Allen Smith* led one of the fastest-growing, most exciting churches in the Philadelphia* suburbs. He boasted several degrees and awards, including master’s degrees and a doctoral degree in clinical psychology from Yale. He was trusted, respected, and widely admired.
When I became his associate at Faith Church, I gained a share in his success: ordination, a nice salary and title, a good reputation, and membership on an elite staff of ten. Five years later, however, our church of cards came tumbling down.
One church member, Doug Creek, had a son who wanted to pursue a graduate degree. While sorting through school catalogues, the young man said to his father, “I don’t know which of these schools to apply to, Dad.”
Doug remembered Allen’s Ivy League credentials. “Why don’t you apply to Yale,” Doug answered, “where Pastor Smith went.”
“No, Dad,” his son answered, not realizing the impact his words would have. “Yale doesn’t offer a Ph.D. in clinical psychology.”
The accusations of deceit against our senior pastor soon splintered Faith Church into three groups—one loyal to Allen, one opposed to him, and one group caught in the crossfire. The war eventually involved the media, the courts, harassing phone calls, and mail fraud.
From the moment Doug accused Pastor Smith of fraud, I found myself facing a series of painful and difficult questions. How should a staff member handle accusations against our senior pastor? How do I cope if the accusers begin to throw mud at everybody? How could I, the new de facto staff leader, shepherd a divided church? What about the media? The money? The lawsuits?
Now, nearly 20 years later, I realize some of the decisions I made were right. Others I regret. I’m thankful, though, that in the long line of ethical dilemmas I faced, at least the first decision I made was on the right track.
The cards collapse
Doug called Yale. The school had no record of Allen Smith. Doug requested they express mail a letter stating they had no information about Allen. Then Doug set up a meeting to confront Allen privately, but Allen didn’t show up. So Doug shared his discovery with two of the church’s elders. Then the two elders knocked on my door.
As I heard the story, at first I doubted it. Doug was aligned with the historic “old guard” of Faith Church, a group that was already upset with Allen over changes in the church. Even if Doug’s accusation was true,
I questioned his motives.
At the same time, however, I trusted the judgment of these two elders. They felt there was sufficient evidence to confront Allen, and they asked me how it should be done.
Matthew 18 establishes a three-step process for confronting “a brother who sins against you.” The first step is a private confrontation, which Doug attempted to do, to no avail. The second step is confrontation by a small group.
For example, when confronting an elder,
1 Timothy 5:19 instructs us not to “accept an accusation” without two or three witnesses. Since Doug and the two elders were bringing the accusation, I agreed to serve as a witness, to test the first-hand evidence. I also called another associate pastor, John, and asked him to be a witness.
My refusal to join blindly either with the accusers or with the accused enabled me to lead with some objectivity in the trying times that followed. Although I would be caught in the crossfire, I did not, from the outset, side with any of the three emerging factions. That instinct was my first right decision.
I made an appointment through Allen’s secretary for seven o’clock that evening and instructed her to put a sealed note on Allen’s door informing him that I would be coming and bringing a few others with me.
“I think he’s lying”
Six of us shuffled into Allen’s study—three pastors, two elders, and Doug.
“Pastor Smith,” I began, “an allegation came to my attention today, and I thought it should come straight to you.” Then I deferred to the senior of the two elders. Nervously, he summarized what had been discovered, and what had been done so far.
Allen cut the elder off. He swiveled his head to me and looked me in the eye. “I don’t have to take this; we’ll just take our people and go!” Then he nodded to me, looking for my assent.
Allen was intelligent, innovative, and the only pastor I had ever served under in a paid position. I was happy when he invited me to join his staff, and impressed with him personally. Under his leadership the church had grown. So had I.
Now he was asking me to go with him.
“No,” I replied, “not until this is resolved.”
Without missing a beat, he turned to the newer associate, John, and repeated: “I don’t have to take this; we’ll just take our people and go!”
“Yes, sir,” John answered, “we will!”
Now the room was polarized—Doug and the elders on one side of this issue, Allen and John on the other.
“Pastor,” I said, “even if these accusations are false, and even if you do move on to something else, we need to address this issue of integrity. Who was on your dissertation committee at Yale? We could call them right now.” I stood up and pointed to four books on his shelf. “These are the books you told me you use to teach the pastoral psychology course at the seminary. Who did you teach
for there? They could vouch for your credentials.”
I even offered, “Pastor, we could get in the car and drive to New Haven; we’d be there in the morning, and we could sort this out.”
His answers came slowly. In response to the dissertation committee question, he scanned his diplomas. Barely above a whisper he said, “Well, there’s the dean, but he’s in Sweden right now.” He labored over to a shelf and pulled down his dissertation, flipped it open, and began reading names. He sounded like he was reading the obituaries of strangers. When we offered to call one of them, he shook his head. He seemed to be dying right in front of us.
