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i go through a full season of melancholy every week.
it usually starts late on saturday evening and is almost always gone by about 9:45 on sunday morning. occasionally it turns into kind of a low-grade depression that might last a day or two, but it’s never acute. it’s not debilitating. nobody ever knows. but it’s there every week like clock-work.
my normal saturday night routine is to spend the last couple of hours before i go to sleep going over my sermon for sunday morning. i put what i have spent the week preparing into it’s final form and go over it a few times as the last thing i do. it works for me. i’ve done it this way for years.
as the words of words of what i have written scroll through my mind, i always think of people…those who will be hearing what i say…and those who won’t.
not those who will be gone on vacation or working overtime or grabbing some much-needed family time or recuperating from a demanding saturday. those people usually generate a smile and make me grateful i’m part of a church family that doesn’t beat people up for missing a sunday.
no. it’s the people who are gone. not the ones who have moved to another location, but the people who are still around, but never come anymore at all. their absence just makes me sad and is at the core of my regular saturday night melancholy. i wish i could just forget about them, but i don’t.
for me, there are two groups of people who are gone but not forgotten. the first are people who simply see no value in being part of a church family. maybe they’ve been hurt by people. maybe they no longer believe in god. maybe the way we teach the bible conflicts with their belief system. maybe they see the values of church life conflicting with the way they want to prioritize their week.
whatever the reason, there is no longer room in their lives. i don’t buy the “i’m just too busy” reason. we’re all busy. and we all make time for what we believe is most important. and for these folks, church life is no longer important enough to invest in. and i remember them every saturday night.
i pray. i hope they will find their way back to a desire to walk with people of faith. i reminisce about the life we used to share together. i always wonder if it was something i did…or didn’t do. (i know i think too highly of myself, but i still wander back to my messiah complex that was supposed to have been put to death years ago. ) it’s almost always the content of the sermon that triggers my memory. and then my relationship takes over. even if i see these people occasionally…or no longer see them at all…the feelings are still the same.
the second group is different. you would think after all these years of walking with people, i would figure out how to deal with this better…but the melancholy still floats around like an unwanted intruder.
one of the things i suppose i will never get used to is how, in the church, people will just walk out of your life. they get hurt or frustrated or angry or feel neglected or misunderstood or embarrassed or a myriad of other possibilities, but then they just walk away. most of the time it’s to another church family just down the street or over in another neighboring community. sometimes, as a leader, you are actually the source of their frustrations…and other times you are a supporting actor in their life drama…or maybe you’re just “collateral damage” in something you have nothing to do with.
sometimes it’s abrupt and other times it’s a slow walk…either way, they walk. sometimes you get to know why. other times you don’t.
people who used to be close friends are no longer. you may have occasion to see them…and there is no conflict, but it’s different. they are no longer part of the family where you shared life together. i suppose it’s just part of life’s cycle. maybe we are designed to grow apart after a period of time.
maybe their time was only for a season. maybe it’s for the good of the kingdom.
but things change and we are not the same as before. i’ll never get comfortable with this. i’ll always take it personal. i’m glad my marriage doesn’t work this way.
maybe it really is better for everybody.
but i don’t have to like it.
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