Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

When you care, it’s hard to let go.

We know that instinctively but, as with many things, when it comes to watching the emotional tug-of-war play out, we often forget.

It’s been six months since I left my job as a diocesan communications director. I love my new gig (and I’m not just saying that. My boss is out of town and won’t be reading this!). For many reasons, professionally, personally, spiritually, the change was just right. And the longer I'm here, the more convinced I am that this is where I'm supposed to be.

But I spent 10 years with the diocese and find myself in conversation still saying “we” instead of “they.” I read the diocesan newspaper and think about which things I would have done differently. I check out the new website design and read the e-mail missives.

Mostly, I’ve moved on. Some of the changes they have made are fantastic—and I wish I had thought of them. Others are ones that I wouldn’t have made. But that’s really a moot point. I’m not in the position to make them. That part of diocesan life is someone else’s job. 

I had lunch with a former colleague yesterday, and I asked her how things were going with the new director. I could tell she was careful not to hurt my feelings. The two of you have different gifts. We’re moving in a new direction. But we really miss you too. 

I told her—and I meant it—that I wish the best for them. I hope my successor does an amazing job. That his success, even in a new direction, isn’t over and against my time there. That for each person, for every thing, there is a season. (Thank you, Ecclesiastes and The Byrds). 

It also made me realize an important aspect of leave-taking. Even when you’re the one who made the decision to leave, there’s still some mourning (that is, if you really care about the place and people you’re leaving). And you never know when that mourning will surface. Just like when the phone rings and you think it might be your grandfather before you remember that he died. Sometimes the longing, the memories, come unbidden. 

It behooves me to remember this in other situations too. The longtime president of ECW resigns after a decade or more in leadership. It’s the right thing to do. The organization—and the leader—needed to move in new directions. But there’s still some mourning, and we should give space and grace for that to happen. A rector retires, a youth director finds a new position, the head of the kitchen guild can’t handle the physical demands. Even when there’s no animosity, when it was simply time for change, it can be hard to completely let go. Knowing that, admitting it, and respecting the process, is the first step.