Any action to expose lying seems a foray into enemy-occupied territory.
—Kevin Miller
The phone call couldn’t have come at a better time.
Just that morning Ken McMahon had mustered the courage to fire his choir director. He needed to do it—he’d been putting it off for too long—but he hated to do it all the same. During his thirteen years at Levittown Community Church, people had often told Ken he was an encourager, a rescuer, the kind of person who could bring out the best in others. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much to let Sharon go.
But the call took away the morning’s bitter aftertaste. An old seminary friend who was now teaching at a college called out of the blue to say, “If you’re ever looking for a music director, there’s a sharp young guy who is coming to Philly for graduate work in music. He’s one in a million.”
Ken got the name and number and set up a breakfast appointment for the following Tuesday.
On Monday Ken called the guy’s home pastor. The pastor was high on him. “Steve Borchard? Every time he was home from college, he jumped in with the choir. One summer he helped organize and lead a week-long ensemble tour. Another time he got our high school kids—can you believe it—to put together a cantata.” Steve certainly sounded motivated.
The Tuesday interview confirmed everything Ken had heard. The first thing that struck Ken was Steve’s rugged good looks—tall, about six-two, raven black hair with a slight wave to it. Good looks never hurt Kennedy’s popularity, Ken mused while they waited for their pancakes. We won’t have trouble recruiting sopranos. Steve talked fast, and his hands were always moving, as if he were trying to direct Ken through a difficult aria. But Steve struck Ken as a mover and a shaker.
“I’m excited,” Ken told his wife, Jean, that evening. “You know how Sharon used to ask, three days before a cantata, what I thought should be on the program cover? Steve already has plans for two cantatas, including adult and youth choirs, complete with ideas for the program covers!”
On Thursday evening, Ken described Steve to the board. He admitted Steve was young, sort of a raw recruit. But the board was impressed by the work Steve had done at his home church, and most of them were happy just to find a choir director so soon, especially one who would work hard. They authorized sixteen to twenty hours a week for the position, and they were open to increasing hours if Steve proved himself.
Steve’s first real assignment came in August, at the church’s annual picnic in Washington Crossing State Park. Ken asked Steve to lead a short time of singing in the pavilion after dinner. That was always a tough situation, Ken knew, because everyone would rather be out playing volleyball or throwing Frisbees. But the visibility would be good for Steve, and Ken wanted to see how he’d handle himself.
When Ken introduced him, Steve walked to the front and strapped on his twelve-string Ovation guitar. “I’m really better on the piano,” he smiled, “so you’ll just have to imagine I have an eighty-eight-string guitar.” People laughed, and from then on Steve had them right with him. He started with a couple of folk choruses to loosen everybody up. Steve moved around a lot, and his excitement was contagious. Ken looked around during one song and saw that even some of the high school kids were singing. Steve flowed smoothly from one song to the next—not talking too much, just enough to make you want to sing. He closed with “Fairest Lord Jesus,” which Ken knew the older folks would appreciate. I can’t believe this guy is only twenty-four, Ken thought. I wish I’d had that kind of poise when I was starting out.
Then Steve took off his guitar. “I appreciate the welcome you folks have given me so much that I decided to prepare a solo for today.” He sang a beautiful arrangement of “At the Cross,” and his rich, unaccompanied baritone voice fit in perfectly. Ken was moved.
Squeaky wheels
The fall breezed by quickly. Ken enjoyed having someone else to talk with in the office. And Steve was there a lot. Sometimes after finance committee meetings, Ken would leave the office after ten, and Steve would still be there, scribbling away on an arrangement for an upcoming anthem. Other mornings, Ken would come in at 7:30 to get a jump on the day, and Steve would already be at work. Ken felt vaguely guilty about it because he knew Steve had to be putting in more than twenty hours, but he figured Steve just ran on high-octane fuel.
“If I told him to cut back, he’d be hurt,” he told Jean one time. “I think he not only wants to work hard, he needs to.” Besides, Ken was enough of a mercenary not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Steve’s hard work paid off. During September, a couple of tenors—always the hardest section to recruit—joined the choir. And choir members actually smiled during the anthem. It wasn’t long before people began saying to Ken, “Wonderful sermon today, Pastor, and wasn’t the choir marvelous?”