I proposed a course of action. “Pastor, an accusation has come up tonight, and you claim it’s false. You offered to resign, but I don’t think we should accept your resignation like this. If you are going to resign, you should do so to the whole board of elders and explain why—especially if you’re innocent.
“When my class at college is over in the morning, I’ll go to the library. I’ll look at ‘Dissertations in Print.’ I’ll know immediately whether you wrote that dissertation. We’ll meet here tomorrow night with the whole board to decide where to go from there.”
With that, the meeting disbanded.
I was in the final weeks of my own doctoral studies, and I couldn’t believe Allen didn’t know his dissertation committee members by heart. That night, lying in bed, I told my wife, “I think he’s lying.”
White coat deception
My research at the library found no evidence to support Allen’s story. There was no record of his dissertation. Within a week, the staff and elders confirmed that all three of Allen’s graduate degrees were forgeries, and his undergraduate training and ordination had been seriously exaggerated.
Over the years, Allen had staged an elaborate ruse: He wore a white lab coat and told us about his emergency calls at local psychiatric hospitals. He took time off for continuing education classes that he apparently never attended. He collected fees from his “patients” and was later tried and convicted of practicing psychology without a license. Only now was the picture emerging.
When I pulled up to the church on Saturday evening for the elders meeting, I was met by a group of angry people in the lobby. These were not the elders; they were the “old guard,” people upset with Allen long before this crisis. I presumed Doug had called in his allies. Nearly 100 people were inside, fuming.
Someone said to me, “Harry, if he has fake credentials, don’t you think people will question yours as well?”
He was right. It wasn’t just Allen’s integrity that was in question now, but that of every staff member.
“Regardless of the outcome,” I replied, “whether Allen’s are proven true or false, we will need to get a notarized transcript for each staff person for each credential.”
I remember standing in the church lobby, being fried by critics. I groped for words, trying to defend the process of investigation and the elders’ authority.
I was hoping to silence some of the critics, but it was a mistake. I sounded like I was trying to defend myself and my boss. Even when I landed my intellectual punches, it only angered my opponents and entrenched my supporters.
Rather than defusing the situation, I inadvertently made it more explosive. I have since learned, especially when faced with an accusation, to pray more and talk less.
Allen had urged the church in what would be his last sermon to pray and fast “that sin would be revealed in the church.” To the staff, it was clear that he was alluding to some critics in the congregation. Instead, six days later, his sin had been revealed, and the game was over.
So heated was the atmosphere at the church that night that the elders moved their meeting to a nearby residence. Since the private confrontation from Matthew 18 had been thwarted by Allen’s refusal to show up, and the plural confrontation had failed to produce resolution, we moved to a public confrontation before the elder board. When the evidence of his deception was presented, Allen resigned without protest, effective immediately.
For the record, I restated his position: “So, Pastor, you’re saying that all of your academic credentials are authentic, and that these are false accusations?”
“Yes,” he answered definitively. “Yes!”
The following day, Sunday, Allen gave a tearful farewell, but admitted to nothing. People were invited to say farewell if they wished. Only too late did I realize that by giving Allen the opportunity to speak to the congregation, we were allowing him to draw out a faction of loyal followers, swayed by the emotional power of the moment.
Later Allen told anyone who would listen, “I paid my money. I went to class. If I was scammed by somebody who took my money and claimed to register me for classes, that’s on them. I did nothing wrong.” Many people believed him, and that story became their banner in the propaganda war.
A ploy named sue
In addition to accepting Allen’s resignation, the elders made two more important decisions on Saturday night. First, I would manage the paid staff for the time being. Second, Allen and his family would be given three months’ salary and benefits, including permission to live in the parsonage for those 90 days.
But Allen’s enemies suspected the ousted pastor would be running the church through his puppet associates, John and me. Ninety days in the parsonage was proof, they reasoned, so the old guard launched an offensive.
They sued the church, each of the pastors, and all the elders for charges such as fraud, conspiracy, and breach of fiduciary duties. The multi-million dollar lawsuit sought to dissolve the church corporation and to collect damages from each of the pastors and elders.
And they spread the news of Allen’s fraud to the media—from Christian radio to the major newspapers.
Over the nearly six months that followed, all the pastors were under surveillance as the opposition sought reasons to declare each of us unfit for leadership. My mail at the office was sometimes opened, and a bogus letter with photocopied signatures was mass mailed to discredit us. We received hateful letters at our home. My nights were marked by harassing and sometimes profane phone calls.
I felt I had every reason to be angry. Perhaps that’s why I agreed to take the next dubious step.
At my recommendation, the elders invited a lawyer to advise us on how to answer the lawsuit. The lawyer’s approach appealed to us because we were hurt. Many of the other leaders had been subjected to the same harassment I was enduring.
The lawyer advised us to countersue.
