Letting Go, Moving On
by Remi Shores
read in worship on 3/19/2023
Dearest Church,
I have to confess something to you. I have to confess that I have not always believed something I have told you often. And that is that good church, Reign-of-God work, inclusive and progressive and Christian communities of belonging in Jesus’ name, happens outside of Galileo Church.
I never disbelieved it—I knew it was true in my head. I would never counsel you all with something I knew to be a lie. But I have not always felt it to be true in my heart. I guess what I’m saying is, I always knew there was a church for you outside of here, if you needed or wanted one. But I didn’t always know there was another church for me. My plan, consciously or not, has been to stay at Galileo Church forever.
Maybe you all knew this was coming in a way that I didn’t. It seems obvious, I suppose, that when I finish my degree, and get ordained, that I would get a new job, at a church that’s not the same one where I became an adult, discerned my call, and did my supervised ministry—the church that rehabilitated my faith and sponsored my ordination. That’s already way more things in the same congregation than most people get to do. Of course I wouldn’t also have my first full time job here. Of course.
Except, truthfully, I always kind of thought I would. Even when my friends and mentors said I should explore other places, and when I verbally agreed, and said I’d apply at other churches, I really always thought I would end up here.
Right after I had a baby, I got an email about a 27-month internship. “It’s the best internship that’s crossed my desk in a long time,” it said, “and the deadline to apply is coming up. It’s in Des Moines, Iowa.” I thought, “Applying seems like the right thing to do, even though there’s no way I’d take it.”
As I learned more and more about the job, and how truly amazing it was, I started to think, “I actually hope I don’t get offered it, because turning it down would be a hard decision.”
And then I started to think, “I’m actually not sure I would turn it down.”
And eventually that became, “I’ll take it if I get it. But I’ll be kinda relieved if I don’t.” And then that became, “I really hope I get this job.”
And that became, “I’ll be really disappointed if I don’t get this job.”
And then the church flew my family up to Iowa to meet them. And we fell in love with them. They said things about their church that sound a lot like things we all say about this church. Things like, “No place is perfect, but for a church, this is pretty good.” And, “I can be a part of this church even though I don’t believe.” And, “This church is where I can just... sink into myself.”
And Nathan and I both said, “I really hope we get this job. This is the next thing we want for our family.”
And then they offered me the job.
And then I took it.
I’m going away, church. For all the times we’ve practiced holding one another lightly, I never thought I would be the one to go, but it’s my turn now. It’s not right away—I will return from my parental leave as planned, in early May, and I’ll be here till June 11. Just soaking up all the Galileo, working my ass off, and getting the most out of those last few weeks with y’all. And partying like hell for our birthday.
And then our family is going to try to take some of what we’ve learned here, and bring it to the Midwest. And we actually think they have some stuff to teach us, too. Maybe I’ll be able to tell you all about it.
Thank you for holding me lightly, church. And for being the church I didn’t want to leave. Thank you for raising me—I was technically (barely) an adult when I got here, but it’s still true to say that I grew up here. At some point, we just have to leave the place where we grew up.
But I know that this is a home I can always come back to, whether to visit or to stay. You all will be here. Thank you for everything.
Peace,
Remi Shores