You're Invited

The mail brought an interesting moment this afternoon, which is more than can be said most days. One of my previous stops is marking an anniversary that they apparently take to be significant, and must be asking everyone who was ever associated with them to go back for the occasion. In my final spring with them, they concluded that my presence was no longer required. I was hurt at the time, in spite of the fact that I already wanted to leave. There's something of that spurned lover stuff to the way we do things in our church. It was perfectly alright for me to want out, but when they said it first, I was wounded.
The particular issue on their part was the pushing of an individual who had been seated on the pertinent committee in spite of the fact that he never showed up at church unless he just couldn't find anything else to do. He pushed because he seemed to feel that I should have moved in with his terminally ill mother to be there every moment, and I hadn't done so. One of the joys of our existence is that our working lives are routinely in the hands of people who have no personnel experience whatsoever. They haven't dealt with hiring and firing, setting salaries, knowing what kinds of performance are appropriate or inappropriate and so on. A long-retired colleague says that the church is the last place left where average people can shake their fists, raise their voices, and get results. Well, long story short, my pal got results.
I hadn't thought about him or the congregation in question for several years prior to the arrival of the invitation. I got past the injury and resultant anger (hey, I am a guy!) a long time ago. But I have no interest in going back. When we clergy folk leave a place, we are supposed to be gone. I believe in that. We are to respect our successor(s) and leave them to attend to those now appointed to their care. Most of my stops have left me with fond memories. Two, not so much. But I have never gone back to any of them but one, and that, once. Everything was different. They had moved on, and so had I. It wasn't a comfortable day.
People often try to empathize with our weekend work schedules. And, sure, I'd like to stay out on Beale Street all Saturday night every now and then. But sometimes that Sunday schedule sure comes in handy. And this is one of those times.
Sorry, but I just can't get away on a Sunday morning. Thank goodness!