The intercom buzzer in my office sounded. “Pastor Bob Blake on line 2.”
Blake served the church I’d left a year and a half earlier. I had never talked with or met him. I pressed the blinking line.
“Hello, Bob. How’s it going?”
“Great!” he said. “I’m glad to talk to you. I hope we will get to meet soon.”
“I have been hearing good reports,” I said. “I’m glad you called.”
“The Lord is doing some awesome things here,” he said. “I don’t want to take much of your time, but last Sunday, just about everyone came forward at the end of the service to confess wrongdoing and to seek forgiveness from one another. A number of people confessed that they were wrong in the way they treated you and your wife before you left.
“The church would like to fly you folks back here so they can personally and publicly ask your forgiveness.”
I gulped. Old feelings of hurt and anger bubbled to the surface. Never had I heard of a church inviting a former pastor back for such a purpose.
Been there, resigned from that
The day before Blake’s call, I had read the article “Forced Out” in Leadership (winter 1996). The article analyzed the results of a survey of pastors who had been forced to leave their churches. From my experience at the church Blake now served, I resonated with the scenarios presented. I took some comfort that I was not the only one to have been forced to resign.
The survey pointed out that 43 percent of pastors who had been forced out said a small faction forced them out. That happened to me: a small, power-hungry group made it impossible for me to lead effectively. Most of the congregation knew nothing of the tension until right before I resigned.
And, as many pastors indicated in the survey, the church I served had done it before. In fact, I had been the third pastor in a row either to be asked to leave or pressured out. In its 44-year history, the church had had fifteen pastors. My tenure of nine years was the longest, but I, too, finally fell victim.
Blake’s invitation to return evoked feelings of dread. Would it open old wounds? Yet the invitation tugged at my heart. I wanted to see the folks we had loved and served for nine years.
I believed I had already forgiven those who had opposed my leadership. My new call was both gratifying and therapeutic. Was there any purpose in going back? What would be expected of me? Would there be an emotional display that would camouflage lingering animosity?
Repentance fruit After talking with my wife, consulting with the senior pastor at the church I currently serve, and conversing with Pastor Blake, I agreed. The arrangements were made to return for a weekend. The plan was that during the Sunday morning worship service, the chairman of the deacons would speak on behalf of the congregation. Then I would be given an opportunity to respond. The service would conclude with a celebration of the Lord’s Supper over which Pastor Blake and I would preside.
The weekend arrangements for my wife and me gave evidence of liberality of spirit. The congregation of around one hundred people spent several hundred dollars in airfares and also provided a rental car. We ate our meals in homes. A Saturday night gathering at the church allowed us to talk with most of the congregation.
The reunion was joyful and spontaneous-not just between my wife and me and the congregation but between member and member. The events that led to my resignation had driven a wedge into the congregation. But our return-our physical presence-seemed to ease forgiveness and reunion.
Closed accounts
Sunday’s worship service went smoothly. The days preceding the service, the church and my wife and I had been celebrating the fact of forgiveness, but then came the time in the service to announce formally the eradication of guilt.
Pastor Blake spoke of Jesus’ words of forgiveness uttered from the cross: “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” He pointed out that the only person to accept that forgiveness was the man hanging next to him. He then explained for the sake of visitors why I had been invited back.
Then the chairman of the deacons and I were called to the platform. As we faced each other, I heard the words I never expected to hear.
“Pastor Ben,” the chairman began, “on behalf of the entire congregation, I confess to you that we did not support you in your ministry as our pastor.” The words did not come easily. “We recognize,” he continued, “that our actions were wrong, and we ask you to forgive us.”
I opened my arms, and we embraced.
Later I was told by a friend, as he gestured with thumb and index finger almost touching, “I came this close to starting a standing ovation.” The burden was lifted.
I picked up where Pastor Blake left off in the story of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. I read the words of Jesus to his disciples in the Upper Room: “If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”
“A wonder of God’s grace,” I said, “is that it allows us to cut each other off from it by refusing to forgive those who sin against us.”
I assured the congregation that I would not do that. “The debts of the past are canceled.”
The service concluded with the celebration of the Lord’s Supper.
As my wife and I said good-bye again after the service, this time we felt a sense of closure.
1996 by Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP journal
Last Updated: September 17, 1996
