It’s that time again.
In my denomination it’s called “Appointment Season”.
Pastors are uprooted and moved about at the whim of our Bishop.
“For missional purposes,” we are told.
Often times it seems random.
The Captain has experienced that before.
Sometimes vindictive.
The Captain has also experienced that...
So this season, for reasons unknown, the Captain will be setting sail and moving to a new port o’ call.
It’s not all bad.
I’ll be closer to our home and there will be a little cash incentive as well.
But in our wake we’ll be leaving behind many good people whom we have lived with, worshiped with, and ministered to for the past six years.
The Captain has held their hand and prayed with them in their homes, in hospitals, nursing homes, and funeral homes.
I have sprinkled the waters of baptism upon the heads of their children and said sacred words over the graves of their loved ones.
I have shared the bread and wine with them at the Lord’s Table, and have shared of our abundance at common tables.
Captain’s Note: They never ate what I brought though… Arrr!
So, as is customary, on this past Sunday, without any warning, a lay person read the letter from our Bishop announcing our departure.
Captain's Note: The letter could have announced that we were staying for another year.
Again, this is what we do (annually) in my denomination.
But here’s the rub, mates, and the Captain wants you to lean in right here.
I was told by my superior that I could not tell my congregations where I was going.
The pastor of that church needed to announce her/his departure first.
I’m okay with that.
I said nothing… promised to tell everyone next week.
It’s the game we play.
I've been doing this for more than 30 years now.
But by the time I arrived home, at least one of my church members already knew.
A half hour later a friend from a distant land called to congratulate me.
A few minutes later it was found to be public information on Facebook… provided by others, not by me.
Because I had been instructed to not tell.
Mates, it was my news to tell.
Not yours.
Many years ago, there was a guessing game played during this time of year by a certain generation of clergy who gathered to gossip and try to predict where their colleagues were going.
Not cool.
In recent years, rumors from the Bishop and Cabinet have been largely squashed.
But the latest iteration of that old game came this Sunday afternoon – from a younger generation – who spent the afternoon scanning social media to piece together all the announcement of moves and to discover where everyone is going.
Still not cool.
Again, it’s my story to tell.
Not yours.
Today I learned of a colleague who will also be moving.
That information was relevant to the Captain in a number of ways, but I had not yet heard.
Another colleague said, “Well, I just assumed you knew.”
No, I don’t play that game.
And I wish others did not.
So next Sunday I will return to my congregations to announce where I will be going.
Most of them will already know by then.
There will be no joy in Mudville tonight…
But let it be known, the Captain was faithful and true to his word.
And that’s what really matters.
To me, at least.
