimes our faith and love, for our sanctuaries, our friends, our God, is just so grand that you need a bigger roof and stronger walls to protect everything you’ve worked so hard for.
Because God knows that there is absolutely no way that I’m willing to let it sit out in the rain and get ruined.
I don’t cope well with change. I am a creature of habit and while I don’t necessarily resist change, I certainly approach it with a bit of apprehension. Even when I know that the change is a good thing, as the age old saying goes...I have a tendency to choose the devil that I know versus the devil that I don’t know.
This past week involved some change with one of my closest friends and in doing so, all of my fear and anxiety regarding change came flooding to the surface once again. I’ve been very blessed to have some extraordinary friends in my life and in turn, I’ve come to realize that usually the best of friendships have to endure a period of tribulation and the real test of longevity is always found on the other side. In many cases even, you never fully understand the depths of your friendship (or how much you love them) until it’s been put through the ringer and left hung out to dry. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been better able to respond through the eyes of compassion and a shared desire to endure versus my usual reaction of emotional fear (which seldom gets me anywhere but into trouble!). Nonetheless, maturity gained or not…my quickness of breath never fails to follow me every where I go in patient anticipation of the long sought after “normalcy” that was once taken for granted.
As I spent the weekend thinking about this, Steve and I attended the very last service held at the Metropolitan Bible Church (aka. the Met). Since Steve and I are considered a “mixed marriage” (two different Christian denominations marrying each other), we’ve made a very big effort to attend services that reflect both of our religions. We tend to alternate between the Met and Blessed Sacrament Church but lately, we’ve found ourselves at the Met a little bit more often than usual.
The Met was built nearly 76 years ago in the depths of the Depression when a group of a hundred Christians got together and decided that while they may be poor, they were still rich in love with Christ and needed a place to celebrate. Now, three quarters of a century later, the Church has been renovated and expanded multiple times and has five different services every Sunday (two of them held off site at Carleton University). Now, due to the ever increasing needs of this ever expanding congregation and watching the ceiling fall down more than once, a new building has been built and the Christian community is moving to its new home next weekend. A beautiful new place to worship on acres of green space with many new and much needed facilities will house a new generation of believers and begin a new legacy.
This kind of change though, doesn’t come without its own sense of apprehension. We tend to get so used to the way things are that it’s often very difficult to let go and embrace the possibility of how things could be. We become afraid, vulnerable and reluctant to let go of what we’ve known for so long, even if it does mean opening ourselves up to better and bigger opportunities. Most of the service last night was spent passing a microphone around and giving members the opportunity to reflect on their favourite memory of the Met. One gentleman began going there when he was three years old with his grandmother. He was baptized there, he was married there, he said goodbye to his wife there and now he will have to watch condominiums be built there…as will we all. But Pastor Reid tried to ease our anxious minds by reassuring us that no part of what we love will be left behind. He quoted Hebrews 13:8 stating that "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever” in order to remind us that Christ will be the same in our new sanctuary as he was in the old.
As I walked out of the doors for the last time and ran my fingers along the bricks, I thought of our old Church, my dearest friend and the changes that we are enduring together. I thought about how much I’ve loved singing in the sanctuary and how much love hearing from my friend every day. I thought about how much comfort I’ve found among its walls and how much comfort I’ve found in my friend’s words. I thought about how grateful I was for having such a place to worship and how grateful I was for sharing in my friend’s life. And for the first time, I thought about how much I would miss this building and how much I would miss my friend if I wasn’t willing to endure the change…both of these experiences have been incredible gifts from God.
Yes, it’s always hard to adjust to a different framework and the growing pains of new surroundings but, at the same time, it’s even harder to enjoy any relationship, with God or with loved ones, when the ceiling is crumbling down around you. So, instead, you endure the agony and hard work of putting back together the broken parts of your foundation and finding yourselves a new place to reside…a place with a bit more room to grow. Often times, change is just that, growth; we just grow out of our broke down churches and our new friendships, and if we’re really lucky, we move forward with courage into the more mature and better suited versions of what we’re leaving behind.
Sometimes our faith and love, for our sanctuaries, our friends, our God, is just so grand that you need a bigger roof and stronger walls to protect everything you’ve worked so hard for.
Because God knows that there is absolutely no way that I’m willing to let it sit out in the rain and get ruined.
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