The phone rang. It was late in the afternoon, the day after Christmas. “I’m coming from the church office to get you,” Bill said. “Meet me outside. I’ll be right there.”
His voice sounded heavy. What could be so wrong? I wondered. I hurriedly put on my boots and coat, and then stepped outside and stood in the cold to wait.
Bill pulled into the driveway. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I climbed into the car.
“The worst.”
“What?”
He looked at me. “Promise me you’ll believe I love you. Will you promise me that?”
“Well, of course. Why?”
We drove into the church parking lot and came to a stop. He took my hand and told me that Ron Kelton (the new pastor of our former church) and the district superintendent were inside. “They have signed statements charging me with inappropriate behavior and immoral actions.”
“Bill, they must be mistaken!” I said. “Someone is lying about you. Or somebody didn’t understand what he saw.” I looked at him. “They are wrong, aren’t they?”
“The charges are exaggerated,” he said, “but one is undeniable.”
“Who?”
“Kate.” He looked down.
The full impact of what this would mean still didn’t hit me. We walked into Bill’s study, and I greeted the two sober-faced men.
“Has Bill informed you of the charges against him?” they asked me as gently as they could when we were seated. I reached for Bill’s hand and repeated what he had told me in the car. They began explaining the situation as they knew it. Bill would not defend himself; he had already been talking with them for three hours. I tried to defend him. I knew Bill-surely he couldn’t be guilty of this. Much of the evidence was only circumstantial, after all. But they blocked my every argument with facts.
The men said that even with his confession and repentance, he would not be able to stay in the pulpit. I couldn’t see why. If he went to God for forgiveness, why did he have to throw away years of much-appreciated hard work?
Then I felt chilled: It did happen, and there is no way out. Soon, if not immediately, my husband would have no ministry-maybe anywhere, ever. We would have to leave our parsonage and our church family. All security was gone.
“Are you willing to stay with him?” the district superintendent asked me.
“Yes,” I said. Though still in shock, I knew I loved him. And besides, where else would I go?
“Since Bill has declared that he loves you, and you want to stay with him,” they said, “we feel the next step is for you to spend some time at a retreat and counseling center in Tennessee.” During our two weeks there, we were to be under the counseling care of a Christian psychologist. We could confront each other, face the facts, and determine directions for the future. The center had an opening in three days.
We drove home in silence. In the house waited our entire family except for one son and his family who had not been able to come for Christmas.
When we walked in, they were already huddled together. They knew something was wrong by the way I had left suddenly-without explanation. When they saw our faces, they asked, “What’s wrong? Someone complaining? A conflict in the church?”
Then Bill told them what I had just learned. They couldn’t believe it. Stunned and in tears, they gathered around us and prayed for us.
The next two days, I moved in slow motion. It was hard to talk. Even lifting a fork took effort. I was glad for the needs of my little granddaughters. They still needed to be hugged and cared for, and in return, they loved me.
I wandered through our parsonage, trying to visualize packing and moving out. I couldn’t. I couldn’t cope with the thought.
At night, I began waking often. I’d try to understand my new situation. I’m married to a man I don’t know. I’m not a pastor’s wife anymore. When I’d wake up, Bill would get up, too, and hold me and rub my back while I sobbed.
That made me aware of the unending pain of those whose husbands leave for the other woman. I was grateful to God and to Bill that he wanted to stay. There were human arms to comfort and to confirm love, as well as the undergirding arms of the Father.
Making arrangements to be gone for two weeks required calling together the church board. We had been instructed not to tell them of our problem, but they couldn’t avoid seeing the change in us. Each looked concerned, but we could not reassure them.
The morning we left for Tennessee, we tried to capture the feeling of going on vacation. We hadn’t been able to take our vacation for nearly three years.
The first day on the road there were miles and miles of tears and talk. Through it, I grew better able to deal with the charges and the anger created by them. I could see where I had fallen short of meeting his needs to be close. The Lord brought to my mind many times I had been prompted to reach out to him, to make advances, to go and sit by him, even to sit on his lap. Usually, however, I would give in to continuing the busywork at hand. I determined to heed those promptings in the future.
That night at the motel, we walked in and sat down-Bill on the edge of one double bed and me on the other, facing each other. I knew he didn’t feel free to reach out. I got up and went over and sat by him, and then cuddled next to him, to his apparent relief and delight.
The next day as we drove, Bill paused and said, “I think you need to know there’s a couple more.”
“No! Who?”
“Rose. And Helen.”
Friends, close friends of mine for years! Helen was as close to me as my sister. I wanted to get out of the car, to run, but couldn’t. I threw my empty soda cup at him and then took off my rings and threw them at him, too. Then I pulled the collar of my sweater up over my face and cried.
