The gift of Longevity
I turned 45 last week.
For the past six years, my family and I have lived in the same house, in the same suburb, in the same city. That might not sound like much, but for me, it’s a bit of a milestone. I haven’t always been great at sticking around. Since my early twenties, I haven’t stayed in a job or a neighbourhood any longer than four years.
To be fair, there were reasons for that. I’ve tried to follow Jesus as openly and courageously as I know how, and a lot of those moves- different jobs, roles, and continents- came out of that. I’d also seen plenty of friends drift from a radical availability to suburban comfort and predictability. And I didn’t want that to be me.
But over the last few years, something’s shifted.
Perhaps it’s age and maturity. Or maybe the grace for that earlier season has just… lifted. Whatever it is, I find myself drawn to a value I haven’t paid much attention to before: longevity.
The dictionary defines longevity as “a long continuance.” Biblically, we might call it faithfulness. It’s not a particularly flashy idea, but it turns out it matters more than we think. Our ability to remain in one place has a direct impact on our effectiveness. If we want our lives to be fruitful and lasting, we need to stick around.
Ministries built by people who move on quickly rarely last. And the same is true of relationships. Alan Briggs, author of the brilliant little book Staying is the New Going, observes that people are wary of “supernova ministry”- something that burns bright, burns out, and heads out of town. Most of our neighbours have seen that before: a leaflet in the letterbox, a short-lived initiative, a burst of energy that quietly fizzles out. It doesn’t build trust. If anything, it breeds a bit of scepticism.
Longevity, on the other hand, does the slow work of building trust.
The longer we stay, the more people begin to believe that we actually care. Over time, doors open- not because we’ve got a clever strategy, but because we’ve simply kept showing up. People let you into their lives when they realise you’re not going anywhere.
What gets in the way of us sticking around?
I think FOMO- the fear of missing out- has a lot to do with it.
Committing to a place means saying no to other things. It might mean passing up a job, not taking that opportunity overseas, or resisting the pull of something new and exciting. In a culture that prizes options and flexibility, that kind of commitment can feel a bit strange- maybe even a bit wasteful.
One form of FOMO leads to our physically leaving a place. Another, arguably much more common form, prevents us from making connections in the first place. Briggs describes a form of “displacement,” where Christians live in a place but remain removed from it—effectively living above their community rather than within it.
If we’re not making any effort to connect, simply staying longer won’t help much.
Here’s what I’m slowly learning: radical availability to Jesus and a commitment to staying put aren’t opposites. There’s something very Jesus-like about pushing back on the pull of mobility and individualism, and learning to be a committed, connected disciple in one place.
Whatever form of FOMO calls to you- whether it’s the temptation to up and go, or the temptation to stay and keep your head down- Jesus invites us to a deeper, longer, more connected form of discipleship.
And that kind of faithfulness doesn’t happen by accident. It’s a choice.
I’ve also recently stumbled across a bit of a gem—The Urban Christian by Ray Bakke—which has helped me realise that longevity isn’t just about staying put; it’s about learning how to really see the place you’re in.
Bakke doesn’t just encourage us to be faithful to a community over time, but to become good observers- people who pay attention, who learn, who begin to “interpret” their neighbourhood in the same way we might interpret Scripture.
More about that next time.