Written by Pr. Melissa O’Keefe Reed, Bishop’s Associate of the Oregon Synod
To sit at the feet of the elders of The Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, in Eugene is to be welcomed into a stream of memory where the past and future become one.
On Easter Sunday, April 9, 2023, ten remaining members, most of whom served on their council, gathered with 90 of their family members, friends and Lutheran siblings from local congregations to worship for the final time as The Good Shepherd Lutheran Church. Carefully cut paper butterflies hung from the sanctuary rafters, dancing in the breeze of alleluias raised through shouts, song, and recorder (as well as violin and ensemble!). While grief was palpable, so was love, gratitude and anticipation.
They will tell you the stories of clearing the brush where the church would stand. They will tell you the stories of one hundred kids at Vacation Bible School among three congregations. They will tell you the stories of getting Camp Lutherwood off the ground – “All the boys were in the barn and the girls slept in the main building,” Cookie Trupp recalls, her eyes looking upward as she scans the images of her memory. And, in the same breath they will recall that the land their ancestors settled and eventually made church home on was originally the land of the Kalapuya peoples.
The memories of the good people of The Good Shepherd are long, as is their faith – stretching out into a hopeful, flowing future. On a recent autumn afternoon, sitting in Council President Terri Vieira’s living room, Cookie shared what it’s been like for her to come to the decision to bless the ending of The Good Shepherd’s ministry on McBeth Road.
Butch Miller met me as I entered the narthex, proudly pointing to the wall of confirmation classes. “There I am!” He exclaimed, peering into the black and white photo of teenagers in long albs. “And, there is my wife, Linda.” The elders of The Good Shepherd know their history because it is their history. Now in their 80’s and 90’s, most grew up in the congregation. Some of their families founded the congregation in 1955. Linda’s family donated the timber for the church building and her grandmother named it: THE Good Shepherd.
They will tell you the stories of clearing the brush where the church would stand. They will tell you the stories of one hundred kids at Vacation Bible School among three congregations. They will tell you the stories of getting Camp Lutherwood off the ground – “All the boys were in the barn and the girls slept in the main building,” Cookie Trupp recalls, her eyes looking upward as she scans the images of her memory. And, in the same breath they will recall that the land their ancestors settled and eventually made church home on was originally the land of the Kalapuya peoples.
The memories of the good people of The Good Shepherd are long, as is their faith – stretching out into a hopeful, flowing future. On a recent autumn afternoon, sitting in Council President Terri Vieira’s living room, Cookie shared what it’s been like for her to come to the decision to bless the ending of The Good Shepherd’s ministry on McBeth Road.
“For me it was coming to the conclusion that I could worship God anytime, anywhere. What we have here is material and we don’t take it with us when we leave. My husband’s death taught me that. I’m learning I can go somewhere else and worship and be fulfilled and happy about this adventure in our past.”
This is not to say this ending has been easy. There is immense loss. I sat a couple of hours later up the road from the former church building at the dining room table of Butch and Linda. Butch’s father built the farmhouse we gather in. Linda, hands cupped around her mug of tea, tears in her eyes, recalled:
“That whole church was my life…I was always involved in music and with the kids…we raised our kids there. At the same time (as we were closing) my mom died. That’s what hurt the most…it felt like a real death.”
Simultaneously, by the time they started the conversation about concluding their ministry, they were down to a small group of elders, many with health struggles. They were vulnerable to outside influences and things got complicated and pressured. Butch adds:
“In reality we hung on for a long time, probably longer than we should have. Be on council, be there every Sunday, lead the services, it was overwhelming…we nearly burned out!”
His advice: “Call the synod staff sooner than you think you need to for support.”
And, while many of The Good Shepherd members were literal relatives, they also made home with “newbies” like the Council President, Terri, now in her late 70’s, who moved to Eugene from California in the 1970’s, following her colleague Betty Svarvarud. Betty’s parents donated the land for the church building. And, Betty’s family adopted Terri “as one of their own” and Betty and Terri split a home on Betty’s family’s land. When asked what The Good Shepherd has meant to Terri, she remarked with tenderness:
“Coming from Catholicism at that time, it was shedding light on grace. I learned why the cross was empty and they welcomed me in. I became known as The Instigator — the oddball fitting in among mostly Norwegians.”
Terri is now on hospice. As she remembers the family of The Good Shepherd, she smiles wide. I ask her about the day she called me to tell me the sale of the land and church building had gone through and it was time to write the checks to all the carefully chosen communities and organizations the congregation had decided to leave legacies and continue ministry through: Lutheran World Relief, Oregon Synod General Fund and Courageous Love Fund, The Eugene Mission, Church of the Living Waters on the Paiute Reservation, and the Confederate Tribes of the Grand Ronde (not exhaustive).
“Every check was a fulfillment of the legacy that had been left us. Every single check. And, to be able to return (through monetary gift) what was initially someone else’s land like the Indigenous people… and to realize that we could contribute back. Each one just lifted me more.”
As I drove home along the snaking rural roads of South Eugene, I could almost hear the echoes of generations past giving thanks for the healing and new life that The Good Shepherd has seeded in its graceful death. How potent are our faithful memories, beloveds, when caught in the stream of the Holy Spirit who births no less than all life to come. Alleluias, indeed!
