Challenging conversations Leaving church behind


W


hen someone leaves a congregation abruptly, it can hurt a number of people. A departure tinged with discontent always stings those left behind. Like a


knife inserted into a friendship, a quick exit from church life can feel as if an arm or hand has just been severed from the body of Christ. I have known lifelong believers who have thrown in the


towel on Christianity. They want no more. No matter how strenuous their strivings, they reach the same conclusion: There is no further reason to walk with Christ. Over the years I’ve agonized plenty over people depart-


ing from congregational life. While the numbers have never been large, the people who drifted away from my commu- nity of faith, or from an active part in my life, meant a great deal to me. The pastorate has been my vantage point for observing


all this, though the experience of losing a spiritual friend is not peculiar to my vocation. Chances are good that you have anguished over a friend who has had a sudden change of heart and wandered away from God or from you. You know the empty feeling of watching that soul walk away from a friendship that will never be the same again. I could introduce you to some


fascinating people I know who have kissed congregational life goodbye or grown indifferent to faith. Larry and Cheryl left our congre-


By Peter W. Marty Fourteenth in a series


Losing friends from life we find meaningful prompts a critical look at faith practice


a drop-in center for disadvan- taged youth. I never mustered the courage to ask whether he would favor an oak or maple tree for his confession and abso- lution of sin. Shawn is a plant manager who


reads more self-help books than is healthy. They have taught him to follow his passions and march to the beat of his own drum. He told me he doesn’t have use for congregational life any longer. Caught in a steady flow of self-absorption, I sometimes wonder if Shawn is addicted to himself. He certainly figures frequently into the center of most conversations. So what do you say to such ones as these? There must


gation after being theologically dis- gruntled by a piece I published on my wife’s traumatic brain injury. My use of the word serendipity sent them over the edge. That was Susan’s one-word utterance spoken weeks after her third brain surgery. She was offering her assessment of how it was pos- sible that I could be home at the precise moment of her col- lapse, on an evening when I’m customarily at church. Cheryl didn’t like God receiving so little credit for our crossing paths. Or Rick. Rick thoroughly loves nature. Actually, he wor-


ships nature. That’s his own explanation for why a congrega- tion’s praise of God no longer carries meaning for him. As far as he is concerned, the Lord is easier to spot in a glacial stream than in the mentally ill woman who used to share his pew. Despite my patient listening to his many garden- ing strategies, never once has he explained how his compost pile passes an offering plate to help clothe the poor or run


We don’t have to force Jesus on anybody, or convince individuals that their spiritual logic is faulty. Our task is to embody Christian love, not play savior.


be a way to converse considerately with individuals who, though once shaped by Christian community, now stand at a great distance from anything that hints of religious prac- tice within an institution. I say we love these people despite our sadness. We take extra care, in the words of Trappist monk Thomas Merton, “not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.” The drift of friends away from a life we find meaningful can prompt us to take a critical and examined look at the way we practice


our faith, or the way our congregation exhibits faith. Pre- sumptuousness over our preferences and tastes is not a virtue. We don’t have to force Jesus on anybody, or convince


individuals that their spiritual logic is faulty. Our task is to embody Christian love, not play savior. We get to think and talk thoughtfully, bringing fresh clarity to our faith convictions while expanding our sensitivity toward what may seem like the odd practices of others. As we explore God’s capacity to hold very diverse people in the palm of God’s hand, we may well discover that divine palm to be inordinately large. 


Author bio: Marty is a pastor of St. Paul Lutheran Church, Davenport, Iowa, and a regular columnist for The Lutheran.


June 2014 3


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52