Details, details, details

“Try not to prepare for your vacation as you would for your own death.”

Several months ago, as sabbatical became a reality, I jokingly quoted this admonition from a New York Times article on how to ruin one’s time off. The gist of the article was that if one tries to prepare for everything that could possible happen while you are away, you will never relax enough to actually go away and have a good time.

Seems self-evident, doesn’t it? Obviously, enjoying time away from one’s job is a matter of letting go and trusting that one is not actually indispensable, that work will get done, timelines will be met, life will go on, the sun will rise and set. For someone like me whose work is ministry in the name of Jesus, that would be mean living out of the truth that it’s Christ’s church, Christ’s work, Christ’s beloved brothers and sisters – and that Christ will be present in all of it, even if I am not. That would mean trusting that Sunday will come and church will happen and hymns will get sung, prayers will be offered, holy hugs will be dispensed, and somebody will be standing in the pulpit come Sunday morning proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ.

Easy-peasy, right? All I have to do is actually do what I say. Walk the walk, as they say, instead of just talking it. How hard can that be?

Well. For me, harder than you think. Or maybe you knew how hard it was going to be for me and it’s only me who has been surprised by the 2am bouts of anxiety.

About 18 months ago, the executive director of the English School at the Lawrence Road Church resigned. Jessica was the founder of the school and had led it for more than 12 years. It is not an overstatement to say that the school was her idea, the product of her creativity and imagination, the evidence of her dedication, her baby. So, hoping for a seamless transition, on her way out the door, she handed us a flash drive that contained, no joke, every detail and document, every procedure and protocol, every spreadsheet, pretty much everything that had crossed her desk in the 12 years of the school’s existence. In the months since then, it has become axiomatic that, whenever there is a question about the English School, someone will inevitably say: Check the flash drive…

So here’s the deal. I am surrounded by wonderful gifted people who make sure worship happens every week, not just now as sabbatical looms, but every week. I would put the Lawrence Road deacons up against anyone anywhere in the provision of compassionate, loving, and faithful pastoral care, not just now, but week in, week out. The church staff are at the top of their game, not just now when I will be away, but every day. Our ministry leaders lead—not just now, but always, not because they have to, but because God has called them to this and they are faithful ministers of Jesus Christ. I’m part of all that, but not indispensable to it.

And I know that. And what I’ve realized is that I’m not worried about worship or pastoral care or Christian Education or Properties or Finance or Outreach or Parish Life or any of that. Nope—my peeps have got that—and the love that God has given this congregation to share with one another and the community comes from a bottomless well. That love will carry them through.

What’s keeping me awake, my friends, is the undeniable fact that I’m the only one who knows where I hid the key to the supply closet. And my sweet husband, who will be on sabbatical from the church, too, may well be the only person living who knows how to turn on the ancient steam boiler that heats the sanctuary.

So I’m pulling a page from Jessica’s book. The Lawrence Road folk have the Jesus stuff covered. But if anyone needs the code to the sanctuary router, check the flash drive.