When Saying Good-bye
Long ago you laid the foundation of the earth,
and the heavens are the work of your hands.
They will perish, but you endure;
they will all wear out like a garment.
You change them like clothing, and they pass away,
but you are the same, and your years have no end. Psalm 102: 25-27
God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult. Psalm 46:1-3
We think of communities in part as places where we celebrate life passages and accomplishments, landmarks like marriages and years of service to the community, and as support systems where we feel the deep love of our neighbors in times of sorrow. Sometimes that sorrow is the result of a member of the community leaving, either to move to a new location, or through death. As a musician, I’ve been invited by faith communities to participate in the funeral and memorial services of people who I had never met, and left profoundly moved by the feelings and reminiscences shared, touched by the deep care of the community surrounding those who feel the pain most sharply.
Communities themselves are in a constant state of evolution, and we less frequently think about the reality that sometimes a community needs to say good-bye to itself, changing radically or dissolving entirely as a result of either conflict or changing circumstances. Recently, I had the honor of participating in the decommissioning ceremony of one of our sister UCC churches, one with deep roots. The church was formed in 1876 and had been in its current building since 1892. Like so many mainline Protestant churches, and particularly those with a strong social justice orientation, South Acton Congregational Church faced dwindling membership, exacerbated by the Covid-19 pandemic, and, unable continue to maintain the venerable but well-kept building, in their words, “decided to close the church while it was still strong enough to do so with grace.” While many of its members are finding a new home in a UCC church in West Concord where they will see their legacy continued, you can imagine what it felt like in the room when the baptismal font, pulpit and communion table were each formally decommissioned, cleansed of their holy function, followed by the declaration that the building has ceased to be a church. Many of those in the room had called this their church home for decades and thought of this community as extended family. It was impossible to ignore the odor of death dripping from the ancient wooden rafters into the shed tears of those on the floor below.
And yet, in the midst of this painful moment, there was also a living sense of grace and unselfish beauty. The decision to close the church was an act of great faithfulness and courage. Rather than hold onto something when all reason shouted that it was time to let go, this community, after great deliberation and struggle, made the profoundly faithful decision to say good-bye to its building and to the community itself as it had been. I am both moved and grateful for their example.
In saying good-bye to itself, this group of extraordinary, ordinary individuals acted as a community in the deepest sense, making the strongest statement of faithful discernment they could possibly have made. I would venture that they were listening for the voice of God to tell them what to do, and they heard God speak. May they fare well as they move forward, separately and together. And may they know that they do not walk alone.
God of Change, help us to listen for your Still, Small Voice, and to have the faith and courage to hear You when you speak. May our communities be our refuge, and may we find greater refuge in You.
Willie Sordillo