The church is no man’s possession.
—Charles Wellington
The scene is burned into my mind forever. On a cold January day in Kansas, the fifty members of our church had gathered inside our toasty building for the annual business meeting.
What we had feared and tried to forestall for nearly a year suddenly exploded. The church patriarch, a heavyset redhead in his upper fifties, attacked me with angry words, plowing through the feelings of the congregation like a state truck clearing a lightly snow-covered highway.
One woman couldn’t take it any longer, and she tearfully confronted him—”You shouldn’t speak that way to our pastor.”
The patriarch thundered out of the church. A stunned congregation sat praying, crying, shaking their heads in disbelief. But somehow we have stayed together to tell about it.
In the aftermath, my wife and I spent hours thinking back over the past twelve months to see how it had happened and if we could have handled it differently.
Clues from history
One year before—actually the Sunday I was voted in as pastor—my wife and I were sitting near the back of the 1950s-style, wood-paneled auditorium during the adult discipleship class. One person made a comment. Fred—loyal charter member, senior elder, the patriarch—rose slowly to his feet. Like bellows, Fred sucked a huge draft of air and announced, “You’re rewriting Scripture! That’s not what my Bible says. It’s right here in red and white.”
My wife and I were stunned. We were voted in that day. But it didn’t take long for us to once again be taken aback by the patriarch. Fred and his wife, Martha, a meek woman, came to our house shortly after we moved. With a smile, Fred handed my wife an attractive clock as a housewarming gift.
“There will be more if all goes well,” he said.
My wife wondered if she had heard correctly. She almost dismissed it but replied, “Thank you. This is a very nice housewarming present, but we won’t be able to accept further gifts.”
Fred was a generous man who had sacrificed often for his church. In one instance when the church giving was low, Fred paid the pastor’s salary out of his own pocket. In the past, several pastors had become indebted to him.
Add to Fred’s money, power. If he talked loud enough and pounded his fist often enough, he could get his way. In our first three board meetings, I saw Fred shut down—by emotional intimidation—every item of change brought up for discussion. Granted, I initiated several minor changes early in my pastorate and probably should have built more trust beforehand, but this angry behavior was not a new thing.
Confrontation
After a few months, the opportunity came for me to address the problem. In one board meeting, he once again shut down discussion on minor changes. After the meeting, Fred approached me and asked, “Why won’t people talk about the issues? I keep telling them to say what’s on their minds, but they just clam up.”
“You are like the parent of this church,” I replied. “You’ve been here longer and done more for this church than anyone here. When you come across loud and angry, people fear you. They don’t want to oppose you because they don’t want to receive what they perceive as a verbal whipping.”
I then pointed to a few carefully chosen scriptures in First and Second Timothy and Titus about anger and quarreling, reasoning with Fred as with my own father. Fred listened, impatiently nodding his head as though he disagreed with everything I said, but at least he listened.
Fred eased up for a few weeks. We actually passed a couple of important changes, and the morale on the board improved. We had all been praying for Fred, and several members commented to me, “The Holy Spirit is really working in his life!”
Fred and Martha went on vacation for several weeks. We had one board meeting during this time, the smoothest to date. But the next was a disaster. Fred was outraged that we had proceeded with a particular item while he was gone, an item we had all thought rather minor—switching to a different adult Sunday school curriculum. I know now I should have kept Fred abreast of even the minor decisions we planned to discuss in his absence. I had done what was constitutional, not what was wise.
After listening for almost fifteen minutes to Fred’s opinions on a variety of subjects, most of which weren’t listed on our agenda, I interrupted, “Fred, I’m not concerned that we disagree about some issues, but I am concerned about the anger I’m hearing as we seek to express our differences.”
“I’m not angry,” Fred shouted, his ears red.
But his words convicted him, and he fell silent. Our time had almost run out, so we quickly heard some mumbled reports, and I offered a token prayer to close the meeting. Fred sat scowling. He looked through me as I offered a handshake and left the room.
Stripped of power
Weeks later, the committee on committees met to finalize nominations for leaders. A number of church members had asked the committee to move Fred to some responsibility with which he could do less damage. The committee agreed.
One member of the committee called out of courtesy to break the news to Fred. Fred didn’t take it well. He claimed the constitution allowed him to stay in his place of service as long as he lived. “If these new people don’t like the way our church is,” he said, “why don’t they just go somewhere else?”
When I heard about that comment, I realized what was driving Fred. He feared losing his church. Twenty-nine people had joined the church in twelve months, most of them new converts. God was working in a big way in our little church. Fred spoke with tears about the need to reach people for Christ, but an inner battle raged within him. He really didn’t want the church to change; it would mean letting go of something in which he had invested his life.
That’s understandable, I thought, but we can’t allow the church to be controlled by one person’s feelings. A well-meaning man has lost sight of who is the Head of the church.
At this point, I toyed with backing down. But too many people had pleaded for change. So we braced ourselves for the business meeting and prayerfully prepared for what we knew could turn ugly. Moments after the meeting began, Fred rose to his feet. He let loose a string of accusations. Never using the term pastor, he said, “That man over there is responsible for families leaving this church. I’ve gone after them to find out why they are not coming back. It’s because they’re not getting fed.”
Fred made other accusations. But one by one those in the sanctuary began bowing their heads, praying, crying. They weren’t listening anymore. Then an older couple left, with the husband declaring, “I’m not going to stay and listen to this nonsense.” A few moments later, a young woman left in tears.
Finally, after I tried and failed to gain control of the floor, another church member succeeded. She stood and poured out her heart. Without attacking Fred personally, she said, “I’ve seen God working in this church ever since the pastor and his wife came, but I’ve also sensed that love is missing in parts of this body. It makes me sick to my stomach to hear things like that said about our pastor. Where is the love?”
