FAITH: Necessary endings: Finding grace in the turning seasons

There’s a truth I’ve learned over the years—one that grows clearer the longer I walk this winding road of life: sometimes, endings are not failures but invitations. They’re the Spirit’s gentle, and sometimes not-so-gentle, way of ushering us into new seasons we never imagined. In the words of theologian Howard Thurman, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it.” But even Thurman knew that coming alive often requires letting go. 

Life has a way of changing on a dime. One day the path seems steady, familiar; the next, a sharp turn reroutes our footsteps and asks us to trust what we cannot see. Scripture speaks to these realities more often than we admit. Think of Isaiah’s bold proclamation: “See, I am doing a new thing; now it springs up—do you not perceive it?” The prophet doesn’t offer a suggestion. He offers a wake-up call. God is doing a new thing, with or without our consent, and faith is the courage to perceive it. 

But, my friends, you can’t take hold of the new if your hands are full of the old. Necessary endings—those seasons of closure, of transition, even of heartbreak—clear the ground for new life to break through. Jesus used agricultural language for a reason: “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.” He wasn’t talking about resignation; He was talking about transformation. 

Now, I’ve always believed that faith ought to make us better neighbors, not just better believers. And when we talk about necessary endings, we’re not just talking about personal transitions—job changes, shifting passions, unexpected twists. We’re also talking about the hard work of ending systems and patterns in our communities that keep God’s children from flourishing. Theologian Walter Brueggemann reminds us that the work of faith requires both “critique and hope.” We critique what harms, and we hope toward what heals. 

Sometimes that means ending old assumptions about who belongs. Sometimes it means ending our silence in the face of injustice. Sometimes it means ending the lie we tell ourselves—that we can stay exactly where we are and still move forward. Necessary endings, in this sense, are not just individual experiences. They are communal obligations. 

But let’s bring this down to where we all live, because endings come for every one of us. A marriage changes shape. A calling you once felt deep in your bones shifts. A role you

loved becomes one you can no longer sustain. A dream you held for years gives way to something unexpected. 

And when those moments arrive, it can feel like loss—real loss. Even Jesus wept when staring down the grave of His friend. So don’t let anyone tell you that faith makes letting go easy. Faith doesn’t take away the pain; it gives us a place to put it. 

Yet endings don’t have the final word. They never have. Resurrection isn’t just an Easter story—it’s the rhythm of God’s ongoing work in the world. Every necessary ending holds within it the seeds of renewal. 

The late Rachel Held Evans once said, “New life starts in the dark. Whether it’s a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.” And sometimes the dark is simply the space between what was and what will be. 

If you find yourself in that space today, hear this: You are not failing. You are transitioning. You are not being cut off. You are being rerouted. And the God who brought you through every yesterday is already standing in your tomorrow, ready to walk you forward. 

Necessary endings aren’t the end. They’re the beginning of becoming. And, as with every new season—every twist, every turning—grace always goes before us.

Adam Johnson is a strategy consultant and ordained minister with two decades of experience in nonprofit leadership nationwide, currently the CEO of Habitat for Humanity of Jackson TN. He holds advanced degrees in nonprofit organization from the University of Memphis. Adam lives in Jackson with his wife, Kayla, and their daughter Josephine.