Again, though, I knew I had to set aside rage and move toward understanding. Over the years I’d dealt with many who were angry or depressed, and I didn’t want to stay in that self-centered state. I had to be able to see all the sides of this situation. Somehow.
We had to stop and call for directions to the retreat center and were instructed to get groceries before continuing to the chalet. I’ve never had such a hard time deciding between white and wheat bread.
When we arrived, I thought I already had the whole story. But it took six days of confrontation to extract all the facts. Through clever hedging and conscious lying, Bill had covered the extent of his immoral actions.
These are facts I still struggle with today: Fourteen years ago he was confronted by an attractive woman in our small church, who stated that she planned to leave the church because she was in love with him. Subsequently she invited him to join her at a motel where she had gone for “a day of seeking God’s will.” That affair lasted six months. They cut it off, knowing they were not meant to live together. She was my friend before, during, and after.
There were ten years free of involvement until one of the women who later signed a statement against Bill chased him until she caught him. I knew she was chasing, but I assumed he was running.
A few other involvements of varying degrees followed in a short period of time. He set them all aside for a year, and then we moved to another church.
In time he entered a low-level affair, which lasted three months until just prior to the confrontation.
All of these women were my friends.
I struggled with why it was such a battle for him to confess everything. He was relieved to have the impending nightmare of confrontation over. He was weary from fear, guilt, sleepless nights, depression, physical dissipation, and suicidal thoughts. (I had credited what I had seen to pastoral stress, and he let me believe that.) He could scarcely look me in the eye anymore or talk through anything. He wanted our relationship restored. He cared enough to stay and squarely face the consequences rather than run.
But still he could hardly make himself confess the extent of his immoral acts.
I finally understood that his reticence did make some sense. In telling the truth, he was destroying his own self-image-and the reputation of the women. He was destroying the faith placed in him by his peers, his trusting congregations, his family. He couldn’t know if I would be able to withstand the pain and fear, or if in losing my trust and respect for him I could ever continue to love him. He recoiled from having to hear my anguish and see my rage. He also had to bear his own pain and guilt out loud.
In holding back facts for all of these reasons, however important to him, he nonetheless perpetuated deceit. He removed much of what was left of his integrity and, except for the Lord’s grace, made the rebuilding of trust with me nearly impossible. He was trying to operate from a false sense of valor-“I’ll bear it myself; what’s not known hurts no one but me.” To me, that was like carrying water in a bucket full of holes.
All had to be bared, exposed to the light, in order for healing and trust to begin. Since God’s forgiveness follows true repentance after full confession, there would be no hope for the future until every involvement, like a deeply buried tendril, was uprooted. Only then could the sin wither and die.
God’s Word instructs us to forgive one another. Since not to forgive is also sin, I had no choice but to forgive. And so I did, not just my husband but all participants. Noble? No! There is simply no choice.
Being wronged is miserable, but doing the wrong exacts a greater toll in every way. It is a lighter burden to be the forgiver than the one being forgiven, but at first it felt as if I, the wronged one, had no rights. I was supposed to just bear it, forgive it, and go on.
To be fair, at the retreat center we came to relish the unending, uninterrupted time together. We enjoyed leisure and hours of honeymooning, even though interspersed with torrents of tears and ranting rages.
As our stay drew to an end, I was full of feelings and thoughts of what happened. We wanted to stay-until the groceries were gone, until the snow melted-anything to postpone going back home to the loss of our church. But we finally left that place of storming rage and hesitant, but beginning, forgiveness.
Driving by the church, turning into the driveway, and stopping in the garage didn’t produce the usual “It’s good to be home” feelings. Facing us were weeks of trial.
Bill began writing letters of confession and resignation for all the offices he held. He wrote a letter to the former church board and the present one. The district superintendent asked him to declare publicly his confession and resignation in a church service. He did.
The next week we went to our former church. At the close of the evening service, we were ushered to a pew near the front, surrounded by elders who were also close friends. That church had been built with many hard years of what I thought had been dedicated labor. We could scarcely walk the aisle.
After several statements by those in charge, Bill was called to the pulpit. He managed to state that to his sorrow and shame he had experienced repeated moral failure and asked for the forgiveness of the church people, present pastor, and me. An elder sat on each side of me, squeezing my hands. I struggled not to sob openly.
At the end of the service, the pastor invited those who wanted to set aside the sin in their lives to come to the altar for prayer. As people responded, he invited some altar workers to come also and pray for the others. One of the altar workers he asked was the “attractive woman” of fourteen years ago!
