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Here's my question: Why couldn't Paul stay in Ephesus? After all, he had planted a great church there. He had recruited great elders. I mean, they were finally about to get out of the Colin Powell Elementary School and move into a more permanent location! He had earned the trust of the local leaders. People raved about his preaching.
Who on earth would leave such a situation? He could finally enjoy some of the fruits of his labor. You know—get married, have a couple of kids, get the minivan, coach kids soccer, finally get some counseling about all those abusive Jews in his past, and then live the Ephesian dream.
There was one small problem. Paul was an apostle. As good as this life might have sounded to Paul, he knew it was not his calling to settle in for the long haul and build up the Embrace Church of Ephesus.
What could be better than planting a dynamic church, seeing it take root and begin to bear fruit, and settling in for a long-term relationship with a community of growing Christians? Answer: Nothing could be better if this is your calling.
The problem: It was not Paul's calling.
Sometimes leaving is necessary. Most of the time leaving is hard. It's important to leave well. What's so amazing about Paul is that he left churches he had planted all the time, yet he never protected himself from the pain that comes from saying goodbye to deep friendships. It is one of the most compelling and indelible scenes in the whole of Acts to me. Can you picture them—that band of Christians kneeling together with Paul on the shoreline, their prayers mingled with tears, embracing one another in the bonds of the holy love of God?
Leaving, much of the time, is actually a ministry. It makes room for the next thing God wants to do where you left . . . and where you are going.
And apostle or not, leaving is not easy. It's a universal, often tear-filled experience we all share, from leaving home to leaving your family to start a new family and all the way to leaving this earth. We are always leaving home in order to find home.
Years ago I wrote a poem called "The Leaving Way Home." I dug it out from deep in the archives just for you today.
The Pilgrim Way is marked by leaving
cloud by day and fire by night.
The essence of the walk is seeing
by the Flame eclipsing sight.
To see ahead defies all planning
to look behind disclaims regret;
the echoes of lost home are calling
like children asking "Are we there yet?"
And so we go our lives abandoned
together—clad though rent apart,
till leaving finally greets the morning
joy of every longing heart.
Here's the chorus crafted for country radio—obviously still trying to find its way . . .
Leaving is the only way home
You've got to take a step of faith to get you out where you belong.
The hardest thing to do is letting go
cause leaving is the only way home.
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