The old oak tree in my backyard has taught me something about ministry. Each autumn, it lets go of its leaves – not in anger or fear, but because that’s part of its story. Some leaves drift away on gentle breezes, others are torn away by storms, and a few cling stubbornly until the very end. But the tree remains, reaching heavenward, growing stronger through every season.
I’ve been thinking about that tree lately, especially when I joke at pastoral conferences about my unwritten book, “101 Ways to Lose a Church Member.” The laughter it brings is healing, like rain on parched soil. In fifteen minutes flat, I once listed eighty-five different ways I’d watched people walk away during my forty years of ministry. Eighty-five stories. Eighty-five goodbyes. Eighty-five lessons in letting go.
The Mathematics of Ministry
God must have a sense of humor about numbers. He counts the stars and knows them by name, yet sometimes I can barely keep track of who’s sitting in the third pew from the back. His mathematics work differently than ours. While we count attendance, He measures heart changes. While we track membership, He traces transformation.
Consider these entries from my imaginary book:
Member #12 left because the new carpet was blue instead of beige. Member #27 departed when we changed service times by fifteen minutes. Member #44 slipped away after a sermon touched too close to home. Members #51 and #52 (a lovely couple) found a church closer to their new home.
Each number has a name. Each number has a story. Each number left a small empty space in a pastor’s heart.
When Shepherds Stumble
The pain, dear friend, is real. Like water dripping on stone, each departure leaves its mark. We begin to build walls – not the kind that protect, but the kind that imprison. We find ourselves shepherding from a distance, loving with asterisks, leading with footnotes of fear.
The effects ripple through our ministry like waves on a quiet pond:
First comes the armor. We polish it daily, fitting it carefully over our hearts. “This way,” we think, “nothing can hurt us.” But armor that keeps out pain also keeps out joy, and a shepherd cannot lead from behind steel walls.
Then comes the hesitation. Like a dancer who’s fallen one too many times, we begin to second-guess every step. Should we preach that challenging sermon? Should we propose that new ministry? Should we reach out to that struggling family? The questions become chains, binding us to mediocrity.
Finally comes the numbness. Like a winter frost, it creeps in slowly until we can no longer feel the warmth of ministry or the cold of loss. We’re simply… there.
The Master’s Touch
But there’s another way – a path walked by the Master Shepherd Himself.
Remember the story of the rich young ruler? Watch Jesus as the young man walks away. There’s no running after him, no desperate pleading, no bitter words. Just love. Pure, unchanging, never-failing love. Jesus let him go, but never stopped loving him.
That’s our model. Not the fearful clutching of members like children grasping at autumn leaves, but the open-handed trust of a Shepherd who knows every sheep by name.
Learning to Dance Again
So how do we keep our hearts soft in a ministry that can feel like walking barefoot on broken glass? Perhaps it’s simpler than we think.
Remember the tree? It never apologizes for losing leaves. It never questions its worth when branches become bare. Instead, it channels its energy into deeper roots and higher reaches. It knows, somehow, that its purpose isn’t to keep every leaf forever, but to provide shelter, shade, and strength for whatever season it’s in.
Your ministry is like that tree. Your worth isn’t measured by who stays or who goes, but by your faithfulness to the One who called you. Some will come for a season, others for a lifetime. Your job isn’t to keep them all – it’s to love them well while they’re there and bless them when they leave.
The Sacred Mathematics of Grace
In God’s economy, loss often precedes gain, and empty spaces become room for new growth. Every departure creates space for an arrival. Every goodbye opens the door for a hello.
So keep that list of “101 Ways to Lose a Church Member.” Let it remind you that you’re in good company. Jesus himself saw crowds walk away. But remember too that He never lost His love, His purpose, or His joy.
And neither should you.
Perhaps that’s the 102nd way to lose a church member – by forgetting that in the end, they were never ours to keep. They belong to Him. Always have, always will.
And that old oak tree? It’s blooming again, reaching toward heaven with new leaves, new strength, and new glory. Just like you will, dear shepherd. Just like you will.
