On Letting Go of Friendships

We met while dodging the obnoxious boys chasing us when she tripped and fell hard in the mulch. Before she could rise to her knees, one boy grabbed her ankles and began to drag her backwards. Fiercely loyal to my new friend, I pulled at her arms, determined to fight these cootie-carriers hellbent on capturing us. Thanks to our God-given iron wills, we muscled our lanky limbs from the boys’ grasp and ran toward the watchful eye of a teacher so we could catch our breath. Swiping sweaty bangs from my forehead, I looked at her and grinned, proud of our successful escape. She introduced herself and became one of my best pals at a new school. 

What started as a random allyship on an elementary playground grew to be an intentional, easy bond through the hallways of high school. We cheered for each other at sporting events, struggled with Algebra story problems, belly laughed our way through teen angst and dance parties, traded letters through college, and wept openly in our shared losses in adulthood. Her friendship was a gift I opened that sunny day in the mulch, my naive youth oblivious to the eventual shifts that led to an unexpected, painful split.

Photo by Umberto at unsplash

The first sign of our friendship fracture began several years ago when I began to speak out against racism, white supremacy, and toxic right-winged politics. As months passed and I wrote more about what I was learning, her comments on my posts stopped, her DMs went silent, and her usual ‘likes’ went unchecked. While I tried not to make a big deal of her obvious drifting, I certainly felt the sting of it. When I made public I wouldn’t be voting red in the 2020 election, the growing split between us widened to the point of silence and we’ve had no contact in the past four years.  

Maybe I could have reached out to learn the specifics of her decision to ‘leave.’

Maybe I could have tried harder to get to the root of her distance.

But I knew better, and based on years of knowing her personal views and politics, I knew her rationale. 

I also knew that even as she chose to walk away from me, I needed to let go of her. For a while, I held fast to our relationship, like I clung to her that day on the playground. I hoped we could somehow emerge from our divergent views with our friendship stronger, or at least intact, but it was not to be. 

As I continued to unpack and dismantle my faith and politics, I struggled to stay closely connected with anyone who refused to acknowledge systemic racism, historical truths, police brutality, the toxic roots of conservative evangelicalism, or the reality that America isn’t really ‘the land of the free’ for everyone. ‘Liberty and justice for all’ reads more like a cute bumper sticker for the white, heteronormative, able-bodied, neurotypical, and heavily resourced folks who insist their privilege was earned (see also: people like me). But I could no longer accept the worldview of my youth and young adulthood that seemed more committed to certainty in its religious rightness than actual spiritual and physical liberation for all, particularly vulnerable people groups across America. 

How could I return to a mindset from which I had repented?

How could I stuff myself into a belief system I had outgrown? 

(And continue to outgrow as I learn more?)  

How could I hold on to a dear friend whose pro-life ethic was inherently dangerous to the most vulnerable outside the womb (including those who look like my children)? 

Short answer: I couldn’t.

My perspective had shifted to a broader view of the Gospel, one marked by radical inclusion where all are welcomed at the proverbial table of Jesus. (See the Gospel of Luke, chapter 14). I couldn’t reconcile my current shift with my former beliefs and I couldn’t stay loyal to any worldview that offered less than the wide embrace of our Creator.

It’s not that I believed I had ‘arrived’ and my friend(s) hadn’t. I didn’t feel superior; I felt terribly sad that we couldn’t learn and grow together. I simply wasn’t willing to sacrifice years of internal work and hard-earned growth to continue in a belief system that harmed people whose lives are so different from (and far more difficult than) my own. 

In both my real life and online friendships, I wrestle frequently with this question posed by many, “How do we stay close with friends whose religious and political belief systems benefit only those who look, live, and believe like they do?”

Have you wondered this, too? 

While I offer no easy answers, I do know that as we give ourselves permission to grow, we are also giving others permission to grow, which comes with a risk. Growth always involves stretching and expanding in order to accommodate different ideas and emergent truths.

What we may forget is that growth hurts. Moving away from what and who we’ve always known is deeply uncomfortable. Leaving behind the familiarity of the ‘old’ to move toward the ‘new’ is rarely a smooth, painless journey. The loss is real and we must create time and space in our days to feel it and work through it, without looking for a shortcut to ease the pain of release. The freedom, love, and new friendships we discover as we let go however, are worth every tumultuous step of the way. (No regrets here!)

Photo by Helena Peres at unsplash

As we continue to ‘live and move and be with Jesus,’ let’s give thanks for the friends we needed to release, for the memories we shared with them, and for the lessons we learned over the years. 

Let’s be open to reconnection and reconciliation as we trust Love to lead. 

Let’s resist any obligation to stay close to those whose views are harmful to ‘the least of these’; rather, let’s humbly build relationships with ‘the least of these.’ 

Let’s rejoice in the Divine who led (and continues to lead) us to repent of our toxic theology, our narrow view of the Gospel, and our harmful political ideologies.   

Let’s move forward in humility and hope that humans can change because Grace never sleeps–and as long as we’re alive, we get to keep growing. 

Let’s be kind and curious in our real life and online relationships.

Let’s walk with those who are most ignored, rejected, and harmed by the various systems that value power, profit, and performance over people made in the image of God. 

Let’s live like holy rebels who insist on the belonging of society’s beloved outcasts, knowing full well our rebellion will cost us.

And let’s remember that whenever we let go, 

our hands become more open to 

the most vulnerable,

and to the countless other souls

who are humbly shifting narratives,

relentlessly challenging power structures,

and actively investing their lives

in God’s kingdom of righteousness, justice, and peace

on earth as it is in heaven.

Featured image: Annie Spratt at unsplash