Change and Grief

Change is difficult to go through. Even good change. Why? Because all change involves some kind of loss and all loss invokes some level of grief.

For instance, High School graduation is a major change. We celebrate it with great pomp and circumstance (I can't tell you how many times we played Elgar's piece all the way through during graduation ceremonies). Our relatives cheer when our name is announced. We throw a big party and people give cards and gifts to celebrate this major life passage.

Yet, for all the joyful feelings of accomplishment, we go through a tremendous amount of loss. We are no longer children, but are ready to launch out into the world. All of the relationships and rituals and regimentation of our lives are left behind. "Behold, I make all things new!"

We must grieve the loss of childhood in order to face the reality of adulthood. And reality bites.

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me" (1 Cor. 13: 11).

This coming Sunday will be the final service for the Walnut Valley Vineyard Church. And no matter how wonderful I may feel about the prospects of planting a new church, I begin to feel sad as I contemplate the loss of all that WVVC has meant to me.

The memories of our early days of setting up in Ronald Reagan Park for a time of worship, teaching and going right into a picnic. Meeting dog owners, watching tennis players and baking in one of the warmest summers I can remember.

Then there were the unique lecture halls at Mt. San Antonio College (Mt. SAC). First, the cramped one in the language building with a poster of Cartagena over my right shoulder. Then the larger one in the Agriculture building with squeaking chairs and the display cabinet with bovine and swine trophies to my right.

Then, a week after praying for a new venue, being called by the Brethren church to see if we wanted to sub-lease from them. And going from there to becoming the primary leasers. And all of the changes and upgrades to the building. All of the meals and events. All of the joys and, yes, the conflicts.

People's faces, special events, difficult times, salvations. They all march through my mind in succession.

God has made us this way. We go through the predictable stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness and acceptance. I accept that. And so I look to the God of comfort to help me through the loss so that, coming to the place of acceptance, I have something with which to comfort others.

"Praise be to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God" (2 Cor. 1: 3-4).