My mind was screaming. I pressed my hands over my mouth to keep from saying anything.
While people prayed, dozens of others came to us to express their love and concern. Eventually this woman, my friend of twenty years, approached me.
Rather than let her touch me, I reached out and held her by the arm. Looking her in the eye, I said softly, “Helen, I forgive you.”
She didn’t flinch but said, “But nobody knows!”
Does she crumple and cry, “I’m so sorry for what I did! I, too, am devastated by your pain and loss”? No, she’s so in control with her “But no one knows!”
I could only reply, “You opened the door, Helen.” I turned and walked over to where my husband was standing and watched her as she left the church. I wanted to scream and point her out. I wanted to scratch her face to ribbons. Somehow, God enabled me to keep my peace.
These things torture, but remarkably, with time, love and forgiveness do flow back. Even though old hurts can be stirred, a measure of healing begins.
Forgetting, though, takes much more time.
Several concerned individuals donated money for us to spend time at another counseling retreat in Colorado. Again, conflicts were isolated and communication needs examined.
Again we returned to the “real world.” Bill was full of apprehension about a job and our financial situation. Pastors don’t receive unemployment, and paychecks cease. And no entry-level job can replace the salary of a senior pastor after twenty-five years of ministry. He finally took a job in sales.
I was trying to understand some of the “why.” Even today I am confused by nebulous terms such as need, isolation, lonely, closed and open. These needed to be defined and worked through in our relationship.
The Persistent Question
What causes a highly regarded “man of God” to risk-no, throw away-all he has worked so hard for just to try to satisfy emotional “needs”?
The bottom line, of course, is not a “what” but “who.” Satan, the enemy of the godly, manages to deceive a person into believing his needs (self) are first and foremost. The very human pastor with his own needs and weaknesses is in a battle against unseen principalities and powers.
There are unique pressures within ministries, though, that contribute to losing the battle.
Insufficient income is demeaning and apt to cause strife at home. It can plant doubt about God’s sufficiency and care. It can cause the wife to seek outside work, leading to a feeling of distance.
For the most part, first churches or fledgling ministries are demanding to the extreme. While a young family grows, all the couple’s strength and energy are expended. Improper priorities and poor communication habits can start. These are subtle, seem normal, and go unnoticed.
Undefined success in ministry causes further problems. A pastor, like anyone, needs to feel he is succeeding. Success in the ministry should not be measured by human standards, but it is. A pastor is always, and especially at midlife, battling to feel he has done well.
High expectations exact a toll. The job description for the pastorate may sound reasonable, but actual expectations probably aren’t. An unspoken one in many churches is they are hiring a team; a pastor’s wife is expected to fill in for any talent lacking. If she is not good at what she is asked to do, her husband is told in emphatic terms. If she is good, her time and energy go to other people or tasks rather than to him.
Another factor is loneliness. A pastor, like any leader, often feels isolated. He seldom has a safe person with whom to share his loneliness, or feelings of failure, or doubts that God is caring for him.
A pastor’s wife, meanwhile, may face loneliness, depression, weariness, hurt, and fear. Her problems, to the extent they are caused by him, threaten him. Thus, she has no pastor to turn to. She knows her husband helps others freely, but she learns to find other means and people to meet her needs.
Then there is the “professional license” to keep secrets, which reflects itself in conversations like this:
“Who did you talk to today, Dear?”
“People with problems, as usual.”
“Like who?”
“It is best you don’t know, okay?”
In order not to spend all her time jealous, curious, or angry, a pastor’s wife has to give her husband to his work-almost to the point of not caring.
The Widening Gap
I know the scenario that can develop in a pastoral marriage. Following a day with complaints and problems, a lonely, tired pastor comes home to a lonely, tired wife. He gives and gets the usual greeting.
The wife, usually getting supper, would enjoy a little help and talk. However, she knows her husband has only a short time before going to a committee meeting, Bible study, or hospital or home visit. He would like one half-hour to pursue his own activity. The wife thinks she is doing him a favor to give him space.
Many pastors and their wives get together only in the car on the way to or from an activity. Once inside the church, they go to their separate areas of service. Rarely do they sit together or pray together. When the service is over, they circulate in different areas so they can touch as many people as possible. At last, the lights are out, the doors are closed, and they are off-to have company, be company, or go with others for ice cream and fellowship. By the time they get home, all their sparkle is gone, their personalities flat. They fall into bed, exhaustion overriding any chance for intimacy.
