AS A PASTOR, ASIDE FROM occasional criticism, I have faced only one full-blown revolt. Trouble was afoot but everything seemed quite normal—for a while. Then increasingly disconcerting things began to happen. I kept saying to myself, No, that noise in the basement can’t be an intruder.Eventually I learned otherwise. When the truth started coming out, it read like the first chapter of a horror story.
In conversations with leaders, I began to hear reports of criticism against me. One individual spoke face-to-face with me on several occasions about shortcomings he saw in the church, adding that he had also discussed these problems with others. In one worship service as we waited quietly before the Lord, this man began to pray so loudly it was unsettling, and judging by the looks on the faces of the congregation, I wasn’t the only one who thought so. I didn’t want to confront him openly, so I quickly ended the worship portion of the service and moved on. Then a man who was a former pastor stood and corrected the younger man for being out of order. I expressed my agreement. We continued the service but limped our way through to the end.
Then things worsened. A few people who were involved in ministry stopped attending our church. Criticism even surfaced against my family. Piecing together who hung around with whom, I figured the revolt involved about ten dissidents, with at least four leaders among them. I realized then that this would not simply go away.
The nadir of the revolt was a meeting I had with two leaders. They phoned my office one day and asked if they could come right over and talk. When they arrived, I greeted them warmly, but they were not smiling. They handed me several sheets of paper listing my failings as a pastor. Seated across from me, they worked their way through the list, explaining each of my faults. As I recall, I did not verbally respond to the specifics. When they were done, I thanked them and said I would pray about their observations. Then I told them their ministry in the church would be put on hold until the issues were resolved.
At that point one of the individuals exploded in anger. By the time he finished with what he had to say, he was leaning across my desk and screaming in my face.
Special effects
Conflict throws a wrench into the challenge of perseverance. My emotional response to this revolt was threefold.
1. Fatigue and discouragement. In high school gym class, the activity I enjoyed least was wrestling. I will never forget the feeling I had when we progressed beyond takedowns and holds and held a class tournament. Despite the shortness of the matches and the fact that I trained year-round in gymnastics, I quickly became exhausted. Midway through the match, whether on top or underneath, I wanted the match to end.
Similarly, I found church conflict to be exhausting. Confrontations affected me at a visceral level. At the speed of a nerve impulse, they triggered insecurity; they challenged my worth and ability; they ignited response mechanisms of self-defense. The aftereffect of these high-adrenaline events was low-level energy.
Needless to say, the exhaustion hampered my work. Occasionally, I found myself staring at the office walls or at papers on my desk without the creativity to write a sermon or the willpower to make a decision. I wept easily; I felt depressed; I was preoccupied.
2. Emotional shutdown. During the conflict, the strength of my feelings scared me. I had come to one firm resolve: no matter what happened to me, the one thing I would not do in this crisis was sin against God. My emotions threatened to undo my resolve.
Like a flood victim caught in a rushing torrent, on occasion I felt carried away by circumstances beyond my control. I had to defend against the pain, so when things became intense I went Spock, disengaging emotionally. Even when I could not control my circumstances, I could control my emotions, so I shut down and tried not to care too much. Stoically I did my best to engage life on the level of reason; in analysis I found solace and escape.
3. Conflict-generated energy. I become bored if I play chess with someone who does not understand the principles of the game. Though I would be a pushover for a dedicated player, I have read several chess books and know the fundamental tenets, such as the need to develop all pieces early, control the center of the board, keep a strong pawn skeleton, and maximize the mobility of your pieces. It is impossible for a novice to beat a player who understands these ideas. As a result, I lose interest in a game with a learner. But when I get the opportunity to play a quality player, every cell in my brain awakens. Competition always brings out the best in me, as well as an almost intoxicating joy.
In a church conflict, the stakes are immeasurably higher. In this crisis I planned to fight it out to the end—not against people but for God’s purpose. The greater the challenge the better. I especially felt this way around others because I wanted to be a strong leader. I even alienated my wife a few times when she felt discouraged and needed to talk about the situation: I brushed her off with glib comments that downplayed the crisis; I wanted to talk positively about it. My pulpit presence was usually confident, more so than before the trouble broke out. In public meetings I went out of my way to show others I was not about to be beaten. I would lead the church through this crisis. I would be a rock when everything else gave way.
I did make some adjustments, though. Since my vision had provoked some of the conflict, I gradually backed off. As I saw it, we would have to hold the fort for six months to a year and then we would rebuild. I knew that every church faces periods of testing and that most pastors who take over an existing church have to weather some conflict in the first five years. War has casualties but we would pass this test. I was prepared to pay the price and stay for the long haul.
Distorted perseverance
Consequently I was able to stay at the church and function effectively most of the time. I do not recall ever seriously considering a search for another church. The test was not my ability to stay at the church but rather the purity of my motivations. Conflict lured me at times into a distorted perseverance in which I sometimes hung rough for the wrong reasons.
I occasionally persevered for the sake of persevering. Right or wrong, I could be content with mere survival, wearing my survivor’s badge with pride. The benefit of this thinking was resilience, but it was easy to take my eyes off the broader strategic questions: How can we move toward effective ministry for Christ? What are the Lord’s ultimate purposes for us? What can we do to fulfill those purposes?
