People Will Leave (and It’s OK)
Have you ever quit a job, left a school, abandoned a group of any kind simply because you couldn’t bear to spend one more day in an environment that didn’t fit you? Have you ever turned your back on a relationship because of divergent values? Walked away from a conversation out of protest?
And what about the flip side of the coin–have you ever been left, as a boss or a facilitator or a friend? Of course you have, whether you noticed or not.
In the years since The Glorious Table was launched, a number of people have left, contributors as well as subscribers. Gradually, I’ve learned not to take the leaving personally. It’s simply what happens when we allow our differences to show and our needs to speak up. Sometimes, it’s a single post that causes someone to leave. Sometimes it’s the overall sense of “fit” with what we publish here. A reader may not feel like she is part of the perceived “target audience” we’re trying to serve. Once, we lost a contributor as well as a subscriber or two after we published a controversial post. My first instinct was to try to bargain, to prevent the leaving, but prayer led me to a place of peace. People will leave, the Spirit whispered. People are always going to leave–and it’s okay. You will never make everyone happy.
Have you ever chased someone–figuratively, maybe–down the street as they’re leaving? Maybe you’ve called after them, “Hey! Wait! Don’t go! I can change! We can do things differently!”
Well, it doesn’t always work, does it?
Here’s the thing: no matter what venture you’re in, whether it’s a business venture or a church venture or a social venture or even a family venture, sometimes people leave. And it’s okay. It may not feel okay in the moment, but it will be okay in time.
This doesn’t mean you never chase someone down the street to find out why they’re leaving (you should always try to find out why someone is leaving, at the very least for the purposes of self-reflection and honest evaluation), or that you should never offer to find a way to compromise. But you have to know that these attempts won’t always work. Sometimes, the person will have been already looking for an exit strategy. Sometimes the leaving won’t be about you–it will be about them. The cliché, “It’s not you; it’s me” will actually be true.
When the Pharisees grumble about Jesus spending his time with sinners, he tells the people this parable:
“What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance. (Luke 15:4-7 ESV)
I’ve had this parable thrown at me a few times. There’s a difference, though, between chasing after the one lost sheep (the non-believer) and chasing after believers with whom you disagree. Notice that Jesus never chased the Pharisees–because they should have recognized him as the Messiah. They knew their stuff. So when they chose to turn their backs on him, he didn’t pursue. He let them leave.
We left a church once, my family and I, and hardly anyone seems to have noticed. It wasn’t the right fit, and I’d hung on for too long, probably, hoping it would somehow become the right fit. Of course, it didn’t. The church wasn’t going to change in certain key ways, and I wasn’t going to change in those same ways, so it was likely always doomed. I told a couple of key friends that we were going to be looking for a new church, but only one other person noticed we stopped attending. If anyone else noticed, they never mentioned it. And you know what? It’s okay. I don’t need to be chased down the street. I don’t need to hash out doctrinal differences with anyone. And I’m comfortable now, after the initial sting, with the fact that we clearly didn’t form any solid friendships there–I don’t feel like I’ve truly abandoned anyone. We obviously weren’t really “doing life” (as the church likes to call it) with people, even if we thought we were. And now, we can ask ourselves what “doing life” in community really looks like and work on finding a place to actually do it.
Leaving can be hard. But sometimes, leaving is okay. It’s okay that we left. It’s okay that we’ve been left.
If there’s anything I’ve learned from my family members and friends in the military, it’s that life is filled with partings, geographical as well as emotional and intellectual. Some partings are sudden and loud and obvious, while others are gradual and quiet and unobtrusive. I’ve lived in five cities in my adult life, and every time I move, I manage to stay in touch consistently with one or two friends–that’s it. The losses are high but not always painful, not always offending. It’s simply that we don’t have the bandwidth to maintain that many across-the-miles relationships–not if we’re to be fully present in our day-to-day lives. And it’s okay. Last summer, I had dinner at the new home of a former colleague, someone I hadn’t seen in person in six years and rarely connect with, but seeing her in person after that long separation was as though we’d seen each other the day before. Leaving doesn’t always mean the destruction of a relationship. It doesn’t always mean the end of loving someone. Sometimes it just means there’s a pause.
Scripture is filled with partings. Abraham. Jacob. Joseph. Ruth. I could go on and on. Peter and Andrew, James and John leave their fishing nets (and, it’s implied, their homes and families) to follow Jesus.
Even Jesus left in the physical sense, saying to his disciples:
But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, ‘I am going away, and I will come to you.’ If you loved me, you would have rejoiced, because I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I. And now I have told you before it takes place, so that when it does take place you may believe. (John 14:27-29 ESV)
The disciples grieved the loss of their rabbi, not understanding what he meant when he said he would return, not understanding what it would mean to have the Holy Spirit. In the days following Jesus’ ascension, they felt lost and afraid. They felt abandoned. But only temporarily. With the coming of the Holy Spirit, they realized it was going to be okay. They could finally see the purpose in the leaving.
Leaving isn’t always bad. Sometimes it’s necessary. But whether you’re the one being left or the one doing the leaving, it will be okay because we can know that the only one who really counts–the Lord–never leaves.
A version of this post was originally published at The Glorious Table.
