June 27, 1999
Letter to the Ephesians 3:14-21

As we prepared for this Sunday's worship, Dan and I thought it would be interesting to share the pulpit and the preaching moment together, something we have not done before. We knew our hearts would be full of things we want to say to you on this last Sunday of Dan's ministry among us. We decided to write you "letters from home."

Letters are a strong part of our tradition. We have just read one of Paul's letters to the people at Ephesus. Interestingly enough, Ephesians is called the Queen of the Epistles, for these letters call for unity in a time of great change. In Ephesians, Paul describes vividly his vision of divine and human reconciliation between and among people with God.

Letters are a great way to communicate. We may find ourselves saying something in a letter we would never dare to say out loud. Sometimes, by putting a pen in hand and writing something down on a piece of paper, things come to us with more force of truth than if they simply spill from our mouths without thought. Letters can be written as poetic thought, as story-telling prose, as intimate prayer, as passionate wish-filled thought. Many of us celebrate the advent of email and the now familiar "You've Got Mail" because we have been able to reclaim letter writing friendships in a way that we had almost lost.

Knowing that this would be an important and powerful moment in both our ministries, Dan and I have written you letters from home this morning.

I begin with the salutation of the Apostle:

Grace be with you and peace, from the God who loves us and from Jesus Christ.

Friends, it has been a year of change and challenge in our congregation. We have had several changes in our staff. Laurie Manning has come to us as our new Director of Education; Phil Porter has achieved a new call to a commissioned ministry of liturgical arts. We have received the resignations of Dan Chambers and, recently, Scott Lorenz, our business manager, as they both have received new calls to new ministries. These changes have been wonderful and awful, all at once. We rejoice in new life and new challenges, but we also find it difficult to let go of those we have come to love and cherish.

This morning, there are two flowers on the communion table, signifying the wonders of life and the reality of death once again. We have welcomed three tiny new members into our family of faith this morning as well. And we are preparing to say good-bye to Dan, Janet and Colleen. I cannot help but feel that this is a metaphor for the rigors of human existence. We are constantly being asked to embrace new life, even as we also must let go. Sometimes the letting go is a physical death of a member of the community, sometimes it is saying good-bye as we do with Dan today and sometimes it is allowing old myths, dreams or beliefs about ourselves to die so that new visions and new birth can take place in us once again.

My favorite poem is by May Sarton, who reminds me that we are always wound and bound together and enflowing. What has been plaited can never be unplaited–only the strands grow richer with each loss and memory makes kings and queens of us.

It is a difficult and brave enterprise–to dare to live in community and with hope for a power and a grace deeper and stronger than anyone of us would have alone. For those who would live in the realm of the spirit, there will always be grief and celebration, celebration and grief–for this is the stuff of those who would live, not unto themselves, but with the agony of the vulnerability of loving and the ecstasy as well.

Dear Friends,

No doubt many of you have wondered at one time or another, "What is it really like to work with Patricia de Jong?" Now, as I am perched to fly, I will be more than happy to tell you everything. The untold story. The inside scoop. To work with Pat is like jogging with a marathoner. As she chats easily and you wheeze and gasp, it helps if you consider the marathoner's pace fun, and can laugh on the run.

To work with Pat, you have to know something about the following:

• Are you an ENFP or an ISTJ and what's the difference?
• Are you a 2 or a 9 — Pat, Larry and Phil are all 3's; supposedly I have a strong 3 wing.
• You have to be prepared that, if you mention a favorite writer, politician, minister, poet or trapeze artist, Pat has probably vacationed with them, went to college with them or has known them since childhood.
• It helps to love poetry and music and art and theater — extra points if you can quote a line from Mary Oliver or appreciate Van Gough's use of light.
• To work with Pat, you become less surprised when she crosses her eyes at you in a meeting one second and in the next heartbeat speaks eloquently. You come to know that she is both strong in leadership and vulnerable in her position, that she magically connects a room full of strangers with the web of her words, that she has a tender heart and a clear head, that if you walk into her office feeling heavy, she may well greet you with "HI TOOTS!" You come to know that 9 times out of 10 she will order Thai Chicken Noodle Soup. You know, as certain as gravity, that if you have fries on your plate you can expect to tithe them. If you work with Pat, you will see that after 18 years of ordained ministry, one can still have a passion and exuberance for the work of the church.

It was my first new members evening gathering at FCCB. Pat and I had finished a long week and both of us were tired. Her face seemed drained of her usual energy and spunk. Yet, when it came time to gather everyone together, her face was transformed, suddenly filled with smiles and light. She spoke eloquently and made each person feel heard and welcomed. Afterwards I commented how impressed I was, especially given her fatigue. I'll never forget her reply; "Dan, there are no throw away moments."

I have held that teaching with me these 3+ years and will take it with me to Canada. "There are no throw away moments." Everything counts. Everything matters.

