You don’t look well,” the waitress said while pouring my fourth cup of coffee.
“I feel sick,” I admitted, and immediately rushed for the men’s room and lost my breakfast. For weeks I had been riding tidal waves of anxiety. But now I was drowning, going under for what I hoped wasn’t the last time.
As I knelt before the porcelain altar, I desperately cried out to God once more: “Help me, I’m in over my head. I don’t know what to do.”
I was three days away from the launch of a new church in the Seattle suburb of Bellevue, Washington.
As a high school senior in Bellevue 15 years earlier, I sensed a call to ministry. The community of Bellevue puzzled me. People lived comfortable and affluent lifestyles, but seemed unfilled. My classmates had everything, but something seemed missing.
Several students became friends, including Kay, my typing partner. I prayed for her often, “God, help me help her find you.” Yet, she didn’t seem to need God; she had it all.
After graduation I left Bellevue, but Bellevue didn’t leave me. I kept thinking about returning some day to minister in the community.
I was an associate pastor in Salem, Oregon, when a denominational exec took me to lunch. “Would you and your wife consider planting a church?”
I looked at him blankly.
“To celebrate our centennial,” he continued, “we’re starting 100 new churches on Easter Sunday next year. We’ve targeted five strategic cities and you’ve been recommended for one of them. What do you think?”
I loved the church I was serving, but I had to ask, “What city?”
“Bellevue, Washington. I think you and your wife would be a good fit.”
My wife and I prayed about it and agreed that God was leading. We moved and had six months to find a core team to prepare for the launch.
With eight weeks to go, we had assembled just 13 people, none of them with any musical ability. What were we going to do?
“Have you thought about Gregg?” asked Sue, a college classmate who was helping with the plant. Gregg was a friend during our college days.
“Does he live near here?” I asked. “The last time I heard about him, he was teaching at our college and directing traveling music groups.”
“He did that for a while,” Sue said, “but several years ago he accepted the call to be a youth pastor in Seattle.”
Gregg was phenomenal. He could play anything: classical, jazz, rock, traditional. He had an incredible voice. But more than anything else, I knew Gregg to be a person who sought God and could lead people into God’s presence in worship.
Sue had my attention. “When did you last talk to him?” I asked.
“Several months ago,” she said. “Something happened at the church. He doesn’t talk about it, but I don’t think it was good. He found a job selling pianos. You should call him. He might be interested.”
My meeting with Gregg the next day was a warm reunion. We reminisced about old times and got caught up on all the news since college.
Then I asked Gregg to tell me about his youth pastor experience.
“I lost my way”
His face saddened. “The senior pastor who hired me was a father figure. He was my mentor. He listened to me, prayed for me, believed in me. I idolized him. Then it all ended. The leadership discovered he was involved with another woman. They fired him. Two weeks later they decided to ‘clean house’ and let me go, too.”
Gregg’s voice cracked. “I was devastated. Paralyzed. I didn’t know what to do. It felt like God had let me down. For a year I lost my way. Only recently have I even started praying again.”
We sat in silence for a while. I looked for words to encourage him. Eventually I asked, “How would you feel about pursuing a ministry position again?”
“That was one of my first prayers,” Gregg said. “I told the Lord if he could use me again, I was available. I want my life to make a difference for him.”
Gregg agreed to pray about my offer. Three tense days passed as I waited for Gregg to call.
Then the phone rang. “I’m willing to be your minister of music,” he said, “but would it be all right for me to commit only for the two months? I want to be sure this is what’s right before I commit long term.”
From my perspective, eight weeks was better than nothing!
Abrupt change of direction
Gregg quickly connected with the people in this new congregation. His musical gifts were evident. He led us into worship. He was authentic. Before we knew it, a year had passed. Gregg was an integral part of our church, and I loved working with him.
We went to lunch to celebrate our first year together. I was excited to affirm him with a salary increase to start his second year of ministry.
“You’re making this tough” was his response to the raise. “This has been a great year. I love you, and I love our people, but most of my friends are at my home church where I attended before I took the youth pastor position. I feel like God is leading me back there.”
I stuffed my hurt. “Gregg, I’d never want you to do something you don’t want to do. As hard as this is, you have my blessing to leave.”
He nodded.
“But if you ever want to return, there will always be an open door for you.”
I was angry. It didn’t seem fair. We did the best we could without Gregg, but the life seemed to go out of our services. The guest worship leaders didn’t connect the way Gregg did.
