It seems that when I was a boy growing up in the church, I often heard my father’s generation say, “I’d rather burn out than rust out.” Okay, I get it. It was a call to stay fully engaged in ministry, but are burnout or rust-out really the only two options? Now that I’m in my final year as president and I’ve entered my 65th year of life, I find myself thinking more about good finishes, strong closures, solid endings, and it occurs to me that there are a variety of ways that a person like me can end a role such as this—some healthy and some not so much. Meanwhile, I’m not only thinking of us who are producing gray hair and asking questions about Medicare. The insights I’m gathering apply to all of us.

All throughout our lives and ministries, there are transitions—one position to another, one location to another. We shut down a program to launch a new one. One dream dies so another can be born. We finish a degree. Our kids graduate; they get married. We bury a loved one. Closure comes in many forms, so please look for personal applications for whatever season you’re in, but allow me to continue from the vantage point of being just seven months out from completing my final term.

I’ve concluded that one reason good finishes are too rare is that we face so many alternatives. I plan to come back next month with a positive approach, but today I’m intentionally focusing on the wide array of negative options. Such as, one way to bring closure is we can stomp out, leaving in an angry manner. In speaking with other veteran leaders and observing the status of my own soul, I’ve made a surprising discovery.

The closer to closure, the more frail our filter. Repressed anger only remains quiet for so long, and if depression hasn’t suffocated the angry leader first, an outburst may complicate or corrupt the finish. It’s Moses at the rock the second time—Numbers 20, remember? Moses’ anger surges: “Listen, you rebels, must we bring water out of this rock?” Who’s the “we,” Moses? God is robbed of His glory as Moses’ fury flares. Rather than speaking to the rock as he’d been told, he raises his arm and twice strikes the rock. The leader looks virile, the water flows, the community drinks, and the Lord has a conversation with Moses, which marks the beginning of the end of his ministry.

No one goes through decades of ministry, or even months of ministry, without some cause for anger. The remedy is a soft heart, and the pathway to a soft heart is forgiveness. And so I pray—Lord of mercy, help me keep forgiving along the way, even the offenses I felt I forgave long ago.

Another option is to coast out. You’ve seen it, right? Perhaps you’ve felt a temptation to do it. This is the leader that, in their final stretch, fades away. They give into the voice that says, “You won’t be here for that anyway. That’s someone else’s issue now. You’ve done your part.” Have you heard the whisper? It’s the voice of apathy, which I’ve been surprised to find hissing its way through my soul.

Through the years, I’ve maintained a high level of commitment to this role, so I didn’t expect to hear the hiss of indifference, such as when I’m in a meeting where we’re discussing something that no longer has my name or reputation on the line. “Wait a minute, was I just doing this for me all along? If I only care about an issue when my name is attached to it, what does that say about me?” Yes, there is the temptation to coast out. I’ve been stunned to witness the magical disappearing act of some leaders in their final months. “What’s he doing? Driving Uber? Remodeling his retirement home? Getting a head start on the golf course?” Kind people cover for him. The loyal staff carries on while the senior leader has gone AWOL. If you’ve heard the whisper, perhaps you’d pray with me: Jesus, You did some of Your greatest work and taught some of Your most powerful messages in Your final week. Please help me not wander off the course before my final mile is complete.

I’ve watched others pout out. You know what I mean? This is the too-common response when someone is released from their role or pressured to leave. Whether they’ve been effective in their role is under debate, and the result is that defensiveness and pride kick in. Leaders losing their role have been known to act very poorly, clinging to claims of injustice, layering appeal upon appeal. Friend, our closures aren’t always of our own timing. It’s hard. It’s painful. It can be shameful. But hear this: there is no good completion that is not a gracious completion.

You may feel like you were wrongfully terminated. You may feel like you deserve better or were mistreated. Those are issues to deal with in your soul, but not in court and not on social media and in a manner that divides the very ministry you gave a portion of your life to build. Hurt people tend to leave poorly and hurt other people along the way. “It’s my right to prove that I was right.” Yes, perhaps, but remember, it’s not wrong to accept that you were wronged and to move along graciously.

