Consider me sentimental but I always feel sad when something comes to an end. It might be my personality that I feel this way - or the fact I grew up in a stable environment, I’m not sure. I lived in the same house until l left home at 19 and cried when I did. I always feel choked when someone I am close to leaves, and often have to hold back the tears during a moment of change. I’m the guy you don’t want to take to see a sad film! I failed miserably in mastering the art of the stiff British upper lip. For me, change can be unnerving or unsettling – or perhaps both. And yet change is an inevitable part of life – we change, we need to change – and if we don’t embrace it – then change embraces us. We don’t live in a static universe.
In truth I have undergone my fair share of change and despite my reservations have worked with it to move on and forward in life. Something of which I was reminded this week with the demolition of the old St Francis Church Complex where we worshipped as a congregation for fifteen years. I remember negotiating the lease to take on the old hall and the long hours of refurbishment to get it fit for purpose. I was inducted into ministry in that place, married Jo there and dedicated our three children – all in that one hall. It has some history for us. I preached at least 40 sermons a year for 15 years there – we go back a long way with Franny’s. And now it’s all gone. Demolition has put an end to what served us well for all that time. That’s why I had to rush and get some photos – perhaps for posterity, maybe for memories and certainly as a record of history. It serves as a reminder that nothing lasts forever.
Yet that’s not all, for death is an important part of embracing something new. Would I go back there – no: but being there helped shape what and who we are now. Franny’s is part of the journey, chapters wrapped up in the mystery of what it is to be alive; to have hope and dreams, to work for what we believe in. It’s all rubble now. Broken bricks and twisted steel waiting to be recycled into what will come next. Photos hold our history – capturing memories of how things were, and how over time they pass away. They shaped us those bricks, those steel girders and wooden floors. They are part of us and in the letting go, in the moving on, space is given for something new to emerge. It is part of the circle of life.
At a deeper level it serves as a reminder that resurrection lies on the other side of death. ‘Unless a seed falls into the ground it remains a single seed,’ said Jesus. Sometimes we must let go to arrive at a new place. We can all be guilty of holding on too long, of staying put and letting life pass us by rather than learning to seize the moment. There can be sadness in seeing something pass that has existed for a long time – but on the other side of sadness is the opportunity of what is yet to be.