“We need to talk”
One Saturday in early July a guest worship leader called in sick. I phoned through my list of backups. No one was available. In desperation I went to Nordstrom’s department store and hired their pianist to lead us the next day. I’m not even sure if he was a Christian, but he wasn’t bad for a hundred bucks. I knew I couldn’t keep living like that!
My family’s vacation plans were booked for August, and we needed a reliable substitute worship leader. I had an idea and phoned the leadership team. I’d contact Gregg and ask him to fill in for the month of August. They agreed, and they also agreed that if Gregg wanted to come back in the fall, he could have his old job back.
Gregg received my call graciously. I told him of my offer and wanted to know if he would meet with me.
“I’m open to coming back for August. The fall is also a possibility, but I have something I need to discuss with you first.”
“OK—”
“How about Denny’s at eight?”
I had never been so thrilled to go to Denny’s. “God, make it go well,” I prayed, “and please, have him say yes!”
Over breakfast I shared the options. Gregg seemed interested, but I could tell something was bothering him.
After breakfast he asked, “Could we go for a drive?”
We drove for a couple of hours talking about anything and everything. I began to sense whatever it was Gregg wanted to tell me was difficult for him. Did he want a raise? Did he have issues with my leadership?
I pulled back into the Denny’s parking lot. I had done enough talking and decided it was Gregg’s turn to share whatever news he had that was so important. We sat in silence, then—
“I have AIDS.”
The words seemed suspended in midair between us. Did he say what I think he said?
The words spilled out again. “I have AIDS.”
Full-blown rejection
Gregg told me his story.
“I was so disappointed in the pastor when I found out about his affair. I had believed in him. I trusted him. I followed him. He was like a dad to me. Then when the church leadership asked me to leave, I became angry—with them, with God. I rebelled.”
During his rebellion Gregg began to experiment sexually. Prior to that time he had been celibate. He told me some of the details of a sexual encounter where he believed he contracted the HIV virus. During the weeks that followed, Gregg would tell me of more sexual encounters, including male prostitutes. I think he waited to see my reaction before he felt safe enough to tell the whole story. At the time when Gregg learned his diagnosis, much was still being discovered about AIDS. Fear was prevalent.
“I didn’t have anyone to turn to,” Gregg said through tears, “so finally, I returned to God. I made a vow that I would live whatever life I had left serving Him. I realized my ministry days were probably over, but I was willing to do whatever God allowed.
“A few weeks later you called me the first time. I felt like your offer was confirmation of God’s forgiveness.”
Gregg’s news helped me understand his weight loss during the previous year and the couple of times he had led worship while suffering with the “flu.” It wasn’t the flu, but symptoms of HIV as it progressed into full-blown AIDS. I also began to understand why Gregg had withdrawn from us. He wasn’t sure whether we would accept him once his symptoms forced him to confess. He hoped his home church would be a haven. It was not.
“I confided in one of the pastoral staff about my HIV status,” Gregg said in the car that morning. “The staff member told the pastor, who discussed it with the board. As the news spread, people gave me a cold shoulder. I prayed, ‘Lord, maybe there is one church that will accept me. Please give me a sign if that is true.'”
As we sat there, I affirmed my acceptance of Gregg and my love for him. I have never felt like a person needed more grace than he did. I told him, however, I would need some time to pray about the job offer in light of what he had communicated to me.
“I understand,” Gregg said. “I will accept whatever decision you feel is right before God.”
After Gregg left, I remained in the parking lot and wept. My heart went out to my friend, but I knew our young church was fragile. I sometimes joked that we were always 24 hours away from extinction. This time it was Gregg who waited three days while I fasted and prayed.
Toward the end of the three days the answer seemed clear. Yes, the church was new and tender, and it might not weather the storm of a worship leader with AIDS, but I sensed God saying, “If the church can’t make it with Gregg as a part of it, then you don’t have a church!”
I believed God was asking us to do the right thing even though it was the hard thing.
Plans to proceed
Greg eagerly accepted the offer. He gave me permission to share his condition with the leadership team or with my wife if I felt I needed more counsel. I didn’t feel a need to do that, and I told Gregg I would keep his condition private.
The rest of that day we spent dreaming. We would send 45,000 invitations to all of the households in our city to be a part of our fall kick-off. We would invite a local Christian professional jazz musician to be our guest for that Sunday. Gregg would pull together the band and vocalists.
Then, Gregg shared his vision. “I’ve been writing an original concert I want to debut at Christmas.” We made plans to rent the largest ballroom in town and host a Christmas Eve event.
The congregation welcomed Gregg back, embracing him with enthusiasm. Life returned to our worship services.