As a result, both are lonely, needy, and vulnerable. Wives opt out, too, but pastors are faced with greater temptations. They are there to listen to hurting women. Many receive the insistent call, “Come to my house. I really need you!” When met at the door by an admiring woman inappropriately dressed, the chance to share dreams and hidden loneliness beckons strongly. One unguarded moment can set up a giddy, then unbearable, self-defeating, guilt-enveloping relationship. All of this in the name of “meeting needs,” both his and hers.
All he has to do to deceive his wife is say, “I had an appointment today.” Simple.
The Price
But the price is great.
The average parishioner who falls need only come to the pastor’s office with his or her spouse, confess, and receive forgiveness. The two are given support and go on with their lives. The situation is painful, but few know. The couple keep their jobs, home, and sense of community.
A pastor who confesses, on the other hand, usually loses his position and income and residence, and is forced to leave the very community that should be giving him emotional support. He will be asked to confess publicly. He must resign all hard-won places of honor with his peers and denomination.
The relationship with his wife, kept so-so through deceit, now has to go through many painful stages. He has lost any reason to be trusted.
The bewildered, stunned pastor’s wife suffers losses in addition to her husband’s. They will move, thus costing her contact with her friends, and she may well lose her husband. At the least, she has lost her pastor. She loses her self-worth from both the adulteries and from losing the ministries where she received approval. Since few people understand the whole situation, she is isolated at her point of greatest need. When able to stay within the marriage relationship, her only companion is the one who acted to hurt her.
The Unfairness of Forgiveness
My past, once cherished, is gone. I loathe and am contaminated by it. Yet, for others, life seems to continue unchanged. The “other women”-ex-friends, Christians-do not seem to need to say they are sorry or ask forgiveness, and that leaves an empty sense of loss. Counselors told me not to get in touch with any of them, and so forgiveness had to be only from me and not returned.
The support we have received has been primarily for my husband. Many, many letters to both of us encourage me to forgive him, and assure him that good has come from his past ministry. Many times the help I get is in the form of “Have you lost any weight? How are you treating him now?”
However, God created us to survive in the midst of trial; his grace is sufficient. In pain his joy is made manifest.
I experienced some of that joy this summer. In the spring Bill wrote me a long letter (he expresses himself best that way) telling me of his love for me and his commitment to me. He asked if I would “remarry” him. He wanted to renew his marriage vows.
So on our twenty-eighth anniversary, we restated and renewed our vows to each other in the woods near our home. Officiating were our district superintendent, our local pastor, and the pastor with whom we’ve been in counseling. I made my gown and bouquet of flowers. Our sons and daughters and their families came from across the country to be with us. One daughter decorated our wedding cake and the other sang in the ceremony. Bill gave me a brand-new wedding ring. This time the words “for better or for worse” took on a new and deeper meaning.
Twenty-eight years after we began our marriage, we began again.
* * *
PROTECTING THE PASTORAL MARRIAGE
Was anything learned from our painful experience? Ann Landers said concerning her divorce after thirty-six years, “I hope I learned, and all of you too, to never say, ‘It can’t happen to me!’ ” Marriage with a pastor seems safe. It is not. Here are some suggestions that, had we followed them earlier, I believe might have made our marriage safer:
For wives
Help your husband set a prayer time with you at home.
Evaluate how much time is being invested in others as opposed to each other. Make time for “us” and guard it zealously.
Learn about intimacy, closeness, and needs-both his and your own. Reach out and touch. Sit still long enough for him to catch you.
Explain to him how you feel. Does he understand that? Is there any reason he might feel you think less of him than you do? Write him, tell him, show him. Tell him what you would like from him.
Practice listening with approval. Avoid the temptation to shoot down ideas with practicality.
Enter into sex with abandon. Just not turning him down is not enough. Read; think up new ideas. Forget about the dishes, crying baby, ladies’ aid meeting. It only takes a few minutes for what one writer called “a kiss with a future.”
If asked out or for a time away, go.
Let him see that you need his help and strength.
Don’t shrug off women who flirt with your husband. Be aware of the woman who is delighted to implement the pastor’s wishes and hangs around the church a lot.
For husbands
Praying together is intimate. With whom do you pray? Is your wife a prayer partner?
Take advantage of Christian psychologists or psychiatrists before severe crises arise.
If you sense another woman is stalking you, talk to your wife about it. Expose the temptation. Make your wife your ally.
Try marriage-enrichment seminars or retreats for the fun of it. Pamper your relationship.
In the words of Dr. Louis McBurney, “Resist marrying the church. That’s adultery, because she is already married.”
Write loving things to your wife so she knows she is in your thoughts.
Practice looking her in the eye.
Above all, work on total truthfulness. Share hurts, and don’t keep secrets.
Heather Bryce is a pen name for a woman living in the central United States.
Copyright © 1988 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
