One of the great spiritual challenges of life, I’ve discovered, is that faith often asks us to perform a sort of holy two-step that would put even the most limber ballroom dancer to shame. It’s the dance of holding on and letting go — sometimes at the same time.
Now, I should say right at the start that I am not naturally good at either of these. When it comes to holding on, I’m Olympic-level. I can cling to an idea, a plan, a sermon draft, or a half-empty jar of marmalade long past its usefulness. My motto might well be, “It’s not really gone bad if it still smells all right.”
On the other hand, letting go — ah, that’s another kettle of theological fish. The notion of simply releasing control and trusting that God will work things out has always struck me as a lovely sentiment, suitable for needlepoint cushions and inspirational posters, but rather risky in real life. After all, what if God’s plan doesn’t line up with my perfectly reasonable schedule?
And yet — there it is, that paradox that lies at the heart of faith. We’re called to hold on tightly to what truly matters: to love, to justice, to hope, to the promises of God. But we’re also called to loosen our grip on the illusions of control, the certainty that we know how everything should turn out, and the conviction that the universe is somehow waiting for our personal permission to proceed.
This tension is woven all through Scripture. Think of Moses, clinging to the staff that parted the Red Sea — yet letting go of the idea that freedom meant an easy road. Or Peter, stepping out onto the water, grasping onto faith even as he released his common sense. Or Mary at the tomb, reaching out to hold the risen Jesus, and hearing him say, “Do not cling to me.” The whole story of salvation seems to be one long exercise in divine paradox — a God who holds the world and lets it spin freely all at once.
I suspect that most of us, if we’re honest, live right there in that paradox. We hold on to faith, to relationships, to hope — even as life gently pries our fingers open from the things we were never meant to grip quite so hard.
In my own ministry, I’ve found that holding on and letting go often happen in the same breath. We hold on to the deep love of those we’ve lost, and we let them go into God’s keeping. We hold on to the church’s mission, and we let go of the illusion that we can control how it unfolds. We hold on to grace — and we let go of the guilt that whispers we don’t deserve it.
And somewhere in all of that holy balancing act, we discover that this is exactly what faith looks like — not perfect serenity, but the wobbling, hopeful trust of someone who knows that God’s got hold of us, even when we’ve lost our grip entirely.
So if you find yourself this week torn between holding on and letting go, don’t despair. You’re not doing it wrong — you’re just dancing the dance of faith. And if you happen to trip over your theological feet now and then, take heart: God leads beautifully, and grace always knows the steps.
A Prayer for Holding On and Letting Go
Gracious God,
You know how tightly we cling — to our plans, our worries, our perfectly arranged expectations. Teach us to hold fast to what gives life: to kindness, mercy, and your unshakable love.
And when the time comes to let go — of control, of certainty, of the way we thought things would be — grant us the courage to release it all into your hands. Help us trust that what falls from our grasp never leaves your keeping.
Hold us steady in the beautiful tension of faith that clings and faith that yields. Through Christ our Redeemer and Friend.
Amen.