Dancing Through the Minefield
by Peggy Haymes, Pinnacle Associate
Sometimes you see the minefields coming.
We certainly weren’t the only church facing this problem. Our once active senior adult women’s Sunday School classes were shrinking as members either died or became too frail to attend. Less than a handful attended the two classes on any given Sunday, and when one teacher decided to retire, we had to make the decision. There was no reason to look for a second teacher. It was time to combine classes… which meant it was time to say good-bye to the Fidelis class where for generations older women discovered what new things scripture might say to them, supported each other and loved the world in Jesus’ name.
Like I said, I saw the minefields coming. How do you call an end to something that meant so much for so long?’
If we were going to say goodbye to the class, I decided, we’d give it a proper wake. Well, actually not so much what some people would consider a proper wake but one that worked for these women.
On the appointed evening I drove the church van to the homes of the women still able to clamber inside, and brought them to my home. I’d set my table with my best linen, my fine china and silver. I don't remember now what I cooked, but I put a fine meal on the table, all of it home cooked.
As we ate, I asked them, “Tell me the stories of your class.” And so they did… stories of long serving, gifted teachers long gone before I came on the scene. I heard the stories of the impact of those lives. I heard the stories of mission projects the class undertook, and the many ways in which they’d served.
Finally, as we finished our dessert (also homemade) and our coffee, I offered a word of blessing for the Fidelis Class, thanking God for their long and appropriately faithful service.
It was a lovely evening, and as I drove them home they laughed with the grace of full hearts.
I served that church for three or four more years. I never heard a single word of complaint about the ending of the class. (There were, of course, other minefields that I didn't handle so well.)
It’s no secret why I heard no complaint. They felt seen and heard and valued. They had a proper goodbye.
Loss is a part of the rhythm of congregational life. Death and funeral announcements are shared, and often a grieving family is fed. There’s another kind of loss that’s a part of any church, and that’s the loss of activities and ministries that were once vital to the congregation.
Even if the church may be healthy and growing, the time for some work comes to an end.
It comes as the neighborhood changes. It comes as the routines of our culture change. I served a church across the street from a large state university. College ministry was a part of the DNA of that church. When I came on staff they told me of a back balcony once filled with college students every Sunday. They told me of the ways in which the church reached out to and ministered to students, and they wanted me to bring that back. All of it.
There was just one problem. In those good old days most students didn’t have cars, so their choices were limited to the churches that formed a ring around the college campus. Now most students had cars, and they didn’t hang around campus for the weekends.
That back balcony filled with college students on Sunday morning wasn’t coming back.
When you’re faced with letting go of a ministry or program that’s been an important part of your church’s identity, consider how your church might grieve that ending.
For those for whom it was important, how might they feel seen, heard and valued?
Grief has a thousand different faces. Through offering a Navigating GriefLand group, you give people with any kind of loss a way to feel seen, heard and valued. You can find out more HERE.