At end of day today, I will no longer be employed by Eastern Nazarene College. I am very sad (in case anyone wondered what an understated proclamation of grief looks like). This is not the worst thing that has ever happened in my life. In fact, it is not even the worst thing that has ever happened in my life during this week in history. To be honest, the timing has been cruel, start to finish. If you are familiar with my story at all, you likely know that my oldest son, Seth, died just three days after I started working at ENC. The impact of this unspeakable loss separates my life into before and after eras, with the entire after era being my time at ENC. The me who existed before Seth’s death no longer exists, but there has been something very healing about being on campus these past three years, because Seth was a student there the year before. He is everywhere I look. I miss him with every ounce of my being, every single day, but when I walk the sidewalks at ENC, when I sit in the parking lots or in the third row at Wollaston Church of the Nazarene (where I have a picture of him sitting during chapel), when I pass by the vending machine I know he frequented far too often or the door to his dorm, when faculty and staff who cared about him enough to have conversations with him share them with me; he has been a little bit closer. Losing that physical proximity to him today feels unbearable. I spent that first year in the shock that only grief can deliver. I don’t remember much, but I do remember the grace and space that was afforded me to still be part of the community, even if I had so much less of myself to offer than they originally thought they were getting at ENC.
In year two, I stepped it up a little bit, and things really began to take off in the re-launching of the Fusion short-term service and mission program (after Covid shut down these kinds of trips for years) as well as increased responsibilities for worship and chapel planning. Although it remained personally difficult for me to find joy, I began to come alive a little bit, and I can point to two distinct reasons for this. The first is that my middle child, Caleb, enrolled at ENC, and I saw through him how this campus community was shaping and forming the lives of students. Caleb, who began his ENC career as a sophomore with an undeclared major became passionate about advocating for others and did declare a Crime, Law, and Justice major with the intent of going to law school after graduation. He also made good friends… and even a “best enemy” (IYKYK), and the ways in which I have seen him grow as a human being and a lover of Jesus and justice are worth every hour we have spent in the car together unpacking everything good and everything bad about all the days. If you’ve been following along this summer, you probably know that Caleb had to transfer to Gordon College in order to complete his degree on time, because no path to degree completion was offered to him at ENC. He had to swap his major and minor, and I think he’s picked up a second minor as well, because he has so few classes to complete. Caleb is rarely angry, but this closure made him angry, and this is fully justifiable. He’ll be OK. As he is settling into his new space and new life at Gordon, we’ve shared some conversations about how this year will be what he makes it, and he will make it good. I know this, because at the “meet the faculty” event for parents, his advisor noted that he had already had many interactions with Caleb that I didn’t even know about, and it was so obvious that his advisor was impressed. I know this, because at orientation, Caleb’s friends were like, “L… we’ve all got each other… it’s good.” I know this, because Caleb sent me a super cute first day of school pic in his cowboy boots. He’ll be fine. But good heavens, I am mourning the loss of sharing this part of his life with him as I have the past two years, and I really need next weekend to get here as quickly as possible, because I just miss him.
The second thing that helped me to come back to life were the robust relationships that were forged in the OSD. I can’t tell you what the precise moment was, but I know I made a turn at some point during which it occurred to me that this was more than just a job and that I genuinely liked the people I was working with as actual friends. It was not always easy. Heck, let’s be real, it was not ever easy! But it was worth it. Engaging in transformative spiritual development isn’t flashy. There are no benchmarks for success labeled, “eating another calzone around the table,” or, “practicing de-escalation skills when someone gets stuck on a literal mountain,” or, “throwing more glass and screaming in a smash room,” or, “loving on that chapel teams baby,” or, “making sure every student and every faculty member gets through customs,” or, intentionally “not sharing a testimony,” because you realize a few sentences in that you’re being trusted with someone’s life and it isn’t supposed to be marketable. Those moments, and innumerable more, reminded me that our hearts beat in real time, live and in person, and spiritual formation that lasts is largely about being present (and being Jesus) to one another.
Of course, this last year was something different altogether with the addition of the Matthew 25 Initiative. For me, there were admittedly a lot of special “full circle” moments, but it went far beyond those individual splashes of joy, because the work that has been done is so much bigger than one person or one campus or one denomination or one Commonwealth or one people group. I think it can be easy to despair over the great and numerous losses we are currently experiencing (I know this is the case for me), but it is also important to remember that the work we have done has been good work which has made a lasting impact on the real lives of real people. I have never been a fan of viewing people as numbers. I know this has often been to my own detriment (See: someone actually asked, “What does she do?” and it wasn’t the first time, but I suppose they’ll figure that out tomorrow). I could put together glossy reports and spreadsheets, but the truth is, I just don’t want to. For me, the heart and soul of this initiative was caring for the needs of people. It took me far too long to recognize that this was not the intent of everyone involved (although it was certainly the intent of many people who were involved).
Although I am a realist who leans toward skepticism and cynicism in many areas of life, it seems I am still a hopeless optimist when it comes to the potential to love inherent in the people created Imago Dei. I am forever hopeful that even those who have chosen to hurt others (and to hurt me) will eventually enter into a redemptive arc in their stories, being fully transformed and redeemed in the ways that only Jesus can work and move. I have spent a lot of time this past year saying, “It didn’t have to be this way!” And as I look at how things are coming together (and falling apart) even today, I am still confident that it does not have to be this way. Grief will be ever-present in life, and we should embrace lament as it is intended, because it is surely part of being whole people. Yet… life is far too short to dwell perpetually in sorrow alone. Even now (although some paths are permanently closed) better, more loving, more redemptive, more confessional choices can be made. In whatever time I have left here on earth, that’s what I choose.
Philippians 1:3-11
I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart and, whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God’s grace with me. God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of God.