I like to tell people that our congregation is growing more focused and faithful.
But the truth is, we are simply growing smaller. Even though new people are consistently joining in our ministry, numerically, we are losing ground.
I’m sometimes tempted to find comfort in the fact that other congregations are growing smaller too, and many of them are doing so at a faster rate than ours. But yielding to that temptation brings only sadness.
But no matter how different congregations may be, people leave for the same sorts of reasons. And those reasons aren’t new; they are as old as the church.
- People die.
- People move.
- People get mad for no reason.
- People get upset over theological or biblical differences with the pastor or denomination or congregational leaders.
- People get upset with other members having nothing to do with the church.
- People’s children stop being friends.
- People stop believing in God. Or, if not God, in the importance of the church.
- People decide they don’t like the pastor. Or the sermons. Or the music. Or the prayers.
- People get busy.
- People are absent a few weeks and are rightly disappointed when no one notices.
- People find congregations with better programs. Or better schedules.
- People simply grow tired from having to do too many jobs with too little support.
- The church disappoints. Or worse, physically or emotionally wounds.
But no matter how or why people leave the congregations to which they have been connected, there is always some sense of loss for those who are left behind, and often for those who leave.
That’s why ministry almost always seems like grief work these days.
And that’s why I’m learning to make peace with the reality that not every congregation works for every person, or for the same person at different times in their life, or in the congregation’s life. And I am realizing more each week in ministry that not every person who hears my sermons or reads my words or sits at some meeting table with me will connect with my understanding of what it means to follow in the way of Jesus through the church.
In a book about the death of his son, Richard Lischer offers a thought that resonates with me as I do my own grief work. He describes his journey as being one from a place of “bitter gall,” where he viewed the loss he suffered as a “robbery,” to a place of “settled sorrow” that is able to proclaim: “He was my son, and I give thanks for him.”
I am discovering that place in my own grief over the losses our congregation faces. A sorrow to be sure, but a settled sorrow that is able to invoke a blessing for those who depart, a settled sorrow that is able to proclaim, “For a while we journeyed together, and we give thanks for you.”
And no matter whether you leave through death or move or choice, you can be assured of one thing.
You remain in our hearts. And we are grateful for you.
ReaderDeac
Yes, leaving for most reasons,
“whether I stay or whether I go.”
for many people means grieving
“whether I stay or whether I go.”
And grieving can be a healthy unknown
“whether I stay or whether I go.”
God doesn’t leave me alone
“whether I stay or whether I go.”
And we are grateful for you.
“whether I stay or whether I go.”
Ken Rummer
You’ve spoken to me in my pastor world. “Settled sorrow” sounds like something I could live toward.