Transitioning Out

In just over an hour, the evening service will conclude here at Sunnyslope, and my 3-month Sabbatical will officially begin. I spent Wednesday and Thursday, wrapping up all the loose ends (there are always more than you'd guess!), answering all those last emails, and then cleaning out my office. Though not technically vacating my office, I wanted to give our two interns space to make the office their own. As well, I wanted to return in September to a clean office. It was a good way to end the week.

An empty inbox. It lasted about 9 minutes.

If I'm really honest, though, the last few days have brought with them some feelings of low-level apprehension. I lingered longer in my office on Thursday than I needed to, not quite ready to leave it behind, even though I had no real reason to stay. What is it about stepping away from work for an extended period of time that is so difficult?

For one, we as a culture tend to wrap our work together with our identity. We are what we do. Research indicates that Americans at generally have a difficult time stepping away from their work, even for a week. There may be many reasons why this is so, but it's important note that it is so! We are not just human beings, we push ourselves hard to be human doings. We build our sense of worth on the sales that we make, the degrees we've earned, the championships we've won, and the achievements we've claimed. So to pause from our labors, even for a relatively brief time, leaves us feeling unproductive, unuseful, and perhaps unworthy. On the flip side, when we are accomplishing something through our labors, we carry a weightier sense of self-worth and identity. Pastors -- myself included -- are no less prone to this temptation. I'm aware that there are times when I feel better about myself after a productive week, and less so after a less-productive week. So, part of me is tense, wondering what it will be like to be away from what I do most. Taking a Sabbatical will mean reminding myself again that my my truest sense of who I am isn't found in what I can get done in a week.

More specifically, I've realized that taking a Sabbatical demands a significant amount of trust. Trusting our interns to do well the work entrusted to them. Trusting the leadership of the church to lead well in my absence. Trusting the congregation to welcome and embrace newcomers, and to care for those in need. And ultimately, trusting that the health and vitality of the church does not rest in my hands (or anyone else's, for that matter), but in God's.

See, Pastors can sometimes fall prey to the idea that it's on us to fix, save, solve, heal, or rescue a church. We are drawn to -- even if we don't fully buy into -- the idea that with the right methods, or the right personality, or the right programs, we can build the perfect church. Perhaps we long to believe that it is our preaching skills that bring in the guests, convert souls, and change lives. Or that it is our personal touch that makes people want to stay. So, pulling back even for just a few weeks, or a couple of months, can leave the lingering fear that the church may suffer or even fail in my absence.

Our church usually has a few new visitors every week or two. Some stick, some don't. Yesterday, one of them sounded regretful that I was leaving. What do I do with that? That's where the call to trust comes in.

Sabbath, in the Old Testament, meant putting work aside every 7th year. To do that meant not to till the fields, not to sow the crops not to do reap the harvest -- essentially, not to do the hard labor that made life possible. How did a family do this? Ultimately, it was a way God was teaching His people that the true source of their life was not found in their labors -- though God certainly worked through their labors. Rather, their livelihood depended on the Providence of God. As important as the human labor was, it was God who made the seeds sprout and the grain ripen, and the harvest plentiful. So plentiful, that they could trust in Him to provide enough in the 6th year that would sustain them in the 7th as well. A Sabbath year also no doubt would have reminded the people of their identity -- they were not defined by their work. They were defined by their relationship to God. They were children of the promise, children who had to rest both in God's provision for them, and in their identity as a people of God.

By now, it's Monday. The services from yesterday are over. The well-wishes have been heart-warming. I woke up this morning --early as usual, and got started on my day. Today is a day to adjust to setting aside my labors, and a day to prepare for travel tomorrow And so,.I emptied the dishwasher, and cleaned the kitchen. The kids woke up, and we spent the morning together as a family, at a local Pancake House -- courtesy of a kind-hearted member of our church. And slowly, the concerns and the worries of the work, faded away. And we trust that when we return, all will be well.