Four weeks later, on the day after Labor Day, the phone rang. It was Gregg’s dad. He was fighting back the tears. “Gregg is in the hospital. He’s in a coma.”
I quickly left for the hospital. In Gregg’s hospital room, I greeted his parents and I expressed my concern for them and Gregg. We prayed together. Gregg’s mom was a Christian, but not his dad. However, anything that could be done for his son, including prayer, was welcomed.
During that week Gregg moved in and out of consciousness. Sometimes when I visited he was lucid, and other times he would slip back into a deep sleep.
On Sunday the congregation was surprised to find a sub in Gregg’s place. I explained that Gregg wasn’t feeling well. As the next week progressed, it became evident Gregg might never return.
My wife was wondering why I was doing so much hospital visitation—I still had not told her about Gregg’s illness—and she sensed I was under stress. Gregg’s dad called again in desperation. Gregg was near death.
As I flew out of the house my wife said, “I need to know what is going on. Something isn’t right!” I stopped and told her of Gregg’s condition, leaving her in shock as I headed for the hospital.
Strong coffee, bitter pill
It was obvious Gregg needed all the support he could get, and that meant the congregation must know of his condition. In one of his lucid moments, I asked Gregg for permission to go public with his situation. I explained what I planned to do, and he confirmed it was all right by him.
I called the leadership team to arrange a meeting. “I’m not going to quit and I haven’t had an affair,” I joked nervously. I sensed their concern about the urgency of the call, and could only offer dark humor in a difficult situation.
We met at a coffee shop.
My team consisted of a former pastor’s kid, a former elder from another church, a retired woman full of godly wisdom, a successful business owner, a man still feeling the pain of a divorce ten years earlier, and a young woman who had returned to faith after several difficult years away.
After the coffee was poured, I spoke. “Gregg has AIDS. He’s in the hospital, and the doctors don’t think he’ll live much longer.”
There was silence at first, marked by the clinking of spoons and the hissing of an espresso machine. As the news began to sink in, they spoke. The young woman admitted, “My lifestyle during my rebellion has caused me to fear the HIV virus. We need to extend grace to Gregg—and his family.” Everyone nodded in agreement.
For the next hour we discussed what to do. I had photocopied two articles from Leadership about two different responses to AIDS in the church. One church embraced a family in need, another had chosen to turn away a child with HIV. We read the articles and concluded we wanted to be the church that responded in grace rather than fear.
All were in agreement that we would dismiss the congregation after the service the next day with the announcement that Gregg was ill. We would invite those who were interested to stay afterward for a report on his condition. We decided to have copies of the articles for distribution.
What we were doing was difficult, but we knew it was the right thing to do.
Will the church understand?
The congregation was stunned.
As I told Gregg’s story, I was as honest as I could be. “I know you must be shocked by this news. I was, when he first shared it with me.”
“This isn’t going to be easy,” one older man said. “I hugged Gregg and shook his hand last week. Do I need to be worried?”
We knew less about AIDS then than we know now, and their fears did not seem unreasonable.
“Recently, Gregg was in my house and I needed him to hold one of our newborn twin daughters while I cared for the other one. Was I endangering my baby’s life?” I asked not so rhetorically. But I also told them of the tears that flowed down Gregg’s cheeks while he told me how people who knew of his medical condition barred him from being near their children.
We answered questions about Gregg’s sexual history privately. One young man who had recently formed a friendship with Gregg asked me later if Gregg had contracted the disease through homosexual contact. I confirmed that he had.
“It’s going to be difficult for me to continue our friendship,” the man responded candidly.
We made the copies of the articles available, and I challenged our people to be the church that extended grace. Our leadership team closed the meeting in prayer. Our senior leader, the retired woman, prayed, “Lord, may we be worthy of the trust you have given us by placing Gregg in our congregation.”
When Gregg and I talked about telling the congregation, I asked who he would like to have come and see him once the news was public. Without hesitating, Gregg said, “Hector.” An executive who had relocated to Seattle from Florida to oversee a large civic project, Hector had renewed his faith through our congregation, and he and Gregg had bonded.
We gathered notes of encouragement the congregation wrote before we left that meeting, and I asked Hector to take them to Gregg. When he entered the hospital room, Hector leaned over the bed and gave Gregg a huge hug. We discovered later that his embrace deeply moved Gregg’s mom and especially his dad, who witnessed it.
Later Hector called me to report on his visit. “Thanks for asking me to be the first to visit Gregg. What you don’t know is that my brother was diagnosed with AIDS six months ago. I believe God has been preparing me for this. Let me know what I can do to help.”
