Leadership Journal

It appeared I had jumped in over my head at my first senior pastorate. The church was bitter and broken from a soured relationship with its former pastor. He abruptly left one day, and I was hastily shuttled in.

I intended to usher in healing and hope, but I underestimated the depth of congregational pain. The church was swollen, and it throbbed. Infighting was basic operating procedure. Quickly the enormous negativity engulfed me. Their pain became my pain.

I soon discovered the church had a bully—a petite, articulate, well-dressed woman bent on controlling the church like she had her household. Carrie ruled the congregation with a caustic tongue. She'd burst into a meeting, lob a few strategically placed insults and cusses, and the room belonged to her.

I became Carrie's main target. She'd tear down any idea I put forth in a meeting, talk loudly to herself during my sermons, and regularly put her car in my designated parking spot.

I kept waiting for someone to rescue me, but the members' silence encouraged her and intensified the pressure on me to do something, anything. I attempted to mask my distress, but inside, I was withering under her assaults. Fear can strip the soul to shreds.

The threatening call
Eventually Carrie began to phone me daily, just to start an argument, always at 10:45 a.m. One day, I realized this could not go on.

"Sister Brown was admitted to the hospital this morning. Why aren't you there with her?" Carrie demanded.

"Oh, I did not know that she had been admitted. I will go check on her today," I responded as calmly as possible.

"If you were any kind of a pastor, you would have already been there. You're just lazy and stupid. Who in the world told you that you were qualified to serve as pastor of this church?" she bellowed.

"Carrie, calm down. There is no need to ... "

"You're not qualified to walk a dog across the street," she interrupted.

"I am tired of your insults ... "

"You cannot silence me. I will be heard, you *#@%$!"

Click. I hung up the phone.

Carrie called back instantly and yelled, "I am driving to the church right now to kill you with my pistol!"

Quickly, news of the threat on my life spread. Well-meaning members phoned and recalled pastors they knew who were gunned down by crazed members. Most begged me to go into hiding, and a few offered to serve as bodyguards if I insisted on meeting Carrie at the church.

Not only was I ready to quit the ministry, I wanted to leave the state and change my last name! I tried to keep my frenzied fear beneath the surface. I and several members waited at the church in fear; Carrie never showed up.

Calling in reinforcements
Shaken, I went with my friend Allison for a pre-planned trip to the mall. Every pastor needs a friend like Allison—non-clergy, not involved in the life of your church. She likes me for me. We shop together. We take our sons to Chuck E. Cheese together. She took one look at the raw terror and anguish on my face and began to administer care.

As we ...