When You Leave

A letter from a pastor to a congregant who will leave the church one day

My dear friend,

Allow me to let you into a secret.

When you text your pastor and ask for a meeting, and you think that you are blindsiding him or her with the news that you are leaving the church, you are—very likely—not.

I have had this experience more times than I can count.

I receive a text:

Pastor Kyle, could we get coffee? There’s something I want to tell you.

The knot that is my stomach tightens. My body knows what my brain starts putting together. Like John Nash in A Beautiful Mind, seemingly random data points start weaving themselves into a cohesive picture in front of me. This conversation about work a few weeks ago. That decision to leave their Sunday Impact team. Those comments about Oakland.

In the millisecond it takes my brain to make the connections, it crystallizes.

They’re leaving the church.

It’s strange—the sixth sense we pastors develop about this kind of thing. We can tell from tone and timing, and the subtle but inexorable pulling away you’ve been doing over the last few months. In the last decade or so, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been surprised by someone leaving the church.

I have to say, it’s really not a skill I wanted to hone.

But in this hypermobile, individualistic milieu we call America, getting used to people leaving is every pastor’s initiation rite. Before the pandemic, approximately 3500 people in the U.S. left their church every single day.¹

My dear friend, no pastor wants to talk about, much less write about, people leaving the church. But I need to write this letter to you because it’s almost certainly going to happen. One day, you will leave this church. It will be one of two, or three, or maybe even ten times you leave a church in your life.

But it will be one of hundreds or thousands of times I’ve experienced it from the other side. And I’ve learned a few things I’d like to share. Things I want you to know in advance. Things I may choose not say at that coffee you text me about one day.

Why We Leave

Leaving almost feels like the natural ebb of relationships in a city like ours, doesn’t it? It’s part of the geographical volatility of life in the 21st century. Especially in a major urban hub like the Bay Area, people come and people go. From 2020 to 2024, the Bay Area had a net loss of 147,000 people.² That’s net loss. There are hundreds of thousands more who left.

Jobs draw people away. High cost of living pushes people out. Some retreat from the intense pace of life to the suburbs or the midwest. Leaving the area means leaving the church. Maybe that’s why you will leave.

But maybe you will stay—in Oakland, I mean—and leave the church anyway.

After all, even if you stay you still have options. It’s not like we’re the one village church right after the town’s one stoplight. Oakland is a city with nearly half a million people and hundreds of churches. You could “try” a new church every week for years if you wanted without leaving our seven square miles.

And the truth is, our church isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I’m grateful it’s been yours for a time. But I’m aware it may not be that way forever. I’m actually thankful to God for the diversity of Christ’s body in Oakland which allows us to collectively meet just about everyone where they’re at—if they want to be met.

But the reality is some people don’t want to be met where they’re at. Some don’t want to be met by the church at all. I pray this isn’t you when you go. But some folks just…leave.

Not because they’re moving. Not because they don’t like the church. Not because they’re looking for a new one. They may be uncertain about their faith. They may be upset about something we said or did. They may simply not be motivated enough to embrace the inconveniences that life together in Christian community requires. Or they may be struggling with past (or present) wounds from a church that have had a hard time healing.

There are more reasons people leave a church than there are members in that congregation. You yourself may have a handful of reasons to say goodbye. But leaving well isn’t just about why we leave.

How We Leave

“You’re no longer my pastor. In fact you never were my pastor. I don’t believe in the direction of this church. I’m leaving.”

I sat across the sticky restaurant table as these words of a dearly loved friend hit me like waves in a set. One. After. The. Other. Though they are rarely a surprise, some leavings hurt more than others.

In fact, every departure hurts. They just hurt differently. There’s a grief from simply losing connection with someone you care about deeply. You can’t help but hurt people who love you when you leave them. It’s inevitable.

However, that pain can be shaped and held by the way you decide to go. I’ve seen many methods of moving on, but here are probably the three most common.

The Irish Goodbye

I guess the kids these days call it “ghosting.” This is when you slip out the back door one Sunday never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe you told a couple people in the church, but you didn’t tell me. You don’t respond to texts and calls. Or you send vague replies like, “Oh I’m just really busy right now.” But there’s no intention of reconnection.

If you leave like this, we will always wonder: What happened? Could we have helped you? Is there something we could have apologized for? Some way to reconcile?

The allure of ghosting is how clean it feels to be the ghost. But you should know if you choose this route, your specter will haunt us when you’re gone.

The “I’m taking a break.”

This seems to be an increasingly popular choice. You might have heard of the “foot-in-the-door” technique. This is is the “foot-out-the-door” technique. Again, there are all kinds of reasons behind this type of leaving, but if you choose this method it means that you (at least explicitly) want to leave your options open for return while communicating about your absence.

If you choose this route, I trust you would do it with the best of intentions. You may plan to come back or at least hold open a 50/50 chance. But in my experience only a small percentage of folks in this camp return.

Church is like the gym. There’s inertia in the habit of attending. Of being part of community life. Once you stop, it can be much harder to start going again.

