Friends,

As people of the resurrection, we have a complicated relationship with death and endings in general. Eternal life is a gift, and so is the precious life that we are given. Leaving one for the other was never meant to be easy, uncomplicated or overly embraced. Eventually all things come to an end, and we can mourn all sorts of things, even when new life is already sprouting. It’s ok to be excited and sad all at the same time.

All of this is to say, our ceiling in the Nave is repaired. We have every reason to believe that it is fixed for good this time, and to be honest, I don’t feel like giving anyone a high-five in celebration. Fixing that water damage has been a priority of mine since I arrived in January of 2021, and through no lack of expertise, resources and effort, we were met with cascading failures in fixing this monster of a leak. This is a long harrowing story. One I like to share too much, so I won’t bore you again. The gist is after years of maintaining a baby pool in the steeple of the Church and being mindful of non-ionizing radiation coming from the cell towers, we have a permanent fix, and as of this past Wednesday the ceiling is looking brand new.

The phase in my ministry where I problem solve this issue with engineers by showing them the nuances of our physical plant, learning about our cell phone tower contracts, and preaching about the water damage has officially come to an end. You may also have complex emotions when you see our surprisingly spotless ceiling. The water damage has been there for well over a decade without being repaired, and it was repaired several times before then. Some of our young adults that are off to college never remember a time without it. There is probably a radically small minority of our community that remember a time when “fixing the leak” was not a thing at St. Luke’s, but for most of us, this is the only St. Luke’s we’ve ever known. Who knows? It may come back. If it does, I know I’ll give as especially humble, funny and meaningful sermon about it, and that thought brings me comfort.

So many other new things are happening. Our Day School goes through Kindergarten at St. Luke’s, and this will be the first year that I will not have the privilege of checking in on my children whenever I wish as my oldest will be starting first grade at Waynewood Elementary School. Today was the open house, and it comforted me seeing that half of his class are children that he knows from St. Luke’s Day School or from worshipping with us on Sundays. For me, it’s the end of an era. For him, it’s a continuation of something that he already knows is good.

A coincidence that feels poetic to probably me alone, is the eminent arrival of my sons’ new bunk bed. I spent my lunch break disassembling the crib and the single bed and put them in storage, as we prepare to assemble the bunk bed in time for our nighttime ritual this evening. Andrew and Theo are so excited to start this new shared adventure. Sleeping in the same room is a novelty to them. Theo shed his crib as awkwardly and eagerly as a butterfly wiggling its way out of the cocoon. He is ready to be with his big brother in a big kid bed. They only see the excitement in front of them. I can’t help but see the subtle scars of the railing of the crib that remember countless toy cars racing down it’s angles.

The world screams of new beginnings. I hope that the vestries I have worked with the past four and a half years remember our efforts to fix the leak fondly. I earnestly hope that we never have to think about it again, but when our minds choose to drift toward past pressing issues that are no longer relevant, I hope you recall our shared struggle as fondly as I do. It is impossible for me to feel more love than the love I felt for my family when we were two tired parents listening to toddlers run their cars around the top of the crib when they were supposed to be sleeping, and that love is only matched by the love I have for who they are today, and who they will be tomorrow. Concerning their growth, I mourn who they were, I cherish who they are, and I anticipate who they will become.

As people of the resurrection, we must be ready for when God calls us into the next chapter, and you cannot have a beginning without some sort of ending. Moving forward without acknowledging the past cheapens the stories we carry with us and can leave with an acute lack of thanksgiving for what we’ve already received. An equally dangerous mentality is to only mourn what has been lost without seeing the miraculous things before us. Feel the things you need to feel, especially if they are inconsistent. The world that God has given us is far too complicated and wonderful for consistency so embrace all of it along the way.

Blessings,

Nick