Conventional wisdom suggests that a good Academy Award acceptance speech and a pastor’s farewell from a church have something in common: both should be short and sweet. And then you should get off the stage.
But what do you do when you tell everyone you’re leaving and then have to stick around for four months?
I recently left a church where I had served in a staff position for eight years. My wife, Becky, and I were excited about our accomplishments yet eager to begin the next chapter in our lives. I had sensed a call to ordained ministry, and that meant a move to receive additional academic preparation.
As with most staff departures, this was not going to be an easy good-bye. In this place two of our three children had been baptized, and it was the only home they remembered. The congregation was full of people who had nurtured our children and who had shared with us joy and sorrow, success and disappointment. We had been together long enough to be richly blessed, and occasionally wounded, by each other.
We faced an additional reality: I would begin my studies in February, but my denominational process required that I announce publicly my decision in September. There was no way to avoid a four-and-a half month transition-135 days of being a lame duck. Even if we had wanted it, this was not going to be a nice, neat transition, a professional leave-taking.
Becky and I set out to make the most of a long good-bye. Here’s what we learned.
Feelings to Process Before the Announcement
The first thing we saw was that emotions were snaring us early on. Though we would travel the same route several times, even before the decision was announced, we experienced the first cycle of grief: denial, anger, blame, and acceptance.
During our year-long struggle to come to the decision, we found ourselves repeatedly denying the reality of our move. For instance, we found it difficult even to think about leaving one older couple in the church who had become special, grandparent-type friends for our children. I also found myself getting excited about events I was helping plan, knowing I’d never be a part of them.
When we finally did make the decision to leave, we found ourselves torn between talking constantly about the move and trying to forget about having to leave.
We also experienced anger; in many ways this was not a move we were eager to make. Yes, we were excited about what awaited us, but we felt angry about having to leave good friends and a familiar place. Becky in particular longs for a sense of rootedness. After recent staff changes and the flurry of finishing a new building, things had finally begun to feel settled. Now we were going to move.
We also found ourselves blaming. The three recent years of constant staff changes and confusion at the church had taken an emotional toll. I wondered, had that transition been better handled by the elders, would I have thought of leaving? Perhaps I was to blame: maybe I should have gone to graduate school earlier in my career, when a move wouldn’t have been so disruptive.
Acceptance finally came, but only after many late night conversations, some confusing and frustrating, in which we honestly expressed our anger and disappointment as well as our hopes and plans.
Picking Words to Carry Us Through
We recognized that our leaving would mean different things to different people in the congregation. Some would see our move as a wonderful career step, and others would take it as not much more than another change on the church letterhead. Then again, some would have to say good-bye to special friends or people they’d come to lean on for support.
These different groups needed to be told differently, and we needed to be ready for their reactions.
No matter who we would be dealing with, we wanted to make three words hallmarks of this last chapter in that place: gracious, truthful, and open.
By gracious, we were hoping that we would be at ease in accepting the inevitable tributes, thanks, and words of appreciation that would be coming our way. But more than that, we wanted to express specifically our thanks and our love for others, both publicly and privately.
By truthful, we were committing ourselves to avoiding cliches, euphemisms, and glossing over some tough issues from the past.
By open, we meant we wanted to be “emotionally available” to the congregation, to be a listening ear to those who wanted to share their feelings before we left. Also, we didn’t want to put on a tough or pious exterior that suggested we ourselves were not torn by emotions.
Close Friends React Practically
The opening stage of our campaign went wonderfully well. Arrangements were made for dinners, desserts, or afternoon visits with eight of our closest friends. When they were people important to our children, we included our children. Though the announcement was always hard to make, each occasion was marked by the grace and openness we wanted.
We tried to keep opening pleasantries to a minimum so that we would have as much time as possible to talk about our decision. We quickly saw that often the initial comments or questions of our friends were practical ones-When will you leave? Where will you live? Why did you choose that seminary? Later we’d find that many of our answers weren’t remembered. The questions about details, it seems, provided a non-threatening way for our friends to respond initially.
As the conversation progressed, though, tears were shed, hugs exchanged, and talk made about the future of our relationships.
These were good times, and we regretted we had not spent more time in the previous eight years “just talking” with these special people.
Planning a Few Answers
I announced my decision to the church board in late September, and within a week, the news was announced in a congregational letter and from the pulpit. Even before the news was out, though, we tried to imagine the different reactions and comments we might receive and, in the words of a therapist friend, tried to “calibrate” appropriate responses.
A few people immediately wrote thoughtful notes that, as it turned out, would be their only words on the subject. The most common responses were “I don’t know what we’re going to do without you,” “I knew you would be leaving us sometime,” and “We’re happy for you, but sad for us.”
To such people, and to the casual passing-in-the-hall mention of regret at our leaving, I’d often say, “Oh, you’ll do just fine, I’m sure,” or “Yes, I guess we all move on sometime, but it doesn’t make it any easier,” or “I am looking forward to the new challenge, but leaving you all is a very sad thing for me and the family too.”
