Pastors Message

EDITOR’S NOTE: Ruth Price, Rev. Rick’s mother, passed away on September 15. She always referred to our church as her “home away from home” and enjoyed worshipping with us when she visited Rick, Gigi, Zach, and Annie. This month’s Pastor’s Letter is a reprint (updated) of Rick’s RED DOOR message from October 2011, on the occasion of his mom’s eighty-fifth birthday. “Age doesn’t protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.” Jeanne Moreau “transition: a passing from one condition, form, stage, activity, place, etc., to another.” Webster’s Dictionary This October 4th [would have been] my Mother’s 89th birthday. She has been blessed with many good years. She has done very well, going through the death of my Dad when she was just 60. She has traveled all over the world to stay in touch with her children and grandchildren. Allow me to say, “Thanks Mom for all of your unconditional love, and steadfast and continued support.” Fall is upon us. The leaves are changing and the trees are becoming bare in preparation for the winter. Once again I become introspective about all the changes in my life. One has said “change is one of the only constants in life.” How we deal with all the changes either causes us to become isolated and bitter or helps us to gain wisdom and hope. Paul says in Corinthians “that we see in a mirror dimly” (I Corinthians 13:12). We struggle to see life’s purposes; we often only see them through a mist or a fog. There are some who speak as if they know it all. They apparently see through a crystal clear mirror. I am ever leery of those people. In Romans, Paul continues to say that “nothing can separate us from the love of Christ” (Romans 8:35). Imagine that if you will for a moment. Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. Nothing! Neither ourselves nor our limitations can separate us from the love of Christ. It is a comfort for me to place my faith in that assurance. So, as we struggle on this journey we call faith, sometimes seeing dimly, if we stumble, may we always fall into the loving arms of Christ who will carry us if needed. Blessed assurance, Peace to all, and Mom, I love you and hope you are at peace.

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.