On Tuesday, it was business as usual. I made some calls, wrote some ‘stuff’, checked facebook…you know, all the things a priest should be doing. The world was normal—or at least the normal to which we’ve all become accustomed—and nothing was out of the ordinary. I checked the weather and saw that it was going to snow so I canceled service on Wednesday. In my head I thought, “yeah, yeah…we’ve heard this before. You say it’ll snow and then tomorrow arrives looking the same as it did, today.”
Well…here’s to you weatherpeople. You got it right.
I awakened on Wednesday to a world that I haven’t seen in quite some time. A blanket of snow had been stitched on the roads, yards, and houses around me. Our back porch had a drift that was up to my knees; I know this because…yep, you guessed it…I walked into it. I turned around and opened the door, calling to Kevin. I wanted him to experience his first snow; I thought he’d be excited. I thought, “Man, he’s not going to think twice; he’ll jump in and go at it, immediately.”
I was wrong.
Kevin, fully adorned in his red snow-suit, took a few steps out onto the porch, looked at the snow, looked back at me, and then sat down staring in utter disbelief. He looked at me, again, with a question in his eyes. He seemed to ask, “Erm…dad…what is this? Where is the backyard? I am confused and I refuse to go any further without explanation.” Now, I have always considered myself a fairly patient individual. Typically, I would’ve coaxed him into the yard, bit by bit, encouraging him to go and experience the ‘newness’ out there. Not Wednesday. Not a bit. I bent down and gave him a little shove out into the snow; no warning, no coaxing, just BAM! Experience this new cold, wet, strange stuff that you’ve never seen before without any warning! Looking back, I feel a little bad (very little) because of the shock that he must’ve experienced, but hey…it was pretty cute and he is a resilient and curious animal. He skidded into the snow, and from then on out, it was on. That little fifteen pound animal plowed his way through the four or five inches of snow like he was a bulldozer hired to clear a lot. Watching him sent tears of laughter streaking down my face. It was so funny that I had a hard time breathing. He tore from one side of the yard to the other, making little Kevin canals throughout the area. For the rest of the day while he was inside, the only thing he wanted to do was go back out there and play in the snow.
Wouldn’t it be nice to take change that readily? Kevin didn’t know that the same ground existed under the new white blanket of snow; for all he knew, I had maliciously taken away his known territory and replaced it with something foreign. But, when pushed, he just accepted it and moved along. People are decidedly—for better or worse—not dogs. We do not accept change without explanation; we do not appreciate new things thrust upon us without proper preparation. And, in the event we are prepared, change is still difficult.
A change is about to happen to this church family. We started out small and we’ve lost a few members along the way to various reasons, but we are about to lose someone who has meant so much to the life and growth of this place that it is impossible to type into sentiment. This Sunday, Jeanne Oden says goodbye to Episcopal Church of the Resurrection. While she will come back and visit, she’ll no longer be in the pews every Sunday. Her infectious smile won’t be readily returned by virtue of its absence. The lack of presence of her friendship, counsel and leadership within these walls will be much like the new snow was to Kevin, at first: Terra Incognito. Jeanne has given herself to this place in so many ways that it is impossible to list them all. She’s been the Altar Guild directress, a vestry person, a communications guru, a Daughter of the King, and so many other titles. But she’s also—and more importantly—been a friend and a beloved member of this community.
As we get shoved into the snow on Sunday, for those of you who know her, remember that the same ground she helped us grow on is still there. We may be hesitant to rush out onto it, but it’s what we have to do. Every time someone departs this place, we feel that loss. But we have also been blessed with new people whom God sends to not replace but to refill our ranks so that we can continue on in the work we have been given to do. To Jeanne, I say this: You are beloved, you will be sorely missed, and you always have a home here. Godspeed on your move and enjoy your new snow; it’ll be strange at first, but knowing you, you’ll jump right in. To the rest of us, I say this: We are going to experience ‘new snow’ at quite a few points in our lives together. How we approach it is what matters. We will continue to find new ways in which to connect, love and care for the community around us. We will continue to make lasting relationships with one another and those who we have yet to meet. We will do so in the name of God; we also do so because that’s who we are, and we come from a long line of love: Sandy, Henry, John, Jim, George, Marcy, Monty, Debbie, Tom and Tawana, Bee, and now Jeanne, alongside so many others. Our lives are enriched because we shared them with the folks above and with each other. So, here’s to fond memories and new snow; let’s continue to make Resurrection canals.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+