When someone would make a special effort to talk to me about our leaving, I would tell them something of my struggle to come to a decision about the new call. I didn’t want to make Cod the “fall guy” for our decisions, but it was a good chance to teach a little bit about God’s call and our need to respond. I would tell them how my own cautious nature made responding to God’s call difficult.
In addition, I would remind them that the church would be facing some months of transition, that some things would not be the same as before, and that was neither good nor bad.
Most importantly, though, I would try to remember to thank such concerned people as specifically as possible for some way they had touched my life, for something my family would remember about them, or for an aspect of faith or hope they modeled especially well.
For instance, one couple had been particularly generous in allowing us to use their vacation home. We told them how much it had meant to use it to get away from time to time. I also spoke specifically to one person I had worked particularly close with on a major church project.
Back to Normal-Except for Counseling
Within a month, it all seemed to end. Lame duck? No way!
There was a fall stewardship campaign to run, a budget to write, classes to teach, and Christmas programs to plan. We were back to business as usual-except for a noticeable increase in the number of people asking to come in to talk about this or that personal issue. A few even acknowledged that my leaving was what finally brought the issue to a head.
One woman, someone who had attended several of my adult classes over the years but whom I knew only casually, made an appointment for what she said would be a brief conversation. She began with some kind words about my ministry. I replied with some of my standard lines.
Then she said, “There is something else I’ve wanted to talk about with you, and I want to do it now, before you leave.”
She began to unfold the story of the fear she had been living with for years. Her husband was chronically unemployed and depressed. His anger at being unable to find a job was taken out on his children, and though she knew of no physical abuse, she worried deeply about it all.
“I don’t want to burden you,” she concluded.
“But perhaps you know someone who could help me.”
I urged her to contact some agencies and family therapists that could deal with her problem.
Such conversations were prompted, I believe, in part by people’s knowing I wouldn’t be around much longer.
Strange Silence About the Move
While busy with the tasks of ministry, I nevertheless was almost depressed by what seemed to be a lack of concern for our big decision and our plans to move. I soon saw the problem, however, for what it was.
So far, all we had allowed people to do was ask questions and react to our decision. We had made our choice, and we had not asked for input from any but a very few who had served as references on applications. We had not given most of our friends anything to do, any way to help. They wanted to help, to be a part of our process, but they didn’t know how.
So Becky began to think of ways we could use; people’s offers of help, things that would really assist us, like providing meals during the final hectic weeks of packing. Others agreed to take the children for a day while we packed, or help in the actual packing. Even though we wouldn’t need the help for a couple more months, our friends were “let in” on our process, and we were given the reassurance of their support.
We also realized that we needed to “give Dermis l sion” for people, especially men, to talk to us. So in some situations we’d bring up the subject of our move and specifically ask for advice about a crosscountry move in February. Nearly everyone had some word to the wise, and most had their own stories of blizzards, icy roads, and thousand-mile detours.
Some people mentioned they were reluctant to | talk because they felt something akin to envy. A move to a new community, a return to graduate i school, and a different career direction were things l they had long dreamed about, but they were slowly slipping away as real possibilities.
One woman spoke of almost regretting her husband’s business success: “We’re so well-
established and doing so nicely, I don’t know that we will ever E venture out in a new direction, ever pull up and start over somewhere else.”
The adventurer and wanderer in her could only dream about what we were doing.
And some people were hesitant to talk to us because they suspected that we were leaving because we were dissatisfied, and they didn’t want to probe a sensitive area for us.
My first preaching opportunity didn’t come until nearly two months after our initial announcement. In the sermon I spoke about my sense of calling, weaving that in with the story of faithful Abraham and Sarah told in Hebrews 11 and the sense of call the Mayflower pilgrims experienced.
Following the service several people expressed relief to learn that I wasn’t leaving because I was angry. One kind and godly woman took both my | hands and said, “I was so glad to hear what you said. All these weeks I’ve been worried that we had done something to hurt you, and that’s why you were leaving us.”
Trying to Mend a Broken Relationship
Other, less pleasant, business needed attending to as well. My relationship with one elder had been strained to the breaking point a year earlier when he and I disagreed sharply over decisions made regarding the termination of another staff member. My concern for discipline he had heard as judgmental; his concern for compassion I had heard as compromise on Christian essentials. We had patched things up well enough to continue a working relationship, but we were each still hurt.
I had been willing to leave without dealing with the residue of hurt; I figured as long as we acted civilly, we needn’t do more. That was not to be.
Because of this elder’s committee assignment, he had heard of my decision to leave before I had formally announced it to the full board. He took it upon himself to alert other elders of my decision and offered his opinion: “It’s probably a good thing.”
After my announcement, he began to criticize routine administrative decisions I had been making for years. When the local weekly paper ran a story highlighting my years at the church and the many staffing changes that had taken place, he chastised me at a board meeting for the tone of the article. While the senior pastor and the other elders affirmed me overwhelmingly that night, I realized clearly a serious problem still existed.
