Joys in the Grief (a facebook post about my church)

Just got home from church, on what could be my last Sunday worshipping in the Alliance, depending whether its General Assembly passes Recommendations 9 or 15 this week. It could have been a grumpy morning – except when I was greeted so warmly by Casey I remembered the words of my friend Christina, who, even though this is the church that would not ordain her, taught me that joy is a mode of resistance. 

So here are just some of the joys that came to mind today, in no particular order, as I reflected on my decades in the Alliance church: I thought of Doug, a loving light of his generation, who always went out of his way to encourage me, and did so once again when I ran into him last week in Winnipeg. 

And his son Mike, who for reasons unknown made us listen to John Hagee while he drove us to college soccer tournaments in the blizzardy prairies. 

And my first "boss", Wendy, whose kindness and gentle grit showed me the way. And Glendyne and Doug, whose whole family could be mentioned here, who always had a hug for us, and who taught me that "good policy is a work of love". 

And Mel, that revered elder statesmen of our denomination, who didn't bat an eye when my college roommate Josh called him Sly, and who took time for me on a retreat when I was a young pastor existentially drowning in willow-creek propaganda. 

And what can I say about that incredible time at Bible College. From car security to the cafeteria, from Tuna Jackson and Hoos to Dan-imal and Mayert , from Jesse and Wade to the friends on Skitch and Main Ladies – who would I even be without all these and more? 

And then there's the elders of my first church in Selkirk, who took a chance on a young senior pastor, made me cap it at 45 hour weeks, and who didn't even get that mad when I took off for seminary (for what I now know was a willow recovery program). 

And the good and gracious people of that church, with whom we did winter olympics and lake baptisms and ampitheatre services, and who – by holding Jean and Lena at the sacred heart of the church – taught me disability theology before I ever heard of it. 

And the people and staff and elders of Beverly and Richmond Alliance Churches, with whom I re-learned the ministry again – the latter of which hosted the ordination of Eunice Smith, the first woman (retroactively) ordained in the Alliance. 

And the people of the so-called Orchard – who basically prayed that thing over the line. 

And then there's Dave, the most engaged of Assembly delegates, who I have respected as such for two decades, whether we found ourselves making friendly amendments against each other, or with.

And as little as I care for church music, I can't help but think of all the communion service segues to Be Thou My Vision or How Great is our God – whether led by Gene Rivard or Nathan Carroll or the Ferguson-Uskiw band. 

And there's the Heritage small group. Jen and Dwayne and their support over Rook. And Phil dedicating our kids, and Rachel sending them birthday cards every year since. 

And of course there's Grandpa Mel and Grandma Lois, who it was always special to sit with in Peace Portal church, who belted the hymns and didn't care if they were off-tune, who handed us loonies to put in the offering plate as often as they handed us loonies to go for ice cream, and whose prayerful servant hearts are the stuff that this denomination was built on. 

Or Grandpa Roy and Grandma Justine, who also gave so much to me and to this denomination and basically anybody, who could be a bit old-school but who always warmly opened their home for college friends to get a meal, and who were not ashamed to be seen with me at Rosewood church after I'd shaved MM III into my head. 

And of course there are the memories of my Mom at the piano and my Dad putting his watch on the pulpit before his sub-20-minute sermon at the evening service at Terrace Alliance. Or the night I was baptised at Sevenoaks after my younger (untaggable) brother Dave. Or the night Jeff joined Angie and I to play Sufjan's "That Was the Worst Christmas Ever" for the Christmas Eve service. And so on. 

I'm sure the list could go on. Sorry to be all sentimental. I don't know if today's name-tag was the last I'll wear at an Alliance church or not – and will pray it need not be so – but even if it is, and even if it came with some traumas, I am grateful for the joys and gifts received.