Ever since I started blogging some (muttering) years ago, I have struggled with how much of my life to share. That’s been especially true of late. I feel like there is more than enough “Chris is sad/angry/confused” material out there and I would have been insufferable the last 4 months (maybe I already was). Yet I feel the need to seek some closure concerning my time at Woodmont. So this is (probably, most likely) the last time I am going to write publicly about this season.
This is not the saga. This is simply me trying to close the chapter so that I can continue to heal and get back to writing about what I am learning about faith or who would win if all the lead characters from this summer’s blockbusters got into a fight (spoiler alert: if weapons are allowed then it is definitely Robert Oppenheimer).
First of all, I want to thank every person who reached out, checked in on us, grabbed a meal, sent a text, and everything else. It would be melodramatic to say that you have saved my life, but you were definitely a barricade that kept me from getting too close to the ledge. Thinking about that analogy, I guess you did save my life in a less dramatic way. Those gestures of kindness kept me moving when I felt desperately alone and like I was going crazy.
With that in mind: If you know someone who is going through a hard time, please check in on them. Just the acknowledgement of their pain can mean more than you realize. You may think you don’t know what to say, but honestly all I really wanted most of the time was just a friend to sit with me in my hurt or anger. I have talked with people who have had similar experiences to mine and the loneliness of losing a church community is profound. On the hardest days, there was a roar of silence telling me that no one cared. Those who broke that silence with an encouraging word or listening ear mean the world to me. This loving support is all the more true of EA, our boys, my parents, siblings, and family.
To the Woodmont Youth and their families, there is no way that I can write out all that you have meant to me or my family. I think a lot about what could have happened differently. It is not helpful. At all. There are some people who say that they live with no regrets. That is certifiably insane. We are flawed people. We are going to screw up and there are going to be regrets. Yet it is also not helpful to swing to the other end of the spectrum and put every “What if?” under the microscope. That is no way to live life and is probably a good way to grind yourself to a halt.
But I do have 2 regrets that I want to share.
1. I regret not telling you (students, adult leaders, parents) more how much I love you.
If grief—to be a nerd and borrow from WandaVision—is love persevering then I know that I loved the WY community something fierce. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t wish that I was still in community with all of you. I know that sounds contradictory because I was the one who resigned. I don’t know if it is possible to understand how someone feels like they must walk away from something they love unless one is in that situation. Honestly, I hope you never understand because it is a craphole dumpster fire of a situation to be in.
There is a page in my journal on which I wrote down the names of the students and adults in Woodmont Youth. I turn to this page often and pray for you all. Y’all are not far from my heart. I love you and I am grateful for the six-plus years that I got to spend with you. Like Paul writes to the Philippians, I thank God for every remembrance of you (even when it makes me sad). If there is anything to take from this regret, it is this: Tell your people that you love them as much as you can while you can.
2. I regret not having communion with you on our final night at church.
I did not know that the last time I had communion at Woodmont would be my last time. That lack of closure has been a tough wound to heal. I love that the Disciples of Christ take communion weekly. I love what the bread and the cup represent. I love what that meal says about our faith. Everyone coming to the table is my favorite aspect of worship by far. Even when I announced I was stepping down, I thought that I was going to be there longer than I was. I thought there would be more times to share in that meal.
In the blur of that last night, I wish I had the presence of mind to pause the goodbyes and the heartfelt words that you shared with Jenny, EA and I. I wish I had run down the hall and grabbed the bread and the cup and shared that meal where all are invited to the table one more time. I wish I had one more opportunity to eat and drink in remembrance of the one who loves us, forgives us, and points to healing and restoration even in the most difficult times. I wish I had known when I was sharing in my last communion at Woodmont and I wish it had been with those that made up our closest community.
With regrets out of the way, this is my prayer for those at Woodmont. I pray that you will be the church in a real and profound way. Wherever you are, you get the chance to build something that can be beautiful, awesome, and healing in the world. People need that; they yearn for it. My faith in a lot of things has been badly shaken over these past four months, but most days I still believe that a community truly rooted in the life and teachings of Jesus can make this world a far better place.
But you have to get in the game. You cannot hope for the time or circumstances to be right. One of the things that I have always loved about working with students is that they are not satisfied with the status quo and there is so much that we can learn from that. We believe in a God who is always creating, always renewing. And one of the miracles of life is that we are invited to be a part of that divine dance.
So be part of that something new. Ask good questions. Practice accountability. Listen well. Dream. Try, fail, learn, try again. Look for the people on the margins and reach out to those left behind. Be people of compassion and healing. Strive to live like Jesus as best you can and have grace for yourself because it is going to be difficult. None of this is going to happen on accident. Get out there and be a part of it.
Okay, I think I’ve rambled enough. Most days I think I am thankful for this chapter. Not how it ended, but that I got to do what I love to do for and alongside people I care about. It still hurts, but that’s how I know it mattered. I am learning to walk with a limp and that is an important skill for this life. WY Community, I love you and miss you. For those at Woodmont that have let us be part of your life and continue to do so, thank you.
May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you : wherever God may send you;
may God guide you through the wilderness : protect you through the storm;
may God bring you home rejoicing : at the wonders shown to you;
may God bring you home rejoicing : once again into love’s doors.
(Adapted from Common Prayer)