The Breakup

Some breakups are messier than others.

Some come after a long goodbye. We’ve known you were moving for months, and now we have the tearful sendoff.

Some come as a shocking about-face. A pull-aside after a service or small group meeting. A text at 11:30PM.

Some come with accusations of wrongdoing. “It was you, not me!”

Some come with grace and self-awareness. “It was me, not you. Or maybe it was us.”

Some are official commissions to a new season of life or ministry, spring-boarding you into the next phase with the blessing of your community.

Some are a gentle hug after you’ve shared how you’ve changed. How life has changed.

Whatever shape the breakup takes, I generally prefer it to other methods. It’s hard. But at least it gives us a chance to talk about what’s really happening.

A little pastoral advice if you’re thinking of leaving your church

I’m grateful that you’re not leaving the church. Not yet. But would you mind if I gave you a bit of advice? I find that guidance is sometimes best served cold, in advance, rather than in the heat of the moment once you’ve decided to go. But if leaving starts to feel like a real possibility, I pray you’ll look back at this letter:

First, if you can, bring us into your process before you decide.

To be honest, I have almost never seen this in my years as a pastor. We live in an individualistic culture. Most people make their decision and then figure out a way to communicate it. “I’m leaving,” is much cleaner and less vulnerable than, “I’m considering leaving.”

But I beg you, bring your pastors in. Not after you decide. While you’re in process. We’ve walked through vocational changes with you. We’ve discerned together whether your relationship was healthy. We’ve baptized you. We’ve been there for your breakdowns and your come-ups.

Please, when it comes to the part of life we share most, don’t cut us out of your process.

We won’t try to convince you to stay. We’ll do what we’ve always done. Ask questions to help discern where your heart is, where God’s Spirit is in this decision. Perhaps we’ll provide some biblical counsel if called for. We’ll pray with you.

Know that things will change.

Someone once told me they were leaving the church and then quickly added, “But this won’t change anything! Our relationship won’t be any different.”

Yes, friend. It will. This is part of the cost of change. Not seeing each other Sunday after Sunday will tug at the threads of our closeness. Not being on the same mission together in the same community will unravel certain ties that bind. Neither of us likes it, but this will change our relationship significantly. My love for you won’t change. Our relationship will.

It’s important that you have absolute clarity about this. It should be part of your decision making process. But it should also inform your process after you leave.

Grieve your losses.

All change is loss. Losing your community, even if you choose to leave, cuts deeply.

I have seen a lot of foolishness that goes by the name: “Neglected-to-Grieve.”

Anger papers over sadness so effectively. I’ve seen people who loved the church make lists of all the things they hated in order to make themselves feel better about leaving. I’ve seen people try to destroy the very community they spent years helping to build—sending emails to “key” people or the whole congregation. All to avoid being sad.

But departing like this leaves you with residual bitterness on the tongue of your soul. Grief, on the other hand, is like black coffee.³ It starts off tasting bitter, but if you let it linger, if you learn the contours of the bitterness, there’s a sweetness that comes at the end. A sweetness born of the memory of love.

Please, friend, grieve. Grieve with us. Grieve with others. Grieve alone.

Know that you are loved. That’s why your leaving hurts.

When I tell you that your leaving hurts, is that painful to hear? I’m not trying to inflict pain on you during an already difficult transition. And I’m not trying to manipulate you into staying so as not to inflict pain on me. Pain is part and parcel of pastoring.

When I say that it will hurt when you go, I’m trying to say, “I love you.”

We love you. Your church loves you. It wouldn’t hurt us to see you leave if we didn’t.

Regardless of why you leave, I hope you find another church. Ours is not the only church around. Other churches can suit your gifts and needs just fine. God’s people are everywhere. You may not know this, but I’ve had the pastoral privilege of helping people find a church that isn’t ours.

If you’re leaving after something difficult, remember this. Our deepest wounds are inflicted in community. But community also provides the context for our most profound healing.

If you’re leaving because of a move, and you’re worried that you’ll never find a church like ours—you’re right. You won’t find a church like ours. But that’s ok.

Churches are like people. Each one is unique. And each one is worth getting to know in their own way.

When you leave this church, please don’t leave the Church.

Now, in the weeks or months or years or decades before we part ways, let’s give ourselves fully to the work displaying the beauty of God’s story right where we are.

With love,

Your Pastor

1. https://www.churchtrac.com/articles/the-state-of-church-attendance-trends-and-statistics-2023#:~:text=That's%20a%20rate%20of%201.2,its%20members%20year%20over%20year.

2. https://www.axios.com/local/san-francisco/2025/03/18/sf-growing-population-loss-immigration

3. For this image of grief I’m indebted to John O. You can find it in this article on his substack. I first heard it in his brilliant We Go On Tour. Seriously, don’t miss it if they come to your city.

*Photo of empty pews by Josh Applegate on Unsplash

*Photo of a hug in a crowded room by Blake McCleary on Unsplash