Several years ago our congregation said good-bye to one of its pastoral staff members who had been with us for less than a year.
From the beginning, the pastoral relationship was troubled. Within two weeks of her arrival, both she and the people with whom she worked expressed pain, anger, and disappointment. My feelings at her departure alternated between sadness and relief.
Unable to resolve the difficulties on our own, the church began to take sides and entrench positions. I asked our elders to hire a mediation team, consultants who specialize in church conflict. We needed help.
Here we go again?
The consultants turned out to be worth every penny (and we paid dearly for their help). They helped us focus on unhealthy behavioral patterns and conflicting leadership styles, not on personalities. They also engaged the conflict early enough so the difficulties remained specific to one ministry area; the conflict did not spread throughout the church.
The consultants uncovered some deep, systemic issues in the church, issues we are just now starting to address. One issue was a long history or pattern of inadequate closures with pastoral staff members.
When the staff member resigned, her announcement triggered a number of reactions. One long-time member, obviously troubled, came to see me soon after the announcement. He surprised me, speaking not about the current situation but about a staff resignation from more than twenty years before! It was still not clear to him whether the staff member had been forced out or had voluntarily resigned. The secrecy surrounding that event led him to suspect the staff member had been forced out. But no one seemed to know for sure. The people who knew either died, moved, or weren’t saying why.
His “here we go again” feelings about our current crisis seemed to be shared by many throughout the congregation.
This time, however, coached by our consultants, the resignation was fully explained. In fact, the staff member and I together wrote a letter to the congregation, giving as many of the reasons for the resignation as we could. Even the terms of the severance were disclosed in the letter, something no one in the church had ever seen. Some people thought the package was too small (someone characterized it at a meeting as “abusive”), and others thought it far too generous (“that’s our money they’re giving away”).
But for the first time, no one had to speculate on the subject. Everyone had the same information. The letter was a large step toward healing and reconciliation.
In the process of writing the letter, I came to appreciate the delicate distinction between secrecy and privacy. Some matters, I believe, truly are private and best left that way. But other matters, if left out of public explanations, only add to the feeling that something is being concealed. I have come to believe that in such matters, it’s better to err on the side of candor. Keeping too much private in an extended family like the church begins to look too much like secrecy.
With our congregation’s history of secrecy, however, even our effort at openness was met with skepticism—”Yeah, but what’s the real story?” was a frequent response. More than one attempt will be required to undo years of whispering and secret deals.
Closure’s hard work
I’ve concluded that churches pay too little attention to good-byes. And when closures are neglected, churches may develop unhealthy patterns that make subsequent pastoral relationships problematic.
When I designed a service of farewell for this staff member, I discovered that the new Book of Common Worship, recently adopted by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), an otherwise excellent resource, had no rite for farewells. I finally found one in the new worship book of the United Church of Christ. The rite acknowledges mistakes made by both staff members and congregations, asks for and offers forgiveness on behalf of all, offers thanksgiving for accomplishments and good memories, and, best of all, recognizes the many feelings, including conflicted ones, surrounding departures.
The response to this rite in our worship was positive. Even visitors, who knew nothing of the conflict, remarked that the service was poignant; they were impressed by the care we were taking with our good-byes.
Saying good-bye is also a time for both pastor and church to say who and what they are. The resigning staff member, coached by the consultants, took time to examine her strengths and weaknesses in ministry. As a result, she now knows herself much better than when she came, and she has a healthy sense of where she will be most effective in her future ministry.
And I have been able to speak forth-rightly—and without fear of legal action—to search committees that have expressed an interest in her. The reasons I give for her departure are identical to the ones she is giving.
Good closures are also opportunities to let go—to really let go—of the past. Letting go, then, becomes a way of being open to the future.
Churches invest an enormous amount of time and energy in the search process for new staff members. When those relationships do not work out, disappointment is intense, and the desire to start all over again is low. I find myself wanting to know, for example, where we were wrong and how we can avoid something similar in the future. To be honest, I still feel angry toward some church members who, in my opinion, acted in the process uncharitably; it is an anger that won’t go away easily.
All of this is work that must be done before we can say hello to someone new, before we can have the healthy staff relationship that all of us want.
Easter renewal
The resignation occurred just a few weeks before Easter—in other words, during one of the busiest seasons of the church year. At the time, all I could see was an additional burden. As Lent turned into Holy Week, however, and as Holy Week mercifully gave way to Easter, I began to understand how the truth we were celebrating at Easter applied directly to our situation.
Easter, if it means nothing else, means for believers the possibility of new life, of renewal, of another start. All the texts I used in my preaching during the Easter season seemed to tell me the same thing—beyond death lies the possibility of something wonderfully new.
I am still dealing with the death of a relationship, which in a short period came to mean a lot to me. I am also dealing with the death of some romantic illusions I had about the church—and perhaps this church in particular. Those are especially difficult to let go.
But the good news is that I am living with hope, a hope made possible on an Easter morning long ago.
Douglas J. Brouwer is pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Wheaton, Illinois.
Leadership Spring 1998 p. 51-3