G.K. Chesterson wrote, "The way to love something is to realize it may get lost." Knowing, though not readily admitting, that my time with you, the people of FCCB, would not last forever, I have held you close with appreciation. I have said this before and I will say it again: you are an inspired and inspiring congregation. With you I am both humbled and inspired by the truth that ministry is not the special privilege of the ordained, but is the work of anyone with the interest, the energy and the heart. If being evangelical means sharing the good news with conviction, it is easy for me to be evangelical about FCCB. The talent in this congregation is amazing, the intellect eager, the heart generous and the soul deep. I leave FCCB knowing I must not compare other congregations to this one — that would not be fair. However, I hope to find or cultivate my next congregation with similar human and spiritual attributes.

If, when in Canada, I am asked to describe you, I will have to be careful not to brag. I could include so much. The beautiful building that houses our work and our worship; the history of the church that helped build seminaries and universities and a city. Or I could talk about people or events: a music director that lifts choirs and congregations and has Einstein in his fingers; a director of liturgical arts that transforms space and brings bodies and brilliance and laughter into worship; a congregation filled with hidden talents — musicians, artists, teachers, cyclists, poets, photographers, basketball players, administrators, cooks and caregivers.

If they had the time, I would want to show them verbal photographs of hands lifting a wall in East Tijuana; of the proud faces of youth eagerly describing work camp; of tears — tears of baptisms, of weddings, of memorial services, of pain shared, of side-splitting laughter; tears that bring us closer to each other and closer to a sense of that Immensity we call God; of the final blessing in the final Journey Home retreat; of Colleen's baptism, of Janet around the communion table; of minds engaged with a fantastic speaker; of bodies dancing at a wedding or a Decker's event or somebody's 50^th birthday; of the silence of a candle at a Taizé service and the chorus of candles at the Christmas Eve service. At risk of imprudence, I would want to show them the entire album — of Durant House and meditation groups and pastoral care teams and the rampaging entrance of children during the children's time. You have given me more than memories and wonderful experiences, you have planted your love and delight and generosity and wisdom in my heart. You have wholeheartedly embraced Janet and welcomed Colleen into the world. You have given us yourselves. That is the best kind of community.

I close this epistle not with my own words, nor with a saint's or poet's insight, but with your own wisdom, a wisdom that abounds in your conversations and in your lives. I'll pick on the Thursday Bible Study, a cozy group who a few weeks ago considered the meaning of the Road to Emmaus story in Luke's Gospel, where Jesus appears after the crucifixion, is unrecognized by a few of his disciples, walks with them, talks with them, breaks bread with them, is finally known, and disappears. At the end of our session, I asked them for a one word summary of the story's meaning. After brief consideration, this was their response:

"Appearance is not important."

Another person said,  "Jesus is still with us."

Another,  "Through sharing with others, we find God."

And another added,  ("And Jesus is not always immediately recognizable.")

Finally,  "You see more with your heart than with your eyes."

I will take you with me, knowing that Christ is still with us all, that Christ is discovered in others despite their appearance; and I will pray to have the eyes and the heart to discern that Spirit in our lives. May Janet, Colleen and I share with others as freely as you have shared with us.

For who you have been and who you are, for your energetic and patient support, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Letter to God. That in the midst of changes, we may always realize that we are "becoming," we are not static creatures, but dynamic, changing, growing — for we are created in God's image and likeness. God doesn't sit around satisfied but inactive in creation. The power of love of God is constantly moving out, moving toward creative wholeness and deep joy, even in the midst of suffering, despair and sorrow.

We do not lose hope; we are always carrying the death of Jesus in our body, so that the new life of Christ may also be made manifest in our mortal bodies.

Bless us, we pray, in our becoming, as individuals, but also as the human community of the body of Christ on earth. May we have the strength and wisdom to fully grasp the meaning of the height and depth and strength of Christ's love, so that we may grow and become fully in the image of God, who made us.

Bless Dan, Janet and Colleen. May they be blessed by the power of love through new community, even as they have blessed and been blessed in this very room.

Dear God, Mother and Father of us all, Holy Mystery and Sacred Delight, I want to ask you to protect these beautiful people. I want you to shower them with blessings that no harm may come to them, ever -- that they know only health and happiness, laughter and wealth every minute of every day of their lives.

But I know this cannot be and is not so. Therefore, I ask for your presence, only that. Only that each beating heart here today knows the abundance of your love, the fullness of your forgiveness, the clarity of your peace in all circumstances and struggles of life.

I only pray that the future not be met with fear and distrust; that the uncertainties of tomorrow are not met as a sudden stranger at the doorstep, but as a long awaited friend. Though the future will no doubt look different from that imagined or conceived, I pray we all open ourselves to that welcomed intruder.

And when the dark hours do come, when the swells of uncertainty carry us off course, when the grip of anxiety tightens, help us remember to lie back, breathe deeply, and trust that the sea will hold us. In these times, especially, bring us to our home in you.

Hold these, your people, God. Hold them close. Embrace them, that they may know beyond knowing, in their bones and in their breath, who they are — child of God, spark of the divine, follower of the Way, light of the world, beloved.

Amen.