Last Sunday, Feb. 3, my dad retired from 38 years of ordained ministry, 29 of which were spent at Peace Lutheran Church in Grass Valley, CA. I think of this church collectively as a member of my family, and it is full of individuals who I consider a part of my extended family. Dad took his call there just after I had taken my first steps (we were both taking big steps in those days!). He had spent 9 years serving the United Methodist Church, but felt called to become a Lutheran pastor, and this call was his first - and last - pastoral call in the Lutheran church.
And how blessed we were to be there! My brother and I both were given the honor of speaking at Dad's retirement luncheon, and we both reflected on life growing up at Peace. We both had keys to the church, but not our own house. We often walked there after school, when other kids walked home. We spent every Sunday there, every Wednesday during Advent and Lent, and many, many other days there as well. Life at Peace was such a part of my formation growing up, I cannot imagine where or how I would be without it.
Personally, this is the church where I first learned about the Bible - through Sunday School, through the gift of my first Bible, through the liturgy and hymns. It is where I received my first communion at age 6, and where I was confirmed at age 14. It is where I learned how to love singing (hymns and children's choir), and where I first performed solos on my clarinet and oboe. It is where I began to understand my faith more deeply through a wonderfully close youth group. It is the church that held me and my family up in prayer as I was diagnosed with and underwent treatment for Hodgkin's Lymphoma, who showered me with cards, gifts, and love all the way through. It is the church that offered me scholarships throughout my time in college, welcomed me home each summer, and hosted several of my recitals as I worked through my music major. It was Peace who helped me raise the money needed to spend a year as a missionary in Slovakia, and who prayed for and supported me throughout that very difficult year. It was Peace who rejoiced as I applied for seminary, who sponsored my candidacy for ordination, who let me preach some of my first sermons, and who told me again and again what a wonderful pastor I would be someday (what a wonderful pastor I was already!). It was Peace who gladly and gratefully celebrated my ordination with me in 2011, before the same altar where I was confirmed, and then planned a fabulous reception afterward! It was Peace who once again prayed me through breast cancer this past fall, and welcomed me home with grateful arms last weekend. And finally, it will be at Peace, this summer, where Michael and I will offer our wedding vows to each other.
(Okay, so I cried all the way through writing that paragraph. That's why I've taken so long to write this!)
It is the understanding, when a pastor retires, that he or she does not continue to attend the church last served for at least three years. Though I'm not sure if there are rules for the family, I would say the same goes for the family. The reason for this is that a pastor cannot just suddenly become a regular guy/gal. As long as Old Pastor is still around, the congregation will have a hard time seeing New Pastor as the real pastor. Part of the liturgy on Dad's final Sunday was this releasing piece, where he had to officially release the congregation as his parishioners, and they had to release him as their pastor. It was awful. Mom and I cried all the way though it (and so did Dad, especially the part where he talks about how the congregation has ministered to him). It really felt like a break-up, the kind you know you have to do even though you still love each other. (Okay, I'm crying again.) Because we do love Peace Lutheran, and always, always will.
So now here we are, having cried many, many tears, tried to cover them up by saying things like, "See you in the grocery store and the post office!" (my parents will still live in town), and shared many wonderful memories - some funny, some touching, some embarrassing. I, of course, came back to NY and so this is in some ways a distant pain for me. I didn't see Peace people on a regular basis anyway, and that hasn't been my regular spiritual home for some time. But it still hurts, for all the reasons above. And my parents, of course, will know this pain every day (my mom's school is across the street from the church), and certainly every Sunday, and during Lent, every Wednesday as well. And every Thursday when they will no longer be going to choir practice. I'm also sure that this will add another whole layer of emotion at our wedding, as it will be the first time my parents return to worship at Peace. How will that be, for them? For me?
I'll finish this post by including what I said at my dad's luncheon last Saturday. Meanwhile, the Johnsons and Peace Lutheran Church could probably use some prayers, if you think of it...
"I used to say that I never really had a pastor. I had a dad, I had a grandpa, I had an uncle, I had my dad's colleagues - but I never felt like I had a pastor.
I had a church, of course, and all the perks that go along with being a PK. I have memories of sneaking around the late service on Christmas Eve with my brother, walkie-talkies in hand, spying on the ushers; of walking "home" after school to meet my parents at church; of feeling some sense of ownership over the whole church property as an extension of my home. A church, I had. But not a pastor.
Now a pastor myself, I realize how incredibly wrong I was. Not only did I have a pastor, I had the very best pastor I could possibly have. And in fact, I would not be the pastor I am today - or probably a pastor at all - if it hadn't been for the caring, thoughtful, supportive pastor that I had in my home congregation.
I never meant to go to seminary, see. You may remember, I went to college to be a music major. When my pastor told me one day that I look good in black and ought to be a pastor, I scoffed and said, "Orchestra musicians wear black too, dad!" But somehow I ended up majoring in religion, and going to Slovakia for a year as a missionary. While I was there, I needed to decide what to do next, and thought about youth ministry - certainly not ordained ministry. But I heard through the mom-vine that my pastor was wondering why I didn't just apply to seminary. I scoffed at that, too... and then the next day found myself looking online at seminaries. I applied to the same school my own pastor had gone to - Yale Divinity School - just for kicks. Lots of my friends went to the same seminary their home pastors had gone to, and it turned out I was no exception. I went to Yale, which did so much to form me into the pastor I am today. I have Pastor Dick to thank for nudging me that way. The picture I have of the two of us on my graduation day is one of my greatest treasures, right up there with the one I have of us beaming together in our red stoles, right after my ordination.
Now, in my second year of ordained ministry, I am very lucky to have one of the best pastors I know on speed dial, to ask any questions that might come up - and believe me, I have been known to use this privilege several times a day. (Though mom begrudgingly pointed out that when I call home, I now more often say, "Is dad there?" than, "Is mom there?"!)
So in the end, it turns out: I do have a pastor, and one with whom I am lucky to share the name of Pastor Johnson. So here's to Pastor Johnson, "Pastor Dad," who made me the Johanna and the Pastor Johnson that I am today! I love you, dad!"
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