We have been attending the same church for over a decade. We have loved it there. I’ve written about our church family so many times over the years. They have held us up during very difficult moments and been a constant when many other things were changing. I thought we would be at that church until we died and then they’d have to bury us out behind the preschool classroom portable. But that is not how the story ends.
I wanted to write this out because I think if you had asked me about good reasons to leave a church, I wouldn’t have expressed anything close to the situation we have found ourselves in. I might have said that there would need to be major theological differences. I might have talked about abuse or financial mismanagement or other unethical behavior. We’ve stayed at our church through lots of hard situations and felt like our call was to be faithful, so shouldn’t everybody stay forever?
I’m seeing it a little differently now.
I want to be so careful how I talk about this because we LOVE the people at our old church (I hate even saying “old” church. ugh.). They are still our people and we left on good terms. I do not want to be hurtful in any way, while also acknowledging that sometimes it isn’t some major issue that means you need to leave. Sometimes you’re just in a different season.
As my husband and I were talking this all through for the millionth time I said to him, “I would never have thought that we’d make a church decision based on our kids.” Clearly, I like to imagine we only make noble decisions based on principle, not practical concerns. He paused and then said, “We’ve always made church decisions based on our kids.” He was right. We picked a church in Tennessee because they were welcoming to the boys we were working with in the group home we were part of. We ended up at our previous church because they had a heart for foster care and we were just beginning that journey. They were so excited to see us show up and helped give us opportunities to use our heart for infertility ministry and foster care support. While that’s still who we are, that’s not who the church is any longer. Our kids are in a different stage. We need different avenues to be able to serve and our kids need more ways to be involved.
We have chosen for our kids to be in public school, so we feel strongly that they need places to connect with other kids who share our values. We weren’t church shopping to try and find the place with the flashiest youth programing. We were looking for a home where our kids (especially our middle/high schoolers) felt needed and could contribute their gifts. We wanted a place they felt connected to other kids and valued by adults. While we loved the families at our previous church, there were barriers to our kids involvement. There came a moment when we looked at our kids and thought, “Why would they want to keep doing this after we stop making them?” We don’t want our kids to graduate from church when they graduate from high school. Our decision making process shouldn’t be about who has the most fun activities for kids, but about where our kids can learn, grow, and feel connected.
But it wasn’t just about our kids. There was a time we felt like our gifts and voices were needed in that community, but leadership and vision change over time. That’s not necessarily right or wrong, it just may mean square pegs have now found themselves in round holes. That’s uncomfortable for everybody. You can keep trying trying to make that hole square again, but it doesn’t work. I got some good wisdom from a pastor friend that if you’re in a place where you can’t use your gifts, that might be a good indication you’re in the wrong place.
So our theology has not changed. Our love for our community has not changed. Our gratitude for the place that loved us so well for so long has not changed. In many ways, we have not changed. But it’s not the right place for us anymore.
Good Friday was our last time at that church. I don’t know exactly why. We’d been between churches for almost a year, but it just felt like the end. We lead music for the service and then sat in the back, as we had for years. I put our little foster baby on a blanket on the hardwood floors and for some reason it hit me hard. I had put so many babies on that floor over the years. I had walked those floors with restless little ones. I had sat in those pews and wept over the deepest struggles in my adult life. I had grown friendships that are still a network of support for me today. And I didn’t know if we’d ever be back in that building. The people we will keep connections with, but would I ever step on those floors again? I put my palms flat on the floor. I cried. I thanked them for being such good floors, for being a place for healing and love and community and growth. We leave with gratitude and grief side-by-side. I think that’s how it should be.
I listened to Russell Moore interviewing Beth Moore about their transitions out of their home denomination. Beth Moore talked about how if you leave when you should, you’ll feel sad. If you stick around longer then you should, you’ll leave angry. I’m thankful to be leaving sad (although I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been angry moments) because I think it’s a testimony to the great love we felt for this place and these people.
In adoption and attachment conversations we’ll say that when a child has securely attached to someone, that’s a good thing even if that attachment has to end. It means he’s developed the capacity for attachment and he can transfer that attachment somewhere else. I’m thankful for our capacity to love a church and our experience of a healthy, thriving community. It’s allowing us to develop a healthy involvement in the place we’ve landed. We can appreciate the positives and have grace for the struggles because we know what it’s like to love a church, a community, a culture. We are still building that attachment, but we have hope that we’ll get there. Loving a church doesn’t mean pretending (or even hoping) that it’s perfect. We know there isn’t a perfect church, but I can love and serve a church that is humbly willing to acknowledge the challenges it faces and welcomes me to use my gifts to help strengthen it.
This has been such a hard decision for us. It’s been heartbreaking in many ways. But if leaving a church doesn’t break your heart, I don’t think you’re doing church right.
The beautiful part about leaving a church is that you don’t have to leave The Church. We believe it’s more than a building, it’s the people of God. We aren’t leaving them. Our brothers and sisters are still our brothers and sisters. We don’t have to meet together every Sunday morning to maintain that connection. I am for them as they do important work in the places they live, work and worship. I know they are for me. I will miss those hardwood floors. I will miss the scheduled weekly connection with that particular group of people in that particular place. But The Church is so much more than that. And I’m not leaving her at all.