Pastor's Epistle - June 2009

Dear Friends in faith,
The church in Florida is different! I was reminded of that again last Sunday when two men on their way out of worship told me, “This is it for pants! Next Sunday you’ll see us in shorts” The leisure look is in; the staid, dark-suit-and-tie look that many of the New England Congregationalists left behind is out.
Then there’s the “Church-up-north Syndrome.” Native Floridians are few and far between; and, of course, like all sentimental remembrances of the past, one’s experience of the church ‘up north’ becomes sweeter as the years go by. When someone in a group launches into those sweet memories, the rest of the group almost always nods with sympathetic empathy. It’s hard to leave the past behind.
There is the summertime heat and humidity, which helps to draw the battle lines between those with water-thin blood and those afflicted by hot flashes. On Sunday mornings the AC keeps some of the chosen frozen while I, from the pulpit, try valiantly to do my part to thaw them out with hot air. I usually know who is feeling the heat—they use their bulletins to fan themselves.
Of all the characteristics of the Florida church, the hardest for me to get used to is the continual need to say goodbye. In the nine months that I have been your pastor we have bid farewell to the Thompsons, the Lambourghinis, and Richard Olufs—all dear people who moved away to be closer to family. Then there were those who left this life and entered eternity—people whose love for our church was known only to the long-time members, but whose gifts of time and money have left a legacy for us. Even more frequent than these goodbyes are the ones given to the people who continue to leave silently, a little at a time, as the summer approaches. They are the migrant members who, for the past many weeks, have confided in me on their way out of the sanctuary, “This is our last Sunday until the fall.” I feel like a beachcomber standing at water’s edge, feeling the sand around my toes slowly sift away under my feet with every new wave that laps against the shore.
I’m not good at goodbyes, and this seeping away of loved ones is hard on me. I feel what Cole Porter expressed in a song many years ago, “'Ev'ry time we say goodbye, I die a little.” Oh, all the snowbirds taking flight assure me that they’ll be back, but none of us knows the future. As James wrote, “You do not even know what tomorrow will bring…Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wishes, we will live and do this or that.’” What this means for us is that we need to appreciate people when we have the chance. Delight in those you love while you have opportunity. Don’t fall into the trap of ‘sometime’—“sometime we will have to get together, sometime I’ll have to spend a week with the kids, sometime we’ll have to have you over for dinner, sometime I’ll have to make up to the one I hurt.” Sometime has a way of never coming. Now is the time to make plans. Now is the time to express your affection. Today is the day for words that heal, for hugs that affirm, for acts of kindness that bless. The past, dear as it may have been, is gone; and tomorrow, hopeful as we hope it is, may never come. Today is all we have for sure. As a Florida church, let us be a church of the Now. God has given us this day to be His people in this place called Spring Hill. Hot or cold, formal or informal, sentimental or rational—use the chances you have today.
With affection, Pastor Carlan