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As he threw the church keys at the new lay leader, Jim (not his real name) angrily declared, "You'll never see me here again!"

Does he really mean it? I wondered as Jim stormed out in the middle of our board meeting. And if he does, how will we survive? Christ Church has had some tense moments in its 165-year history, and it has had near-death experiences more than once. Would this time, however, be the death of this struggling congregation?

Ours is one of the oldest churches in the state. The building, made of locally quarried limestone, seems transplanted from the English countryside of the founding members, hence its nickname, "The Old Stone Church."

A cemetery anchors the hillside down to the road, with the graves of many of the area's earliest residents. It still is used today.

The church reached its high point in the 1890s just prior to mechanized farming. In 1932, during the depths of the Great Depression, the bishop closed the building and dissolved the congregation. A generous benefactor reopened and restored the building in the 1950s, yet the congregation never redeveloped its strength. Its pastors, usually in retirement, stayed only briefly.

Jim Lawrence and his family came from the cathedral congregation in nearby Peoria in the early 1990s at the request of the bishop, and moved to a house nearby. I arrived in 1996.

Jim makes a comfortable living. He also is used to getting his way, and his way is old-fashioned and assertive. Each year he gave significant money to the church, and he served as lay leader year after year because there was no one else to lead. When my wife and I arrived, the five Lawrences, one older couple (the Smiths), and two elderly singles made up the congregation.

Believe it or not, there was division even in that small group. Jim and his son were members, while his wife and daughters still maintained membership in the cathedral congregation. The Smiths did not care for Jim and his family, but Mr. Smith was the treasurer and pragmatic about the situation, as Jim's contributions were keeping the church open. Mr. Smith's cousin, one of the two elderly singles, quite literally resented Jim. The elderly lady was a quiet woman who came and went without much comment.

Not an auspicious beginning for a pastorate.

What drew me to this "difficult" church? Certainly not because I had a "church fixer complex." Some of my ministry colleagues see themselves as skilled in repairing damaged congregations, but even as a full-time management consultant, I harbored no such illusions. Nor was it because I am a church preservationist, even though I appreciate a well-rooted congregation. I went simply because my bishop sent me there. But on my first Sunday, I knew God had sent me to a special place, to accomplish his purpose, yet to be disclosed.

A history of problems surfaced. I learned of one pastor's short stint and possible misappropriation of money. Plans for a fellowship hall had languished for years with disagreement over where it should be located and how it should be built.

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