“Brother Al, I need you to come down here.” Al Grounds recognized the voice of his long-time friend, Sheriff John Cooper, on the other end of the line. “There are some papers on my desk for you.” Al’s mind began to race. Papers? Before he could put his question into words, he heard: “I also have a warrant for your arrest.”
“A what?” Al asked.
“A warrant for your arrest. Look, Brother Al, you don’t need to worry about anything. Just come down to the office. I know you’ll do the right thing, and so will I.”
As Al hung up the phone he wondered if this had anything to do with the annoying phone calls and letters he’d received from an attorney representing several of his former church members. The lawyer kept saying he was filing a lawsuit against Al and his deacons, but Al never thought anything of it. No court would hear a case that was essentially an internal church dispute.
A few weeks earlier a disgruntled group from his church, Calvary Baptist in Fair Oaks, Kentucky, called a special business meeting for the purpose of dismissing Pastor Al Grounds and removing from membership everyone who did not live inside the city limits. The meeting didn’t go the way Al’s critics expected. Instead of dismissing Brother Al, the church ousted the thirteen. As they walked out of the church building that night, the leader of the group, a seventy-something woman named Imogene Hurst, snarled, “This isn’t over. This isn’t over by a long shot.”
Deputy Tom Cole glanced up as Al walked through the doors of the sheriff’s office. “Brother Al, I just want you to know that I don’t want any part of this.” Tom’s voice rose in anger, “The papers, they’re here on my desk, but I’m not touching them. I’m not giving them to you. I want absolutely nothing to do with this.” His eyes filled with tears as he stormed out of the room.
At that moment John Cooper entered the room. “The papers are over here,” he said. His eyes fixed on the pastor. “It’s a lawsuit, Brother Al. Someone’s suing you for one hundred forty thousand dollars.” The sheriff shook his head as he spoke the words. “Craziest thing I’ve ever heard of. And then there’s this,” he held up a piece of paper Al assumed was a warrant for his arrest. “Don’t people have anything better to do with their time?” the sheriff grumbled as he jabbed the paper into his back pocket. That was the last Al would see of the warrant.
Al walked across the room to the desk. Laid out before him were the papers detailing the grounds for the suit against him. The suit alleged Al Grounds and five deacons of the church did:
Commence a campaign to vilify each and all of the plaintiffs, and, for the purpose of putting (them) out of the church and causing them to stand in disrepute in the community … accused them in the pulpit and before large numbers of people, libeled (them) as a group and individually, not for any church purposes but for the pure and express purpose of defaming (them) by falsely and maliciously imputing to them infidelity and irreligious conduct in order to expose (them) to public hatred, ridicule, and contempt and thus build public opinion against (them) and cause them to stand in disrepute with both their church and their community.
The plaintiffs not only asked the court to reinstate their membership in the church, they also sought over $10,000 apiece in monetary damages.
Al looked up from the pages. “Come on, John, this thing can’t be for real, can it?”
“I’m afraid it is,” the sheriff replied. “But it’s like you’re always telling me, Brother Al, God’s in control. He can’t like this mess any more than you do.”
The storm before the storm
Al Grounds never set out to become the pastor of Calvary Baptist Church, or any church. That was the last thing he wanted, in spite of the fact that he first felt God calling him to preach shortly after he was saved at age thirteen. He ignored God’s call throughout high school. He ignored God during the year he lay in an army hospital bed hoping his arm could be saved after it was nearly blown off in Korea. When he returned home, Al married and built a successful insurance business. Finally, after seventeen years of putting God off, Al learned the Lord would go to whatever lengths necessary to make himself heard.
“All right, say ‘ah,'” Dr. Franke told Al. Dr. Franke’s bedside manner left a little to be desired. He was semi-retired and somewhat annoyed with this new patient who insisted on seeing him right away.
“Ah cahn’t tay ah,” Al mumbled. It was hard to say anything while the doctor had a grip on his tongue.
“Now say ‘ee,'” the doctor kept on. He prodded around in Al’s throat, looking deep with a mirror. Al tried but no sounds came out. The expression on Dr. Franke’s face changed. He let go of Al’s tongue and sat down on his stool in front of his patient.
“Do you smoke?”
“I used to smoke five packs a day, Doc, but I gave it up six weeks ago,” Al replied.