“You didn’t start this,” he said, “but if you are put on a basketball court, you have to play the game. According to research in civil suits, the majority of people who strike first win; so, if you are to have a chance of winning, you need to strike back hard.
“If they ask for $3 million, you ask for $5 million. If the church is going to reclaim even its legal costs, you have to sue for damages.”
Some objected, “I thought Christians shouldn’t sue Christians.” We all agreed, in theory, but Christians had just sued us! And our former senior pastor (who would be named in the countersuit) had officially been rendered the same as a “pagan or a tax collector” (Mt. 18:17).
We finally concluded that the church did deserve to be paid back for its costs, and we agreed to launch the countersuit. Later, with our church’s reputation muddied by reports of litigious Christians, I came to regret the decision.
Months after the first lawsuits were filed, the courts determined no financial fraud with church funds had taken place. Because Pastor Smith had been arrested and convicted by then, the plaintiffs indefinitely “postponed the suits without prejudice.”
The money trail
A few weeks after Allen’s resignation, Allen and his loyal associate, John, rented a tent for a Saturday meeting of Allen’s followers, a group of about 200. There they laid out the plans for a new church they intended to build.
They instructed their friends to retain membership back at Faith Church in order to vote on issues still relevant to Allen, but to save their offerings for when Allen and John would begin the new church.
The next day, before the Sunday morning service, I confronted John on the meeting and what was said. He confirmed their plan.
“How can you take a salary from this church, while urging people to divert their money to the splinter faction?” I asked. Then I fired him on the spot. The board met that afternoon to confirm the firing, and John was given a farewell receiving line following that night’s service.
The offerings almost dried up. Allen’s antagonists didn’t want to give, since some of the money might be used toward his severance package. Allen’s loyalists were following their party line, stowing their gifts for the new church. Even those caught in the middle hated to see their tithes going to the lawyers.
The following Sunday, during the announcements, I spoke from my heart. “If you feel that God can no longer bless you in this church, that God has led you to stop praying here, serving here, giving here, that you feel God has led you to another congregation, then go.
“Let your ‘yes’ be yes and your ‘no’ no. Don’t be double-minded. Wherever the Lord has led you, go there, pray, serve, give, vote. Whatever your lingering commitments are here, wrap them up. Tell your leader you’re leaving, finish your commitment, and leave in good order.
“Shake the dust off your feet. One thing you must not do is go somewhere else half-heartedly and come back on occasion to interfere.”
As people left, I was greeted with anger. “How dare you tell us not to give our money to Allen and John! Or not to come back here to vote! That’s exactly what our pastor is telling us to do.”
My only response was “Let your ‘yes’ be yes and your ‘no’ be no.”
Many stuck with Allen’s plan and eventually gave their accrued offerings to Allen. He supposedly needed to buy a parsonage as he began the new church. He did buy himself a house, but soon left the new church.
Shaky middle ground
The third, “middle” faction of the church was overwhelmed by the chaos around them. Most of these folks wore the same panicky look as Dorothy when the tornado swirled Auntie Em’s farmhouse upward into the sky.
Rejecting the angry mob on one side and the blindly loyal on the other, the third group looked for someone who could lead them out of the crossfire. They turned to me. At one point a petition was circulated in hopes that I would start another new church.
There were compelling reasons to consider the suggestion. I would have liked to spare my family. A peaceful resolution seemed a long way off. And the people on this petition weren’t the ones suing, swearing, or withholding their offerings.
Though their motives seemed admirable, if we left to start another church, we would be acting no less divisively than those who had brought the lawsuits and split the church already. The leaven was dividing the lump.
Bittersweet reconciliation
After almost six months, I resigned. With my doctoral degree completed, I taught for two years in a college. Then I was invited to serve as an interim pastor for a different church in the area.
My first Sunday there I looked out at the congregation and recognized nearly 100 faces. They were people who were once a part of that third faction. They had eventually left Faith Church and constructively joined this congregation. I served as interim for eight months, after which I was called as senior pastor. I served there for the next ten years.
Three years into my ministry, the remnant of those who walked out with Allen asked us to enfold their struggling congregation into our church. We welcomed them gladly, and two thirds of Faith Church had made genuine peace.
Then, a teenager began attending our youth group. Her name was Dawn Creek, daughter of Doug, the man who discovered Allen’s fraud.
While in college, Dawn contracted a virulent lung infection. She spent a month in the intensive care unit, barely clinging to life. The waiting room outside the ICU became a place of healing. Many people from all three factions gathered there.
We prayed for a girl we all loved, and while we prayed for one miracle, we watched another as, at various times, God was reconciling the church and showing us what really mattered. The value of life became clear as Dawn died.
If we hadn’t found a way to reconcile before, we now had the opportunity of a lifetime. Once again, God used an innocent person to build a bridge of forgiveness.
Harry McGee is a pseudonym.*The names and locations in the article have been changed.
Copyright © 2003 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
