I was chatting with a man recently about the things we should know but aren’t taught, the things we must learn on our own. Most of us weren’t taught about finances, we just mimic the spending habits of our parents, be they good or bad. My mother was frugal, and my father could be financially reckless, so I became a little of both. I’m reckless with the money Joan earns and frugal with the money I earn. It’s all about finding that perfect balance.
The man I was talking to about the things we’re never taught said, “Schools should teach kids how to manage money, but they don’t. That’s why we’re in the mess we’re in.” I wasn’t sure which mess he was referring to. I’ve known him 50 years and he’s always referring to the “messes we’re in,” which he always blames on schools. I wish schools would teach us how to avoid people who annoy us. Wouldn’t that be useful?
Today, I want to talk about saying goodbye. It’s not something most of us have been taught, which might be why we find it so difficult. We’re saying goodbye to our 1892 meetinghouse today. Of course, some of us won’t find that difficult at all. We never worshipped within its wall. We weren’t married there. Our parents’ funerals weren’t held there. Our children weren’t dedicated there. It was just a building we drove past to get to this meetinghouse. We might have admired its quaintness, but we lack any sentimental attachment to it. To some of us, it’s just a building, like any other building.
Others of us have a deeper connection. Perhaps we were married inside it. Sang hymns inside it. Laughed inside it. Wept inside it. Prayed inside it. I know at least one couple who fell in love inside it. I gave more sermons in that meetinghouse than any other pastor in Fairfield’s history. 454 sermons that lasted on average 14 minutes, for a total of 106 hours, so it goes without saying that some of us took naps inside it, which I think is wonderful because we only nap where and when we feel safe. It speaks well of this church that so many people nap here.
I want to use the occasion of saying goodbye to our meetinghouse to think about goodbyes in general. How do we say goodbye? Last week, I went for a walk into town and stopped by my parents’ grave. Mom died in 2017, and Dad passed in 2019, and I’m still saying goodbye. Last week’s goodbye wasn’t as wrenching as my first goodbye, but it’s still a goodbye, still a letting-go, though these days tinged with more appreciation than sorrow. I don’t stand at their grave and wonder how I’ll go on. I know life will go on, that I will go with it, and wonderful things will happen. Now I stand at their grave and feel this deep gratitude for their lives. Sorrow has given way to gratefulness. That’s how I feel about our 1892 meetinghouse. Today, I am more thankful than sad.
Goodbyes are important. They mark the transition of our relationship with someone or something, the ending of one thing and the beginning of another. Sometimes goodbyes are difficult and painful, other times a goodbye can be healing and helpful. Some goodbyes can be both.
I once served on a town committee. A man I had known most of my life was also on the committee and we disagreed about a course of action. Of course, people can disagree and it’s no big deal. You work it out and move forward. But this man was upset and stopped speaking to me. Because he had initiated our estrangement, I decided to let him initiate our reconciliation, which he hasn’t done and isn’t likely to. I was talking with another friend about it, who said, “It sounds like your friend isn’t very good at saying goodbye, but that’s what he is saying. Perhaps you should let the friendship go.”
But if you’re my friend, you’re my friend to the bitter end. The Quaker James Naylor said on his deathbed, “There is a spirit which I feel that delights to do no evil, nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to endure all things, in hope to enjoy its own in the end. Its hope is to outlive all wrath and contention…” I’m of the same opinion, so when my friend ended our relationship, I was determined to outlive his wrath and contention. But I’ve been thinking more about that, and I’ve decided that sometimes it is necessary to say goodbye. Saying goodbye doesn’t mean we hate someone. It means their presence in our lives has become more painful than helpful. Saying goodbye to some people means we’re saying goodbye to toxicity and emotional injury, and it’s always okay to say goodbye to those things. Being a good Quaker or a faithful Christian doesn’t mean subjecting ourselves to the abuse of others. No less an authority than Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone doesn’t welcome you, leave. Shake the dust off your feet.”
It is perfectly acceptable to leave negative and unwelcoming situations and people. Learning to say goodbye can be one of the healthiest practices we cultivate and develop. Of course, goodbyes aren’t always a result of maltreatment. Our old meetinghouse served us faithfully. Our goodbye to it reflects our regard and appreciation for it. Thirteen years ago, when we left our 1892 meetinghouse and came to this one, we trapped the air of that meeting room in three jars and brought them here, determined that the welcoming essence of that place would come with us to this place. It was purely a symbolic act. We have no desire to open those jars and release the mold spores into this meetinghouse.
The ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu said, “Observe how endings become beginnings.” Good goodbyes make it possible for us to enjoy healthy, happy beginnings. A good and appropriate goodbye, a timely departure from one thing enables us to embrace a new and better opportunity. A good goodbye prevents the bitterness and anger that too often accompany our losses. A good goodbye reminds us that everything has a shelf life, everything has a beginning and an end. We too often lament the end of something without welcoming the beginning of something else. Observe how endings become beginnings. Aren’t you glad that Quakers have always felt free to borrow from other traditions and faiths? How fortunate we are to have at our fingertips the collective wisdom of the ages, to welcome it into our lives, to embrace the gifts and blessings others bring to the world’s table. And this is one such gift from an ancient Chinese sage: Observe how endings become blessings.