Dr. Franke shook his head. “I’m afraid you didn’t quit early enough. There are some tumors in your throat.” He paused and swallowed hard.
“Are they malignant?”
“I think so.”
The words crashed down on Al. The rest of the office visit was a blur. The next thing Al remembers he was stumbling through the front door of his house. He fiddled with the key, trying to remove it from the lock. He looked at his living room filled with expensive things. His success suddenly seemed very empty. Al stumbled into the bedroom and dropped to his knees. “God, I’ll preach for you. I don’t know how long I have left, but I’ll use it to preach for you. Only God, to preach I have to have a voice.”
Immediately Al felt the power of God surround him. He knew God heard his prayer. Ten days later Dr. Franke re-examined him.
“Al, what on earth have you been doing?” he asked.
“I’ve just been praying, Doc,” Al replied.
“Well keep doing it. Two of the tumors have disappeared. I think now we can operate.”
The operation worked. Al’s voice returned, and he kept his promise. He began preaching, and he was determined to make up for lost time.
Called to Calvary
Al still didn’t think of himself as a pastor. He was too busy preaching: on street corners, in neighborhood bars and small country churches, anywhere and everywhere people would listen, Al would tell them how God changed his life.
And they did listen.
People responded to the message wherever he went. Before long, area churches began inviting Al to hold revivals. His style wasn’t polished and his message couldn’t be simpler. But people came to Christ as he preached.
As word of the insurance salesman-turned-evangelist spread, Calvary Baptist Church decided he was just the man to come and inject some life into their church. They invited him to come and hold one of his week-long crusades. The week stretched into two, then three, as crowds filled the building every night.
During this time the church’s pastor accepted a call to another church and the deacons approached Al about taking his place.
“I’m no pastor, you don’t want me,” Al kept responding, but they were persistent. “I don’t have time to pastor,” Al insisted, “I have meetings planned well into next year.” The church’s leadership assured him it didn’t matter. They wanted him to be their next pastor and they were willing to do anything necessary to accommodate him.
Finally, after months of saying no, Al accepted the call to Calvary.
His first two years there flew by. People who never cared about religion flocked to the church. Crowds packed the aisles. During the summer people stood outside the windows to hear the services. Never before in its history had the church grown so rapidly. People drove from as far as 75 miles away for midweek services.
Even those outside the church took notice. In times of crisis they called Brother Al. That’s when he first came to know both Sheriff Cooper and Deputy Cole. Al walked with each of them through family crises.
The more the church grew, the busier Al became. He never gave up the insurance business, holding onto his agency while pastoring the church. Those were great days for Al. God not only gave him back his voice and his life, He blessed his ministry in ways Al never imagined.
But not everyone shared his enthusiasm.
“It’s time for them to go”
The first sign of trouble came as a low rumble emanating from the senior ladies’ Sunday school class. Al didn’t think much of it. After visiting several class members, he decided only one or two were actually upset. At the epicenter stood Imogene Hurst.
Imogene was always mad about something, but Al never imagined the depth of her anger toward him. His days of preaching in bars embarrassed her. She found his pastoral style undignified. But that only scratched the surface. Imogene had enjoyed her role as church matriarch for years. People looked to her before making major decisions. She wasn’t the most respected member of the church, only the best informed. She knew things about key leaders that they didn’t want anyone to know, especially their spouses. And Imogene wasn’t shy about using what she knew to get her way.
In Al Grounds, Imogene found herself up against a man she could not manipulate. She decided he would have to go.
Al was too stubborn or too thick-headed to take a hint. He never noticed when Imogene and her supporters stopped putting money in the offering plate. Her statements about his dress and demeanor went right over his head. Every time she complained about the outsiders who filled her church, Al smiled and said, “Isn’t it great what God is doing?”
And when Imogene told him she had some business to bring before the church at the next business meeting, Al hardly blinked. If anything, he looked relieved. And he was. At long last his opponents played their trump card. After months of spreading rumors, they were going public. Al hoped the meeting would be the turning point for the church that would allow them to move forward.
The auditorium was packed for the September business meeting. After dispensing with the usual round of reports and statistics, Imogene Hurst asked to be recognized. Rising to her feet she began, “I’ve been a member of this church all of my life. And all of my life this has been my church, my home. Just like it’s been home to lots of you. But it isn’t home any more.” She looked around the room.
