The church I pastored in Louisville recently merged with another church.  I say it merged.  The truth is, the congregation had dwindled over the years, the neighborhood had changed, and the church was on the verge of closing its doors.  A larger church in the city offered to take over the building, to re-staff the church, and to make it a satellite location.   

Part of me is glad.  The good people of that church, through the years, served and sacrificed for Jesus.  Their legacy will live on as the new church builds on their sacrifices.  But part of me is also sad.  In the five and a half years I served that church, we rekindled hope, we reached people, and we did some whacky things.  We closed the street in front of the church one Sunday to celebrate the church’s 65th anniversary.  If the weather was nice, we would roll the piano out to the front porch, move some chairs, and hold Sunday night church on the sidewalk.  I had a little Ford Ranger truck (they were made in Louisville, a few miles from the church), and every year we had a challenge to fill the truck with diapers and paper towels for the local food closet.  Those days are long gone and the days of that church being an independent congregation is over. 

All things come to an end.  One day I will no longer be the pastor of the church I’ve served for twenty-eight years.  That will be a change in my identity.  One day my health will decay, and I will not be able to keep my cows.  One day I will die, and my family will mourn.   

There is something about things coming to an end that bothers us.  We don’t like to think about our death or the decline of our health.  Older folks regularly tell me, “I never thought I would get old.”  I wonder, “Did you ever know someone who didn’t get older?”  A friend of mine with young children told me, “One day, I know my youngest son will no longer want to take a nap with Mom.  I will cry a lot that day.  So right now, I take all the naps with him I can.”   

When something ends, I am sad.  I feel the loss, the comfort of the familiar.  I want to hold onto the memories, the good stories.  Maybe that’s why I write so many columns about the past; it is a way to deal with the sadness. 

Some things end, and I am mad.  I get angry with people who make stupid decisions and cause great harm to others and wind up destroying something I love.  It angers me when people will not accept reality and adjust their decisions.  I have seen strong churches, businesses, and families destroyed by people’s selfishness, and it makes me mad. 

I have been left holding the bag to clean up someone else’s mess more than once.  I prayed and asked God, “Why me?”  Often, I feel like God’s response is, “I trust you to clean this up the right way.”  Like Corrie ten Boon, sometimes I wish God did not trust me quite so much. 

When people die, we hold a funeral or a memorial service.  We don’t have funeral services when a marriage dies or a company goes out of business.  We have retirement ceremonies, but they seem a little hollow when everyone else goes back to work and we load the last box from our office into the truck.  We don’t know quite how to mark such occasions. 

Jesus was not afraid to talk about the end of things.  Three times he told his disciples he would be crucified.  He talked about the end of time, how one would be taken and the other left behind.  He foretold the end of Temple worship in Jerusalem, which would take place forty years after his death and resurrection.   

Why was Jesus so at ease talking about endings?  I think it was because he knew how all things end.  He knew at the end of time there would be a great final battle that he would win.  He knew there would be a new heaven and a new earth.  He knew the former things would pass away.  He knew Satan would be hurled into a pit, and those people who wanted to live their lives without God would join Satan there.  He also knew that people who love him, who accept his gift of grace and salvation, would join him in heaven, where there are no more tears, no more pain.   

When you know the big ending, it reminds you to bring all your emotions about the little endings in your life to Jesus.  Ask him to let you see the big picture.  Trust your grief into his hands.  Though all things may end, the love and grace of Jesus never end.   Make sure your own ending is given to him.