We are all familiar with Ben Franklin’s statement that nothing is as certain as death and taxes. And while it was said a bit tongue in cheek (at least about the taxes) we understand its truth. It is not even questioned. But in the church, we regularly see something else that is just as sure as either of these. In church, few things are as sure as people finding a reason to leave. It is a certain fact in the church—one that no one in ministry for more than a few months would ever question.
People leave for various reasons. Some will leave because a decision was made with which they do not agree. Hopefully, they fully understand the decision and are not acting upon a misunderstanding. But it happens. It is between them and their master. Some leave because they are sure they know a better way to do things. They are sure that things are not being done right and determined that either things change their way, or they leave. Once again, this is between them and their master. They may also leave because of personality conflicts. Believe me, I have been the cause of more than one of these over my ministry. I know my personality is hard for many, and my approach to ministry may not be everyone’s preference—“Thank you Lord for that!”
What I want to address is how we should respond to people leaving. Some could say, “Well, good riddance. We are better without them.” I haven’t heard that here, but have heard it in other churches. There is actually an old saying that “Everyone blesses a church: some when they come, and some when they leave.” But I just can’t be so callous. You see, when people leave my church, a piece of me will always go with them. My heart breaks. From that day forward, whenever I think of them, instead of getting offended or angry, I take it as the Lord reminding me to pray for them—that they will be happy; that they will find that which they seek; and that if it is the Lord’s will he bring them back.
To those who stay, I say continue to be friends and reach out to those who leave—no matter why they left. If they are willing to keep the door of friendship open, so must you. To those who leave, “I love you.” I do not say that lightly. I truly do love you. You see, I am convinced that loving those under my care is the greatest duty God has given me—and it is also the hardest. So come or go, praise or complain, encourage or rebuke, I will love you. Not because you deserve it, but because God has called me to do so, and because I choose to. That too is as sure as death and taxes.