Fred looked as though he had been slapped.
Then another member stood and asked Fred, “Who do you think you are to run the church this way?”
Fred replied, “I’m a servant of this church!”
“You may think you’re a servant of the church,” the member replied, “but the way you’re acting, you’re certainly not serving God!”
Fred stomped out of the room.
All was still for a moment, as people tried to recover. Then some began to sob loudly. Others sat with head in hands. After a while I began reading scriptures about the body of Christ and love for one another. As I read, I could feel anger and resentment ebbing away. The sobbing ceased, and we began praying, for Fred and for the church.
After prayer, people started offering testimonies about how God had worked in their lives over the previous year. Some affirmed our call to the church, describing instances when my wife and I had ministered to them in crisis.
Finishing what we started
In the days following, my wife and I visited many people. Some told how powerless they felt as they had seen Fred control and then run off previous pastors.
“When you and your wife first came,” said one woman, “I wondered how long it would take for this to happen. When I heard you weren’t able to be bought, I knew God would do great things. I’m grateful he gave you the strength to stand up to him.”
Another said, “We all love Fred, but none of us knew how to deal with his temper. Most of us knew this had to happen sooner or later, but we were too scared to do anything about it.”
The following Sunday five people joined our church. Still, I sensed we were all waiting for the other shoe to drop.
One night, with the wind blowing so hard it nearly ripped off our coats, a deacon and I went to Fred’s house, but he wasn’t home. We left a carefully worded letter under the door, explaining that we needed to discuss the incident and work toward reconciliation. There was no response. We left messages on Fred’s answering machine, but they were not returned.
We had tried to follow the guidelines in Matthew 18, but with Fred unwilling to meet, we reluctantly agreed that the entire body had to be brought into the matter of Fred’s standing with the church.
We scheduled a discussion-only meeting. We thought this would give Fred a chance either to ask forgiveness and follow the will of the body or demonstrate his unwillingness and thereby determine our next course of action.
A few moments before the meeting was to begin, Fred walked in. He placed a glass of water on the pulpit and found a seat near the front by himself. Everything went well for the first hour. I gave rules of conduct for our discussion—such as, comments would be restricted to observations of fact—and people followed them. People shared their feelings without anger.
Then Fred strode to the front and took a long drink from the glass of water. Then he began to attack various members of the church. He was clearly out of bounds according to the rules of conduct, so I stood and said, “You will not be permitted to dishonor members of the body this way.”
He turned and started to attack me. I turned to the congregation, declared, “I call this body to prayer,” and dropped to my knees at the front pew.
In our tradition, never more than one person prays aloud at the same time; but when I began praying, almost everyone else in the room began praying out loud as well.
Soon one person’s voice rose above the others. A quiet older woman began weeping, praying with mournful wails, asking the Lord to reclaim his church. For about fifteen seconds, Fred stood screaming and trumpeting at the front, trying to be heard above fifty praying people. Then he gave up and stomped out. Six others, supporters of his who had not been at the previous business meeting, left with him. The noise level quickly subsided, and a number of people prayed one by one for the church. In the terrible stillness that follows a crisis, we talked about the church’s need to love Fred.
Several members said they believed God had finally reclaimed his church. My wife said, “I feel like we’ve just attended a funeral. We’re terribly grieved, but tomorrow is another day.”
Partial peace
The church still could have chosen some form of discipline with a view toward reconciliation, but Fred’s wife, Martha, called within days and confirmed they would not be back. They now worship in a sister church where the pastor is aware of the events leading to their leaving us. God reclaimed his church that night, but there was no rejoicing as the patriarch fell. We were all humbled, awestruck at God’s mercy and the sense of his presence when we needed it most.
Almost a year later Fred’s father passed away. He had also been an active and beloved member of our congregation for many years. He left the church at the same time as his son.
I vacillated over how to respond. If I showed up at the funeral home, how would Fred react? Would he make another angry public scene and embarrass us all? I prayed a lot that weekend.
The evening of public visitation at the funeral home, a good friend and fellow pastor from a nearby church stopped by my house. “I’m going to drop in and sign the guest register,” he said. “Do you want to ride along?”
That was just what I needed.
On our way into the small red-brick funeral home, we saw and visited with several church members. Then I saw Martha standing near the gray casket. When I approached, she welcomed me graciously. My blood pressure lowered significantly. We talked for several minutes. She said she was glad I had come and then suggested, “I don’t know how Fred will respond, but you can try approaching him.”
After Fred finished talking to a friend, I walked toward him. He saw me and walked in my direction. I smiled and put out my hand. He shook my hand, and then we bear-hugged each other. I don’t know how he felt, but I was certainly glad that moment had come. We talked about his dad for about five minutes. He never brought up our church or the painful incident in our past. It felt good to stand there, looking each other in the eyes, talking again like Christians.
I honestly don’t know if Fred will ever feel comfortable returning to our church, at least as long as I’m there. But we pass each other in town, wave, and greet each other. Now I’m praying and waiting for God to work out an even bigger reconciliation: for Fred to be restored to our church. (I admit I wasn’t able to pray that for the first eight months after the blowup.)
If Fred does ask the church to accept him back, I don’t know how we would manage it. I doubt we would allow Fred into a position of leadership, at least not without a long period of trust-building. God has reaffirmed to us that the church is no man’s possession; Jesus Christ is the Head of the church. I’m beginning to feel genuinely thankful for all the lessons we’ve learned about forgiveness and confrontation. Our church is experiencing unity as it had not known for over two decades.
Still, we all hurt for Fred and Martha. In fact, the compassion people expressed for them after they left confirmed to me that God was in this. God was teaching us the meaning of love.
Copyright © 1997