Another distorted motivation for perseverance was the subtle desire to prove myself right. To do so I determined to outlast my detractors and see the blessing of God upon the church. I recall a bit of cold calculation on my part: I was here before they were. I have the pulpit, the keys, the position. I have more control than anyone. They lack vested interest in this church. Eventually they will lose interest and go elsewhere.
In other words, I wanted to be the one holding the reins in the end. Though fallible, I felt I had authority from God as the pastor to see that his will prevailed, and I sincerely felt I was following God’s purposes. Even so, it was hard to separate between my being right and God’s being right. But I was fully aware of this.
The conflict also caused me to waver on some essential responsibilities. The first was my obligation to shepherd my detractors. Instead of a desire to help them grow through the experience, at times I abandoned them—at least in my heart. They had hurt me badly enough and troubled the church sufficiently that I simply wanted them to be gone.
In retrospect, I realize I shouldn’t be surprised when sheep act like sheep. In the days before his crucifixion, with full knowledge that a disciple would betray him and the others would leave him to fend for himself, Jesus continued to instruct and prepare them for the future. I am supposed to act like the Good Shepherd, not a bad sheep. In theory, I should have more spiritual resources than my detractors do to weather a conflict and come out the stronger. Spiritually, they may never recover. Even if they do not respond to my leadership and will probably leave the church, I need to be trustworthy. I need to sow as many seeds of wisdom into their hearts for the future as possible. I must hope they will later see their mistakes and never repeat them in another church. I need to persevere as a shepherd.
While at Arlington Heights, I succeeded at this with only one person who had actively opposed me. He was extremely dedicated to the Lord but had a huge blind spot: he saw nothing wrong with stirring church dissent. After church services he would talk with friends about the church’s failings and admitted as much to me.
I liked him, nevertheless, and saw his potential. So I met with him many times in my office for a full hearing on what concerned him. I admitted my fallibility to him but said I felt I was walking in God’s steps. Not just for my own sake but for his, I confronted him about his negative talk with others. I showed him Scripture passages on the errors of divisiveness.
He listened quietly but never changed his actions. Finally I realized that for both the church’s sake and for his, and in accordance with Titus 3:10, I had to be ready to place him under church discipline. In another meeting in my office, I warned that if he continued to stir up trouble he would be disciplined. Regrettably, he continued, and I had to tell him he was no longer welcome in our church. He stopped attending, and I have no idea what happened to him after that.
When guns fall silent
I had it easy; the revolt lasted only five months and virtually all the dissidents left the church. We did suffer a major reversal, however, as the church dropped in attendance by 40 percent and we lost most of our core workers. Undaunted, I pressed on for six months after the smoke cleared, but as time passed I could not help but notice some enduring troubles. Church attendance plateaued and, far worse, the congregation seemed to have lost heart.
Recently I read an article about what makes a soldier willing to face combat. It said that a military unit that suffers two or more battles incurring a large ratio of casualties will become demoralized. Our church had suffered major casualties beforeI came as pastor, and it seemed now to have reached its limit. Our meetings felt hollow and we had only an occasional visitor. My wife and I both felt like a lid was on the congregation—God was not getting through, and consequently not blessing our efforts.
I began to wonder if I had missed God’s direction the year before. At that time Leadership had asked me to consider coming to work as an associate editor for the magazine, and I had declined. God apparently wanted to give me a second chance. One year after the conflict began, the editor called again to ask me to reconsider. This time I felt all signs pointed to a change.
Problems of any sort raise key questions about perseverance. How can I know whether the troubles I currently suffer are a circumstantial sign from God that he has a new direction for me? How do I know if my circumstances are something God wants me to endure and then grow through?
Only through prayer can we find the answers to these questions. As strongly as I believe in perseverance, I do believe there are times when we need to move on, especially in a conflictual situation. If leadership had not called me and the climate at the church had lingered, I would have eventually pursued another place of ministry. I had learned a lesson from a pastor friend who had faced recurrent opposition. He had pastored his church following an immensely popular founding pastor, and for more than ten years he saw several waves of revolt and departure. A man of impeccable character, he was determined to work through it, but eventually church attendance dropped by three-fourths and he had to leave. Sometimes conflict can so muddy the waters that a pastor’s ministry can never recover in the place where the conflict occurred.
In my idealism I want to see conflict and criticism as an anomaly in the life of the body, something like appendicitis. But in Scripture I see a different picture. In the lives of Jesus and Paul, opposition came with the frequency of a cold. Realistically I must have the ability to keep doing God’s will in a conflict, and so hopefully prevail in further productive ministry.
In fact, judging by the Beatitudes, perseverance in conflict is not only a key to pastoral fruitfulness but also to spirituality. The Beatitudes major in issues related to conflict. Three of the eight beatitudes speak directly to it: “Blessed are the meek. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness.” Four more have strong relevance: “Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.” Apparently, though a conflict situation feels like a spiritual vacuum as cold and dark as deep space, it is actually a spiritual hothouse for a more vigorous brand of spirituality.
In many ways the conflicts that call for my perseverance are defining moments in my ministry. They are passages that either lead me to a higher plane in Christ or shove me headlong down the stairs. They promote either godliness or bitterness; they reveal to me more of God or more of my sinful self. In my experience they have done a measure of both, but over time the positive has significantly outweighed the negative. With God’s help, I can overcome evil with good.
Copyright © 1998 Craig Brian Larson
