The act of leaving

Departure - 1. The act of leaving, 2. A starting out, as on a trip, 3. A divergence.

Another landmark passed last night as we said goodbye to the clergy of the New Orleans District of the Louisiana Annual Conference, or in other words almost all the clergy I know. It was a dinner date, and though the two closest persons I know in the clergy of the district weren't there, it was a fun night -- mostly.

The act of leaving: We're picking up and packing up and preparing. A month from Friday the movers come.

A starting out, as on a trip: If you don't look at this leaving, cleaving, being gone as a new start, then indeed you will turn maudlin and that's no good for anyone.

A divergence: To deviate, as from a norm. I'm praying that I look at this move to a new church, to new persons in the congregation, to new clergy in the district to meet, to new (everything) as a only a deviation in my norm. I'm praying that I see newness as a great thing, not a challenge, not a mistake even.

Every departure involves putting one foot out in front of the other. Every departure is taking a step forward. Every step forward is a departure. Can you see what a delightfully delectable word departure is?

Imagine sitting in a train at the station. You are dressed in your finest for you are embarking on an important and momentous trip. You sit at the window looking out at all the people milling about in the train station. You are filled with emotions but, more importantly, you are filled with feelings (and therefore your memories of the event are forever burned upon the skein of time and space). Excitement fills you as you imagine unimaginable new worlds. Sadness, also, tugs at your sleeve as you think of things left behind. As the train starts moving....

....you depart.

You leave. You keep going.

Someone last night talked about retiring to their home. I joked, "I would but I don't know where that is." Home is such a quaint idea. Mary and I have moved seven times in 28 years. And that doesn't even include what I would think of as home, my parents house in Mississippi, because we sold it and we couldn't go there even if we wanted.

When it comes down to it, home isn't what I know.

Luckily, the book I treasure most shows me others who knew this way to live.

God told Abram: "Leave your country, your family, and your father's home for a land that I will show you. ... So Abram left just as God said...

Abram passed through the country as far as Shechem and the Oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites occupied the land. ⁷ God appeared to Abram and said, "I will give this land to your children." Abram built an altar at the place God had appeared to him. ⁸ He moved on from there to the hill country east of Bethel and pitched his tent between Bethel to the west and Ai to the east. ...

Abram kept moving, steadily making his way south, to the Negev. ...

 Then a famine came to the land. Abram went down to Egypt to live;

Pharaoh ordered his men to get Abram out of the country. They sent him and his wife and everything he owned on their way.

God moves us. Truly moves us. And every departure is an arrival.