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Guest columnist is Alan J. Segal of Pennsylvania. Alan is 65, a CPA by training, a jazz musician and Jewish. Prior to her ordination, his wife of 24 years was in the corporate world and responsible for $60 million in sales and 250 employees. She is the daughter and the sister of Episcopal priests, and serves as Rector of Old Swedes Church, Philadelphia. Alan just smiles when people wonder if she can handle the responsibility of a church!
Guest Columns from Issues Past:
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Guest Column: It wasn't supposed to be this way!
By Alan J. Segal
Then why did I feel so sad? And why, when I think about that day do I feel -- I guess the color is blue -- and hesitate to move on? On thinking about the occasion, and putting myself back there to find some comfort in my memories I have the following recollections. Today is the day that my wife, the Interim-Rector of Trinity, Buckingham, gives her last sermon, as part of her leave taking. I swore, two and a half years ago that I would not get involved with this group. After all, I knew, Joy knew, and the Parish knew that this arrangement would end; either they would find a permanent rector or Joy would find a job. Either way, when we began this portion of our journey we both knew that the end was always very near. I swore I wouldn't get involved. There was only one service this day. The "eight-o'-clockers" joined with the "ten-o'-clockers" for one grand service and party afterwards. The church was full not only of people but of the not too subtle sniffle or sob along with some hugs. Hugs are not uncharacteristic of this group, but the sniffles and sobs were. I sniffled too. Throughout the service sobs could be heard as different parishioners "discovered" to their horror that this was the very last time that they would hear a Pastor Joy sermon or for that matter receive communion from her, at least as their Rector. Yup, Joy was really their Rector, maybe not in name, but certainly in spirit. I sobbed several times throughout the service, wondering if someone (anyone?) heard me, each time pushing down the sadness and paying attention to Joy's face. I was not looking forward to passing the Peace. We did and I survived. The sermon! Joy's goodbye was spoken from the heart, a voice holding back the catch of a sob; her eyes glistened with a tear ready to fall. And her words touched everybody; they touched the aged, the married couples with children, the singles and young adults and especially the children. The children who joined her at the altar as she prepared for communion and then received the blessings that Joy recited, were the most joyfully full of sadness that I have ever seen. They may know more than most of us about this leave taking. Joy ended her sermon by singing, in a voice quiet and sure that the words were right: "You've got to give a little, take a little, and let your poor heart break a little, That's the story of: That's the glory of Love". I wasn't supposed to love these people. I wasn't supposed to love this place. The love and energy of that special connection that Joy speaks to existed at that moment for everybody to see and feel, and told me quite differently about what I was and wasn't supposed to do. It just wasn't supposed to be this way. All sensitive correspondence received
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