Change is inevitable. It happens constantly. Every day. Everywhere. We have no control over it. And yet, it’s still not always that easy to accept.
Our pastor, the only pastor we’ve known at our parish, is leaving. Sunday night will be his last mass. He will be baptizing my daughter that night. Easter Sunday is not normally a baptism day, but because there are no baptisms during Lent, it was the only sure way to be able to have him baptize her, and it’s important to me that he is the one who does it.
He’s been there through so much for us. He was the presider on Holy Saturday when I was confirmed into the Catholic church. He came to our house and gave my mother her last rites as she lay dying. He came to her funeral - not because had to, but because he was there to support us. My family and my parents friends are none too thrilled about me being Catholic, but they appreciated and respected the fact that we had a pastor that cared enough about us to be there when we needed him. He came to the hospital the day our daughter was born to see that tiny little being who wasn’t supposed to be there yet.
We’ve shared meals with him. We’ve laughed with him. We’ve cried with him. He has been there for us. He is not perfect, but this entry is not about what he isn’t or wasn’t. It’s about what he is and was and will be. And that is our friend. We love him. We will miss him. We pray that his new assignment brings him joy and contentment.
What has been has been. What will come will come. Godspeed to our dear friend and pastor.