Author: Webmaster

This letter is sent to you with a heart full of love and a flame of hope

Five years ago I took a Sabbatical to reevaluate my ministry. I returned with vigor and vitality for the church and my position. I embraced my limitations and celebrated my gifts. Now, 5 years later, I need to embrace my limitations but in a different way. I need to move on the next leg of my journey.

Recently, I have sounded like the Psalmist: “How long, oh Lord?, “My eyes are weak, my faith and heart are strong.”, “Is it time to leave this place I’ve called home for almost 25 years?”. I have known my vision was getting worse but I struggled and fought for it not to impair my ministry. I began asking myself, “Can people work under these conditions?” When I look out on my church family on Sundays everything is hazy and very inconsistent. Often there is a red tint that veils an already blurry, unrecognizable face. Often I cannot make out smiles, frowns, sadness, laughter on your faces – this loss of emotional feedback is exceptionally difficult. I don’t see raised hands. I may not see certain people where they sit in the pew. I have struggled to read road signs, see road workers. I was having difficulty driving to places that I used to easily access. Ultimately, anxiety and depression, lack of confidence and capabilities set in. My focus became largely on me and my worsening sight rather than the mission of this church and its community goals.

I knew I needed to go back to Johns Hopkins Hospital (JHH) in Baltimore to verify that I was not just imagining this. JHH is where I regained my vision 30 years ago after losing it to diabetic retinopathy. At JHH the Dr. showed us the picture of the retina of my left eye/good eye. The right eye has been virtually blind for years. He showed us the damage from past laser treatments in the center of the retina and said the cells were dead/atrophied/and tissue cannot be restored. Both Drs I saw in JHH suggested I should not be driving. I am no longer driving. I know many will step forward to say they’ll drive. I do appreciate that and will need that between now and when I leave. But, it’s more than just that. I feel a loss of dignity and confidence, and there remains a pervading fear.

I have always prided myself on two things – preaching and pastoral care. I feel they may have both been affected by my preoccupation of my loss of sight although my vision, our mission, for our church remains strong,

“To be a family of faith that journeys together
in nurturing love, fellowship and openness to all people;
making known God’s love through Jesus Christ in the World.”

So, you see, my loss of sight has affected me physically, spiritually, and mentally. Once, I was blind and saw…. Now, I have seen and am losing my sight. It’s a difficult experience and working this way is highly unsettling to me. This is not going to be easy for neither me nor our church family. I need to restore my hope. I need to find a quiet place where I can do that. I am sorry. I didn’t want to leave this way but it must be done for the benefit of all. I need your support and love. I’ve prayed long and hard. I’ve always believed that no one is irreplaceable – and that applies to me, too. “I may not make it to the Promised Land but I’ll be with you always.” I have cherished and loved our journey together. February 7th will most likely be my last Sunday – my tentative date to seek disability. I feel this gives us time for a practical/orderly and emotional transition.

Thank you for your listening ears, love, support, and respect.