I have an alternative to suggest to those tempted to pout out. It’s not popular, but I believe it to be biblical and will lead to long-term health—your health, the health of the ministry you’ve left, and the one you’re someday entering. The unpopular biblical alternative? Hebrews 12:7: “Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as one of his kids.” The author of Hebrews goes on to say that the result will be a “harvest of righteousness and peace.” Tell me, is our pouting response producing a peaceful, righteous harvest?

I am weary of watching leaders who intentionally or unintentionally dismantle the very ministries they sought to build. You can bow out nobly or pout out ugly. King Saul knew that the kingdom had been given to David, but rather than initiating a humble succession, he clutched his role in a manner that makes all of us sad as we read the story. Ugly endings are still being written by those who’ve forgotten whose Kingdom it is. Perhaps some will join me in this prayer: Jesus, who identified Himself as a servant, may I assume that no title or position is mine to cling to.

As a young leader, I didn’t see this one lurking. Carve out—taking a cut for ourselves in our final acts of leadership. It’s an under-discussed temptation, and it’s the story of Eli’s sons, priests plunging their three-pronged fork into the pot to take for themselves a portion of the offering that wasn’t assigned to them. Here’s what the temptation sounds like: “You’ve given yourself away for so long. You’ve sacrificed so much. You deserve a little something for yourself.” Greed, financial misallocations, manipulating a board, allowing moral compromises for ourselves that we condemn in others. It’s real. Be on guard. It’s taken down some of the finest leaders. Pray with me. Eternal King, I see that the kettle and all its contents are holy. Please grant me the integrity and self-control to not seize a portion for myself.

This one is painful and totally unnecessary—crash out. This is the leader who claims to be finishing—perhaps has even announced a date—but can’t seem to take hands off the wheel and foot off the gas. The result, of course, is a terrible collision. Supposedly there was a plan for succession, but everyone got a concussion before it was over. Spirit-granting Jesus, You who commissions us and empowers us—free me from the addiction to power. Release me from the arrogance that “no one else can do as well as me.” Grant me the joy of seeing others take what I once led to destinations beyond my dreams.

A pun is intended on this one. Some leaders have been known to tap out. We find both Noah and Lot in a drunken state in their later days. We don’t know their full story. Was this a short-term scene or a long-term narrative? I don’t know the condition of their minds and souls, but I know the tendency to numb ourselves, especially after we’ve experienced pain or been through trauma—tapping out of life and leadership by sampling what’s on tap. I’m not implying that all use of alcohol is wrong, but I am saying that there is something in the human soul that seeks to numb ourselves, and the world has a variety of options, not just alcohol, to provide the numbing. Man of sorrows familiar with suffering, thank You for modeling for us One who faced each moment in the strength of the Spirit without dulling Yourself with any worldly vice. May I walk with You in this manner.

Bail out, walk out, drop out. Remember John Mark—Acts 13? There is a difference between finishing and quitting. Paul and Barnabas finished the missionary journey. John Mark quit. I try not to stand in judgment. I rarely speak of it in public, but only God knows how many hundreds of mornings I’ve started the day by fighting five words: “I just want to quit.” The core countering question is, “Lord, have I completed my assignment?” The work of the ministry is never done, but our contribution to it eventually is.

May the words of Paul in Colossians 4 find their way into our souls: “Tell Archippus: ‘See to it that you complete the work you have received in the Lord.'” Preserving King, You honor and commend perseverance. May I be able to say with You in John 17, “I brought you glory on earth by completing the work you gave me to do.” That’s enough to ponder today. As I mentioned, I plan to be back next month with a positive side of good closures. Perhaps you’d pray one more time with me. Thank You, kind Father, for the assignment I’ve received. Search my heart and reveal in me anything that is undermining my service to You. It is truly an honor to be in Your service. In the name of Your Son, who announced, “It is finished.” Amen.