My Last Sunday as Pastor

Not one person in our church would use the word “perfect” to describe us. We are a broken, wounded, somewhat elderly congregation looking for meaning and love.

We attempt a semi-liturgical worship style with a split chancel, acolytes, and lectionary-based sermons, but the ministers do not wear robes, and we sing old gospel hymns. We have a rotating list of scripture readers who may or may not be present on their day to read. Our choir has fifteen members – we think it’s full if eight show up. Our microphones sometimes screech. Our oldest members cannot sit before the stained-glass window due to the sharp sunlight, and the AC kicks in around the offertory prayer with gusto. 

But we are not dying nor struggling. We are a vibrant community of grace that holds fast to the divine-human encounter.

Our mission statement is Grace Grows Here. Our administrative structure is built around this statement with three teams serving each other, the community, and the facilities (Grace Team, Grows Team, Here Team). We welcome strangers weekly, check-in with each other almost daily, give money to support mission agencies monthly, and value the hope that emerges when we worship together. 

It is within this setting that I have learned what genuine, Christ-like relationships look like.  It is here that I have witnessed the in-breaking of God’s spirit. It is in the cracks of our imperfection that love continues to light our way.

In January, we developed an ad hoc committee to flesh out an identity statement to help better articulate who we are to the wider community. Our first draft was built around two statements: (1) They will know us by our love, and (2) They will know us by our spirit.

These two statements summarize what I will remember most. We genuinely sought after and offered love and spiritual renewal to all who were looking for it. We faithfully worshiped and sacrificed. We graciously held each other close during sickness and death.  We took seriously the command to love God, others, and ourselves as well as seek after the Holy Spirit in reverence, relationships, and rituals. This rhythm defined us, and it will continue to in the days ahead.

This Sunday is my last Sunday as pastor of National Heights Baptist Church, but the love and spirit found there will not leave with me.

National Heights was never the Barrett Owen show. It is fueled by faithful and goodwill Baptists who care deeply about meaning and mystery. Whomever gets the privilege of pastoring this church next, you will be blessed.

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