Grace greater than his sin
The congregation was ready to care for Gregg and his family, as we continued to wrestle through our fears. The following week we realized we had 45,000 invitations going into the mail inviting people to our fall kick-off, and our worship leader was in the hospital.
I met with our guest jazz artist, Ron, and his wife for dinner and explained our situation to them. Both were concerned for Gregg.
“My wife has a band,” Ron said. “Would you like us to see if they are available on Sunday?”
Before dessert was served, Ron’s wife had called her band. They could play on Sunday. Ron assured me they would make sure we had the music we needed until Gregg was well enough to return.
When I told him of God’s provision, Gregg was relieved. He asked me to bring copies of the mailer to his hospital room. Over the rest of the week, Gregg would invite 30 people to attend our fall kick-off.
One of the guests he invited was a nurse who had taken special interest in Gregg. She was drawn to Gregg’s positive attitude and the compassion and love that seemed to be a part of the visitors to Gregg’s bedside.
When she looked at the mailer and saw my picture, she said, “I think I know the pastor of your church. Did he attend high school in Bellevue?” It was Kay, my typing partner, the high school student I had prayed for 14 years earlier!
Kay would visit and become a part of our church. Before it was all over, I would have the privilege of baptizing her in the hotel pool where our church met. She became a compassionate caregiver to Gregg during the rest of his life.
Do we have a church?
Gregg’s health improved a little, and he and I discussed what he should tell the congregation.
New people began attending after our fall kick-off, and I wondered what they would think when they learned our worship leader had AIDS. I was reminded of God’s prompting: “You don’t have a church if you can’t handle this.” Still, listening to Gregg share very honestly about his past on the Sunday he returned, and watching one visitor in particular, I asked myself, What will he think? Will he come again?
Late that afternoon, the man’s wife phoned me. “I’m sorry to call you at home,” she said, “but you need to know what happened today. I was visiting my family on the east coast. When I got home, my husband told me about what happened in church this morning.
“A year ago my husband’s dad was diagnosed with AIDS. He recently died, and my husband hasn’t talked about it—until today. He told me he had never thought he would find a place safe enough to share his dad’s story, but he’s beginning to think your church might be that place.”
A few months later, the man and his wife would become Christians. And they weren’t the only ones.
“Is Gregg not well?” The question came from Diane. She sat next to me at the Christmas party. Diane and her husband, Bill, were nonbelievers who continued to come to the church in part because of Gregg’s music.
“You don’t know?” I responded. “You must have missed the Sunday when Gregg told his story. He has AIDS.”
Tears filled Diane’s eyes. “Both my brothers have AIDS. One has died and the other is not doing well.”
Had God prepared us “for such a time as this”?
Three visits from Jesus
Over the next eighteen months, we would walk with Gregg through his illness. He was concerned his deteriorating condition would be a distraction on stage.
I assured him we could handle it as long as he felt like God wanted him there.
His health continued to decline. He needed a walker to get from the car to the stage. Spasms made it difficult for him to keep his foot on the sustain pedal of the keyboard. The solution? It became the setup team’s responsibility to duct tape Gregg’s foot to the pedal. We found humor in tragedy.
Gregg spent his last days in the AIDS hospice. I learned so much visiting him in that environment. The chaplain taught me about compassion and mercy and the importance of touch for AIDS patients. Somehow I sensed Jesus in the room each time he visited.
Members of our congregation continued to come and see Gregg, although his failing condition was hard for some to handle. Their visits, however, meant much to Gregg’s family, especially his dad.
“When Hector visited Gregg and picked him up out of the bed, hugging him, I knew without a doubt Jesus was real,” Gregg’s father said to me. “I could see Jesus in Hector. I want Gregg to see me become a Christian before he dies.”
Gregg couldn’t say much when his dad told him about wanting to follow Jesus. But the joy in his face was unmistakable.
Two days before Gregg died, I visited him for the last time. His six-foot frame weighed less than a hundred pounds. He was too weak to move in his bed and had lost all control of his body. Sores swelled his tongue and made it difficult for him to talk, but he tried.
“I’m ready,” Gregg whispered. “Jesus visited me last night and said it was time for me to come home with him. Thank everyone at the church for me. Tell them that I love them and will miss them. Let them know I will be waiting for them, and if the Lord lets me, I’ll lead them in worship again.
“This time, it will be forever.”
Jeff W. Smith is senior associate pastor of Woodinville Alliance Church in Woodinville, Washington. JeffS@woodinvillealliance.org
Copyright © 2003 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information onLeadership Journal.