So Ken was only a little surprised that winter when Clarence and Ruth Gillis called to make an appointment with him. “We want to talk to you about Steve Borchard” was all they would say. I should have known, Ken thought. As soon as they can’t call the shots, they yell. Both in their sixties, Clarence and Ruth had been the choir’s squeaky wheels for as long as anyone could remember. In fact, they had complained the loudest about Sharon. It was sort of understood that one had to let Clarence and Ruth speak their minds, and usually the choir followed along. Ken figured their noses were bent out of joint because Steve had taken charge and become so well-liked—without regularly consulting them.
Ken didn’t know what they could possibly complain about. Steve’s ministry ran like a well-oiled engine. The only vibration Ken had picked up was a couple of months ago when Steve had asked Ken if he could date somebody in the choir. Ken asked who and found out it was Gloria, a pretty nineteen-year-old alto.
“You have good taste,” Ken said, “but I don’t think it would be wise to date someone barely out of high school. It would be best for your ministry here to wait at least a year before dating anyone in the church.” Plus, Ken was afraid Gloria might still be emotionally tender from her dad’s death a few months ago. But Steve seemed to have accepted the counsel and hadn’t raised the issue again.
Sure enough, when Clarence and Ruth came they fired a volley of petty complaints. “Steve never mails the line-ups for special music on time. He says they’re in the mail, but they’re sitting on his desk.”
“How do you know?” Ken asked.
“We, uh, happened to be in the office one day, and noticed they were there.”
“Wait a minute. It’s one thing to tell someone, ‘I don’t believe you and I’m going to check on you.’ But to snoop in his office!” Ken’s voice rose a bit.
“We weren’t sneaking,” Ruth protested. “Just checking things …”
“But that’s not all,” Clarence added. “Steve never gives us a break during rehearsal.”
Oh, give me a break, Ken thought.
On it went. Steve was unsafe when he drove the church van. Steve joked too much during rehearsal. Ken was about to politely end the meeting when Clarence said, “Steve borrowed $250 from me and never paid it back.” That was worth checking.
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. He had a little fender-bender with the church van, and he said he didn’t want it to go on his insurance. He was going to fix it himself. He borrowed from us for the repairs.”
“When was he supposed to pay you back?”
“In just a couple weeks. But he hasn’t paid us a penny yet.”
So that’s what’s driving all these complaints, Ken thought. He promised Clarence and Ruth he’d check into the matter and thanked them for coming.
I can’t believe Steve didn’t tell me about the van, Ken thought, driving home after the meeting. And if he doesn’t pay that money back soon, Clarence and Ruth won’t give him a moment’s peace.
The next day, before he saw Steve, one of the deacons, Bill Seifert, called. “Ken, I hate to bother you with this, but something’s come up with Steve.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Steve’s been sharing an apartment with Guy Alben. A while back, Steve was short of cash, so Guy fronted the rent money for him. Steve hasn’t paid him back yet. Guy doesn’t mean to complain—you know what a good heart he has—but he really needs the money. He came to me because he didn’t know what else to do.”
Ken’s stomach knotted. He didn’t know what to do. Was Steve just immature, not too swift with finances? And why hadn’t he told him about the accident?
Steve dropped by Ken’s office that afternoon.
“Can I make a request?”
“What’s up?” asked Ken.
Steve asked what the possibilities would be for him to work fulltime at the church during the summer. “We’ll both benefit,” he said. “I need the money for fall classes, and things are starting to take off in the choir. If I could give it my full attention, we could have an outstanding summer program—maybe take a week-long tour. The possibilities are endless.”
“That’s worth considering,” Ken hedged. He’d already thought of it, but then these money problems had popped up. “Let me check it out with the board.” After Steve left, Ken called Irv Hadley, chairman of the board.
“Irv, Steve Borchard was just in here proposing that we take him on full-time this summer. But I think we need to work through something first.”
“You mean the thing with the van?” Irv asked.
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Just talked with Clarence yesterday. He seems pretty upset.”
So I wasn’t moving fast enough for you, huh, Clarence? Ken was more than a little bugged. “Well, that, and another money thing. Maybe it would be best at this point to keep Steve part time through the summer, sort of a probationary period during which he can straighten things out. We can consider extending his hours a little in the fall.”
“Do what you need to do,” Irv said. “We don’t have to have him full time yet.”
Ken told some of the board members what he planned to do, and they also backed him. The next morning, he asked Steve to stop by his office.
“I’ve been thinking about your request to go full time this summer,” Ken began. “The prospect certainly interests me, but first I wanted to talk with you about some signals I’ve been picking up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand you borrowed $250 from the Gillises and haven’t paid them back, and you borrowed several hundred from Guy Alben and haven’t paid him back, either.”