“Now, thanks to that man,” she spat the words as she pointed at Brother Al, “this church is full of people who don’t belong here. They don’t live here, they don’t know us, they don’t belong. Now it’s time for them to go.”
Imogene paused as if to gather her strength. “I make a motion that Al Grounds be removed from the position of pastor and that all names of those living outside the city limits of Fair Oaks be removed from the church rolls.”
The motion received a quick second, but before it could be acted upon, the meeting took a decisively different turn. One member after another rose to defend their pastor. Stories flowed of how his ministry had changed their lives. People told of late night calls to Al’s house, of how he was there when they needed him. By the time the business meeting concluded, the church had not only refused to remove Al Grounds as pastor, it had rescinded the membership of Imogene Hurst and 12 others.
As she left the church, Imogene vowed that this was not the end.
Al never imagined how true her statement was. After he first received the papers from the sheriff, he tried not to worry. Five deacons were also named in the suit. Al calmed their concerns.
“This thing will never go to trial,” he reassured them. “It is a church matter, and last time I checked, the constitution guarantees a separation of church and state.” After talking with his attorney, Al expected to receive notification of the suit’s dismissal within a matter of weeks. The notification never came.
And then there were four
Al’s phone began to ring at all hours. For the first few months he would find nothing but silence on the other end. When voices did begin speaking, they unleashed a wave of profanity. Al and his wife would hang up, only to have the phone immediately start ringing again.
The harassment continued to grow. One morning a large rock broke through his picture window. Attached was a note with a three word message: Go to hell. Many mornings he walked outside to find his house or his car had been egged. Other pastors in town avoided him. They didn’t want to take sides.
Then one Sunday morning a man approached the altar with a knife in his hand. At the close of his sermon, Al walked down from the pulpit to receive those making decisions. Sam Duncan slipped out of his seat and began walking toward Brother Al as the organist played “Just As I Am.” Al knew Sam didn’t like him, but he thought this morning might be a breakthrough. As Sam came closer to the front his steps quickened and his eyes narrowed. The knife slipped out his sleeve as he passed the third pew from the front. “Watch out, Brother Al,” a voice called. Two men jumped up and grabbed Sam from behind.
“You deserve to die for what you’ve done to this church,” Sam screamed as they forced him to the ground and dragged him from the church. “Your kind ain’t worth killing.” His voice trailed off with a stream of words most people wouldn’t use in church.
Al’s five deacons also found themselves fighting a 24-hour-a-day battle. Threatening callers phoned their homes and harassed them on the job. Compounding the pressure, the court refused to dismiss the case.
With each passing month, it became more apparent that they would have to go to trial. If they lost the case, Al and each of the deacons would lose everything.
One Friday afternoon Al’s office phone began ringing. He hesitated. The last thing he wanted to hear was one more suggestion on where he should spend eternity. On the fifth ring he picked up the phone. “Brother Al, it’s me, Jim. Can you talk?”
Al let out a sigh of relief. “Sure. I always have time for you.” Jim Lindsey was the youngest of the deacons named in the suit. He and his wife operated a cattle farm, one of the largest in the county. It was the only life Jim had ever known.
“Pastor, I need to know, are we going to lose this thing? Be honest with me.” Desperation rose in Jim’s voice.
“Listen Jim, there is no way God will allow us to lose. Besides, these people don’t have any grounds for their accusations.” Al leaned into the phone, “We didn’t do anything wrong, Jim. And we won’t lose.”
“Thanks pastor, that’s what I needed to hear.” His voice seemed calmer. “It’s just,” he let out a sigh, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“It should be over soon,” Al reassured him as the conversation ended.
That was the last time Al spoke to his deacon. That night Jim dismissed himself from the dinner table and his wife and two young children, walked out of the house, and shot himself in the head.
A deal with the devil
Judge Gerald Hinson’s biggest hurdle in starting the trial was finding jurors. News of the case filled local newspapers for months. Everyone in the area had already made up their minds.
