first off, roman numerals stink. (remember those tedious hours in elementary school when your math teacher would have you write roman numerals to 1000… do you think we were really learning something or did she just want to sit at her desk and doodle… ?)

now that that’s out of the way, i can say goodbye (sniff) to the cleveland 3rd ward. (for those of you not hip with mormon terminology–that’s the name of our congregation. i can’t help but thinking of the scene in anne of green gables where anne asks if the names at the ladies college in boston can’t be more creative… )

when we arrived in cleveland four years ago our little congregation was even little-er. we met in an old rambling victorian style house, in the “family” room, complete with fireplace. and it was stuffed to the gills. chairs were set up behind half-walls that completely obscured the pulpit. families draped themselves up the staircases. little ones raced around in the rooms above the space we were holding our meeting.

as a childless couple at the time, i remember being distinctly and grumpily annoyed by the amazing amount of noise in such a small, confined space. i often found myself thinking, “why can’t these parents teach their toddlers reverence?” of course, since i spent so much time being grumpy, god had the good humor to send me a little man who now stands on the pew during the sacrament yelling, “i poop! I POOP!”

i miss those early days, back before we had an actual church with an actual chapel, when the whole worship experience was so much more casual, and interesting. i miss the moments when members of the congregation would jump to their feet and argue with whoever was speaking at the pulpit or just mosey on up and take a turn at the pulpit themselves (without invitation). i miss the sundays when webster fleming would stand at the front of the room and belt out spirituals. moments like that, when the whole house was full of his voice, i couldn’t help but think that our typically restrained way of worshipping had nothing over just bursting into song at the top of your lungs. i will miss the infusion of inner-city cleveland culture into my sabbath experience.

i will miss everyone i ever met at church–the way you brush against people who change your life and your perspective. especially one conversation i had with my dear friend barbara. she was always telling me, “don’t you listen to me, honey. i’m just a little old black lady.” but one afternoon when i told her i was feeling a little too shy to call another woman in the congregation because i might call at the wrong time, she took me by the hand and said, “now you listen to me this time, honey. you give that sister a call because you might call at the right time.”

and that’s how it’s been, really. years of “right time” moments when other members of the congregation have stepped in to be my family during years of being so far from my roots.

i will miss that. i will miss you.