I talked with this elder, and we agreed to meet for breakfast. The tension was thick as we moved quickly from small talk to the antagonism between us. We rehashed many of the year-old issues, only to find once again we disagreed. I asked about some of the more recent incidents, and he said he had done only what he thought was best for the church. We were at another impasse.
“To me, it feels as if you are carrying out a personal vendetta in a public forum,” I said.
“Well, I feel as if you’ve used your position to make me appear wrong in front of others.”
We left the restaurant acknowledging the impasse and hurt but with the hope that time might heal what we had not been able to. I felt no great sense of accomplishment or resolution, but I was thankful we had made one final attempt at reconciliation. I saw in retrospect that I had not been right in thinking I could leave the church without at least trying to deal with that broken relationship and the pain I was feeling.
Really Saying Good-Bye
Christmas time and the final six weeks before our departure marked a closing and significant state in our leave-taking. Becky and I began to be struck by the last-time quality of events: helping the men of the church put up the huge Christmas tree in the sanctuary for the last time; listening to the choir singing “Silent Night” for the last time; attending the annual Christmas Craft Workshop with our family for the last time. The last times became emotional reminders not that we were going someplace new and exciting but that we were leaving a dear and beloved community of friends.
Entering the new year seemed to signal permission for the beginning of good-byes. People who had hardly spoken of our leaving since our announcement in late September had clearly given thought to it and were ready now to say what they wanted to say.
We, in turn, were able to respond-less often now with our rehearsed lines and more often with a depth of feeling we did not have in September.
Those practiced lines had served us well in the beginning, but over the months had become self-protective barriers to honest communication.
We could have been at a farewell party every weekend evening of that last month. As an extrovert, my inclination was to squeeze in as many events as possible. Becky wisely suggested that we think of our children’s place in all this: the children deserved to have their memories of our final month be more than a succession of baby sitters.
So we put a limit on our social engagements. Those whose invitations we declined seemed to understand. We found that breakfasts and lunches with special friends could be substituted for more formal evening events. By the time we left, we felt as if we’d had some time with nearly all those with whom we wanted personal conversation.
A dynamic in Becky’s relationship with one of our good friends became symbolic of one issue we faced in our final weeks. “You know, I’m not going to say good-bye,” our friend said emphatically several times.
Becky, however, felt that spoken and acknowledged good-byes are vital. In some of our previous departures, she’d learned that when a proper goodbye isn’t said, relationships are left dangling.
Even though we hoped to see these and other friends in the congregation again, and were making plans to do so, we were leaving the kind of daily relationships we’d had. We could not have that kind of relationship again, and it was important to us, especially for the sake of the children, who were so fond of these friends, to acknowledge the fact.
Becky felt strongly enough about it that she phoned the friend. “I want you to say good-bye when the time comes,” she concluded.
“Yes, that all makes sense,” her friend replied. “But it’s still going to be very hard.” Then over the next several conversations, half joking and half seriously, she would say, “You know, I’m not going to say good-bye.”
The last week arrived. Friends came by to help
pack and provide meals. We shed more tears than we had in all our eight years there. I preached a final sermon that allowed me to say “Thank you” and “I love you” appropriately.
At a reception following the worship service, the congregation had an opportunity to respond formally and informally. We were overwhelmed by their expression of gratitude. Likewise, Becky was given a chance to say things publicly that only she could say.
Kind tributes were given by different members of the congregation with whom I had worked over the years. The last tribute was to Becky and was given by the friend who vowed not to say good-bye.
“Well, -Becky,” she began, “You told me proper good-byes are important, so here I am to wish you farewell, not only for myself but also for the whole congregation.” She continued with a tribute to ‘ Becky’s teaching in the church school, her contribution to the worship committee, and for her role mother and wife.
She concluded by saying, “Your church family thanks you for sharing your husband, your children, , and yourself with us. God bless you and . . . goodbye.”
The hugs and the tears were long and genuine. The last good-byes as we left town were painful, to be sure, but full of a quiet joy as well.
Seeing How Much We Care
We should ever be reminded that each of us is dispensable, that successors will always do things differently and often better than us. But it is no false pride to remind ourselves of how important we are to the people of our congregations, nor is it unprofessional to remind ourselves of how important they are to us.
This is what good-byes are all about. Becky and I and the congregation found that a longer good-bye allowed us to see more clearly how deeply we cared for one another. It was a grace-filled time.
Edwin Friedman, in his book Generation to Generation, writes, “Where the terminal period in our relationship with a congregation can be treated as an opportunity for emotional growth, rather than as a painful period to be shortened or avoided, the long-range benefits, for both the congregation and for ourselves, are numerous and fundamental.” Amen.
We will return to church service again in a couple of years. And after that there may be another farewell or two. Given the nature of calling committees and the like, I may not have the privilege of being a lame duck for four months again. But whether it be one month or four, I will never again be interested in a quick good-bye.
Copyright © 1992 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
