Two Years Ago

The fact that when we view things from a new location  it causes us to see things differently fascinates me. The relocation caused by time is one of the most poignant ways this occurs (at least in my own life).

Time creates such a new perspective.
Sometimes nostalgia clouds reality.
Other times the distance of time gives one the space to see things clearly.

And then there is the work of reinterpretation. Last time I wrote about how one particular day was understood differently once time had added new experiences into the equation. A day that started in sharp pain and ended in faint hope has become a day of clear hope and distant pain. This shift of perspective was sparked by the "On This Day" feature of Facebook.

Once again, Facebook has brought me memories whose meanings have been refracted through the funhouse mirror lens of time. Two years ago I lived in Chicago. It was less than two weeks from graduation. I had zero idea of what the future held.

I did not know where my journey would take me after walking across the stage to receive my diploma. I was doing my best to remain present. To take in all the things that I would encounter in those last weeks in Chicago. I began to post on Facebook a list of the things that I would miss the most.

On April 27th, 2015 my Facebook status read, "I'm gonna miss doing something two years in a row and calling it a tradition. #ThingsIllMiss #NPTS #13days" The initial meaning of that sentiment dealt with where I ate Thanksgiving Dinner or attending Great America's Fright Fest. It referenced who I spent time with after church on Easter Sunday, and most importantly what film was viewed later that day.

The idea was that my journey through seminary was limited from the very start. I entered into that season knowing that it was going to end and it was going to end soon. There would be only four Thanksgivings that would be celebrated in that community. Only four Easter Sundays. The tradition of attending Fright Fest didn't begin until my second year at North Park. It only happened three times.

I turn 40 this September. Being born in the fall, I have already celebrated forty Thanksgiving meals and forty Easter celebrations. How could a mere ten percent of those ever truly be called traditions? But that was the fun of labeling any repeated annual activity a tradition. Knowing that time was limited and calling anything a tradition was a way to mark that our time was fleeting. It was a way to lament that this community would not last. And it was a way to celebrate the fact that while we were still together we could find celebrations and rhythms to call our own.

Yesterday, I attended a meeting of volunteer parents to plan a Fun Day at the local elementary school. Bounce Houses, Photo Booths, and Organized Games were all discussed. We spent several minutes discussing what worked in the past and what we should replace. We discussed the idea that the kids might be bored with the craft that has been done the last two years. The counter to that was that because we have already done it two years in a row the kids might be expecting it (i.e. it had become a tradition).

At North Park the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition was encased by the idea that these rituals would not last. The concept itself was marked by irony.

Now the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition is encased in expectations and marked by the reality of this new community.

As I read Facebook this morning, I was struck by the fact that two years ago I viewed time and tradition as fleeting. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't even really imagine a time and place grounded and enduring.  And now?

Now, I have entered a season where time and tradition are the bedrock of my community. They are the foundations of the ministry I find myself a part of.

--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
(The preceding blog was written on 4/27/17, and published on 5/8/17)