Within a few days our twelve weeks in Switzerland will come to an end.  And once again I have been reminded how quickly time passes. As St. James informs us in his letter in the New Testament, “Life is a vapor.” Or as the Steve Miller Band puts it, “Time keeps on slippin’ into the future.”

At any rate, our time here in the land of Heidi, chocolate and watches wasn’t long enough to learn many words in Swiss German (the dialect spoken in Luzern). By their own admission, those who live here say Schweizerdeutschis quite different from high German. It’s quite difficult to master.

I was grateful that the International Church of Luzern was an English-speaking congregation. But Wendy and I did learn how to say hello in Swiss German. When we arrived at our apartment in the middle of March, we were greeted by a white sign with red letters on a shelf in the entry way. Attempting to sound out grüezi, I asked how to say this seemingly unpronounceable word. I also asked what it meant.

“It’s pronounced GRIT-see,” the chair of the pastoral search committee explained. “It’s how we greet one another. And it’s not all that difficult to say.”

Almost immediately Wendy and I began saying grüezi as we’d meet people in the store and on the street. To our delight strangers greeted us with grüezi in return. We said grüezi often as we took time to visit in the homes of our Swiss congregation. We’d say grüezi as we took day trips on the lake or to the mountains with the members. We’d say grüezi as we’d study the Bible together in small groups.

Learning to say hello to this church family has been deeply rewarding. As the interim minister I was able to give myself fully to loving the flock without being burdened with the demands normally associated with a full-time call. It’s the kind of assignment I’ve come to appreciate.

I’ve served in the role of interim pastor twice in my forty-five years in ministry. Both situations were most fulfilling. In each case, I was tasked with the challenge of holding the congregation together while they anticipated their next fulltime shepherd.

But one of the hard parts of being an interim pastor is making new friendships and investing in relationships only to have to say goodbye a short time later. If you’re wired the way I am, you don’t hold people at arm’s length in order to avoid the pain that goes with farewells. Pastors like me can’t help drawing close to those around you and making memories together. It’s just what we do.  But then comes the grief. Or as Shakespeare put it, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

I first learned the emotional letdown of saying goodbye to new friends while working my way through seminary. My summer job for three years found me escorting tour groups to Alaska and through the Canadian Rockies. Over a two-week period, I’d get to know my passengers in a very personal way. In a relatively short period of time, we’d share family history and hopes for our future while experiencing memorable moments together that will last a lifetime.

And then I would be forced to say goodbye to new friends. I went into a bit of a depression.  The grief was real. The sadness was palatable. But in retrospect, I would call it good grief. I was grieving because I had experienced genuine joy and meaningful friendship before having to say goodbye.

As I come to the end of this Swiss ministry adventure, I’m once again experiencing good grief. The pain is real but so are the connections that Wendy and I have made. Friendships have been born that will be lasting. Relationships have been established that were mutually beneficial. Learning how to say hi in the language of the locals came with a windfall in spite of the tears. But I’m not sorry for the sorrow.

It’s inevitable. Hellos always give way to goodbyes. The present eventually becomes the past. The door of opportunity swings open and shut. But in it all, learning to say grüezi (in any language) is the key that unlocks the doors God places in our path.