One year ago, I was preparing my first sermon as your senior pastor. In the months before that Sunday, I had joined you over Zoom, made phone calls, scribbled sermon notes, and tried to imagine what life would look like in a new city, with a new church, among people I was still learning to call mine. I was trying to wrap my head around what it meant to be your senior pastor—a role that felt both daunting and holy, overwhelming and full of promise.
A year later, I am still making phone calls and jotting down sermon notes. But now the notes are shaped by your stories. Now I have sat in your homes and classrooms, shared meals at your tables, heard about your joys and your griefs, and watched for the ways God is already at work in your lives and in the life of this church.
There were things I thought I knew when I arrived. I knew I would make new friends, learn new rhythms, discover a new way of being, and delight in a very short commute. I hoped I would grow stronger in my preaching, become more comfortable with the pace of pastoral life here, and learn to trust gifts in myself that others could sometimes see before I could.
But there were also things I could not have known until I lived them. I did not know the depth of your love, the steadiness of your kindness, or the energy and hope you carry for this church. I did not know how often you would ask about Neal, invite me to share a meal or a cup of coffee, welcome me into your Sunday School classes, and offer your trust so generously. I knew you were open to new ideas, but I could not have imagined how much joy and courage you would bring to trying them together.
Over the last year, we have welcomed new members and laid beloved members to rest. We have expanded Sunday School classes, started new ministries, gathered in celebration, sat together in sorrow, and taken the next faithful step more times than we can count. When I look back, what stands out most is not simply how much we have done, but how faithfully God has met us in the doing.
One year later, I am grateful—not only for what I know now, but for all that I am still learning alongside you. And I find myself wondering, with hope and joy, what the next year, and the next, and the next, will reveal.