I found this in my drafts. I wrote it eighteen months ago, in July 2022, right after I retired.
The first page of a new journal happened on the same day as my first Sunday of retirement, that is, my first Sunday off from preaching.
Sure, I’ve had Sundays off before. Vacations. A few guest preachers. But this was real. This was retirement. This was the first day of the rest of my <retired> life.
This was different. I didn’t have to worry about what was happening in my absence. I didn’t have to anticipate a text like, “How do you reset the AC?” or “Where is the key for the other building?” All of that was someone else’s concern. No one could add anything to my plate. I had nothing to worry about.
If you are just tuning in, this was the first Sunday after thirty-six years of pastoral ministry when Sunday was actually a “Sabbath” for me. For me and other pastors, Sunday is ground zero. Even though I had plenty to do the rest of the week, everything pointed towards Sunday. Sunday is “showtime,” that day when you touch the most lives in the smallest amount of time. Some in person. Some online. Some for the first time. Some for the hundredth time.
Do you know what my wife and I did on the first Sunday of my retirement? I want to say, “Nothing.” Nada. Zip. Zilch.
That’s not quite accurate. We did not go to church. At least not in person. We watched my son’s worship service on YouTube from Dallas, TX. We went for a long bike ride. I wrote a bunch of thank you notes for retirement gifts. I made some of my special ceviche. I took a nap.
I had a Sabbath.
I had a day to rest. A day to relax. A day to re-create. A day to listen and reflect on God’s Word. A day to be still and know that He is God.
Here are a few thoughts from my first day off in retirement:
- On this day, God was exalted. Too often, I am praised on a Sunday morning for an inspiring message, an appropriate prayer, or an appropriate illustration. Even though the kingdom, the power, and the glory are His, pastors get too much of that. I did not have to worry about that on this Sunday.
- On this day, I was just Bill. I know that doesn’t impress most of you. But it’s been thirty-six years since I was just “Bill.” I remember the day after the call service at the Fort Wayne seminary when I called the president of the congregation. With a thick Brooklyn accent, Jim said, “Oh, hi, Pastor.” From that moment on, people called me Pastor, Pastor Douthwaite, Pastor Bill, and PB. Over the years some would call me “Bill,” but they were few and far between. Suddenly, that’s who I was. Bill. I had to think back to my pre-seminary days to remember who that was.
- On this day, Sunday happened without me. For so many years, I unlocked the doors, turned on the lights, straightened the chairs (old sanctuary), cleaned up (old worship folders from last Sunday, put out the worship folders for this Sunday, filled the baptismal font, put out the Sunday School snacks, and made sure we had an appropriate banner displayed in the sanctuary. Someone else does all that now.
I thankful for all the Sunday “on,” when I got to preach. And I am grateful for all these Sundays when I don’t.
Waite for it... 