Text: Job 1:1; 2:1-10
One’s middle-aged years, I’m beginning to learn, force you to accept that oddly paired truths can co-exist quite easily. For example, though I take better care of my hair than I once did, it continues to betray me and exit the scene. Good hygiene may be a virtue, but it does not guarantee a bushy result. I also noted the other morning that in a conversation with my daughter about the history of Christianity I could immediately recall that the Catholic Church split between East and West in 1054, but a couple of hours later I could not recall the last name of one of my oldest and dearest friends. Maybe if that friend would convert to Catholicism I could remember his name.
Yes, these middle years put one in touch with many oddly matched emotions and experiences. That has been especially true for me in these days since I announced my impending resignation as one of your pastors. The clarity I have about this decision is exceeded only by the grief it produces in my heart. To feel so sure and so sad simultaneously about leaving this church I love, and the only profession I have ever known, makes me a bit disoriented. But there is no denying either of these truths. They are the odd couple in my soul these days.