Prospective juror number eight spoke for many of them. He didn’t wait for the attorneys to ask questions. “This man is a man of God. You know it,” he said, looking the judge in the eye, “and you know it,” pointing toward the plaintiffs. “Everyone in town knows it. But let me just tell you one thing. The Bible, the Word of God you people claim to believe, says you better not lay a hand against God’s anointed. That man right there, Brother Al, God’s anointing is all over him.” He paused and looked around the courtroom. “You people better be real careful what you do in this place, ’cause God ain’t too happy about it.”
Prospective juror number eight didn’t make the final cut, but 12 others were finally seated. Al’s attorneys immediately asked for dismissal.
“Now look,” the judge replied, “I have people on both sides of this thing. We all do. We’d best let this thing run its course.”
The plaintiffs’ attorney set the tone with his opening remarks. “These men—” he said, motioning toward Al and the four remaining deacons, “these men have stripped my clients of their rights, and have they removed my clients from the church into which they poured their lives.”
Judge Hinson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was only the beginning. The first witness made the lawyer’s remarks seem tame. “You people keep hearing this man referred to as some sort of man of God,” she began, “but I’m here to tell you that he ain’t nothing of the kind.” She fixed her eyes on Al. “I’m here to tell you that Brother Al caused a bus wreck in Ohio that killed nineteen kids. That’s right, he killed ’em all.”
“I object,” Al’s attorney shouted.
The judge intervened. “Young lady, that’s a pretty serious charge you’re making there. How do you know Al Grounds caused the deaths of 19 children?”
“Well, that bus wrecked, didn’t it? And all them kids, they died. That’s how I know he caused it.”
The plaintiffs’ attorney cringed. “No further questions, your honor.” The rest of the witnesses for the plaintiffs on the first day were hardly more credible.
By the end of the second afternoon, the plaintiffs’ attorney approached Al and the others to discuss an out-of-court settlement. They agreed that the suit would be dropped completely if the plaintiffs were allowed to rejoin the church. However, before any of them could rejoin they had to repent publicly and ask the church’s forgiveness for the pain they’d caused.
The following Sunday all thirteen came forward during the invitation. Not one actually used the words “repent” or “apologize” or asked for forgiveness. Nevertheless, the church welcomed them back into the fold. Most people seemed anxious to put the entire episode behind them.
Ex nihilo
Al resigned the same day. Two years of hell had taken its toll. His marriage was crumbling and his insurance business teetered on bankruptcy. Emotionally spent, he could not find the strength to save either.
In the end Al lost everything. His church. His business. His home. His relationship with God.
Al woke up early one Sunday morning, two years later. He didn’t often sleep late on the concrete floor of his apartment. Broke and broken, he found refuge in a government housing project in Nashville. It was Sunday, but Al had not planned to go to church. He didn’t talk to God much after the divorce. “You gave me back my voice for this?” was as close as he could come to praying. An hour or so after waking, Al was at a church in the suburbs. The greeter at the door asked, “Which do you prefer, chocolate or glazed donuts?”
“What I need can’t be found in a donut,” he replied.
That odd retort was the beginning of Al’s healing, and from it a new ministry. With time Al realized because he endured such pain in the pastorate, he could help other pastors through similar trials. That’s been his mission and calling for more than twelve years.
Al eventually remarried, and today, with his wife Phyllis, Al aids pastors in crisis through his organization, Restored Ministries. As many as one hundred times a month, Al answers pastors’ calls from all across the nation and from every denomination. They call because Al Grounds will listen, but Al doesn’t stop there.
He and his wife have arranged housing for pastors who found themselves with no place to live after being evicted from parsonages. They’ve arranged bail for ministers who’ve been unjustly arrested after conflicts within churches. They’ve purchased shoes for ministers’ children, paid medical bills, and flown across the country to try to save a pastor’s marriage.
And when a pastor in crisis says, “You don’t know how I feel,” Al responds, “Here’s how you feel, and tomorrow you’re going to feel like this. Next week you’re going to feel like this, and three weeks later you’re going to feel like this. But let me tell you that the battle is the Lord’s, and if you stick to Him you will emerge victorious.”
Al Grounds may be reached at Restored Ministries, 2025 Harbor Drive, Smyrna, TN 37167. (615) 459-5360.
Al Grounds’s story is true. Other names and locations have been changed.
Mark Tabb is pastor of First Baptist Church of Knightstown, Indiana.mtabb@spitfire.net
Copyright © 2001 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership.