“I’m working on that,” Steve said. “I promised them I’d pay them back, and I will.”
“There’s also an issue of integrity here,” Ken replied. “I understand you had an accident with the church van and didn’t tell me or anyone else about it. Is that right?”
Steve looked down. Ken continued, “There’s no sense losing your honor and credibility over trivial matters like these.”
“You’re right.” Steve put his forehead in both palms, and his voice quivered. “I … I’ve been struggling financially.…” Ken looked at him hunched over in the chair, and it occurred to him that Steve was only a few years older than his kids. But still, staff members needed to be above reproach. Ken outlined his proposal as gently as he could. Steve would continue through the summer on a part-time basis and get another job outside the church to supplement his income. This would allow him to get things in order. If everything went well during the summer, the church would consider extending his hours in the fall.
Steve was disappointed, but his acceptance of the decision was admirable. Within a day or two, Steve scaled back the summer schedule he’d planned for the choir and found a part-time job at a 7-Eleven. He even met with Clarence and Ruth—something of a stand-off, Ken heard, with the Gillises not being too forgiving. But Ken figured that was the best that could be expected.
Afterward, Steve wrote Ken a letter saying how sorry he was about the whole mess. Part of it read, After our conversation, I spent a long time in prayer trying to figure out where I had failed both the choir and the church, and more important, how my relationship with Christ has slipped. How selfish and damaging my attitudes and actions have been! I want to restore what has been done. Thank you, Ken, for your strong yet compassionate handling of this problem.
Ken felt relieved. He told Jean that night, “You know, it’s not easy being a pastor, but it would be a lot easier if everyone responded like Steve.”
Inquisition chair
Summer started smoothly. Steve directed a “Celebration of Joy” evening concert, one of the best-attended events the church had ever held. Ken met with Steve several times to discuss the summer choir trip. Two years before, the choir had taken a four-day trip through the Poconos and southern New York, performing four or five concerts at different churches and park band shells. Last summer’s trip was washed out because of all the problems with Sharon. Now folks in the choir were begging for another trip.
Ken assured Steve he would go along, to greet the pastors—most of them were his contacts—and bring a short message at the Sunday concerts. “But I don’t have time to make any of the arrangements,” Ken told him. “It’s your baby.” Steve said OK. “You’ll have to get those days off from your job, too,” Ken reminded him.
“No problem,” Steve said.
The Sunday before the trip, however, Steve came up after the morning service. “Bad news, Ken. They’re not going to let me go.”
“What do you mean they’re not going to let you go? We can’t take the trip without a director.”
“The manager scheduled me to work.”
“Didn’t you tell him at the beginning of the summer that you’d be gone those days?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, ask again,” Ken said. “They gave you the days, and we need you.”
Steve called Ken at home the next day, and he sounded glum. “They won’t let me go, Ken. I begged them, but they insist they need me.”
Ken didn’t get mad very often, but he was hot. “We’ll see about that,” he said. He called the 7-Eleven manager.
“This is Pastor McMahon from Community Church,” Ken said. “Steve Borchard, our choir director, is working for you this summer.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I really need Steve to lead the choir tour we’re taking this week. Isn’t there any way you can let him have Friday and Monday off?”
“Well, sure.” She sounded puzzled. “Steve never told me about those days, but if he really needs them, we can work something out.”
Ken was taken aback—and really angry now. What’s going on? he wondered. He grabbed the phone again and punched in Steve’s number.
“Steve, what’s the deal?” Ken pressed. “I just called Fran, and she says you’re welcome to go.”
“Oh, well, I talked to her husband. She and Ralph run the store together. They don’t communicate too well. Ralph says he really needs me. And since I’ve already committed myself to stay, I need to do that.”
Steve’s answer was so quick that Ken’s anger vanished. He can’t be lying, Ken thought. That’s too easy to check. “Well, OK then,” was all he could say. Ken thought about calling Ralph to verify Steve’s story, but he felt like a louse even considering it. He couldn’t see himself calling and saying, “This is the pastor of Community Church, and I’m calling to find out if my staff member is lying to me.” Steve knows he’s on probation and that he’s gotta keep his slate clean, Ken reasoned. Only a total nitwit would try to pull something like that. He finally figured Ralph and Fran must not talk to each other.
Ken was the only one who’d had any experience directing, so he got the honors when the choir left on Thursday. The choir knew the music well enough, but Ken felt like an idiot. Once he forgot a piece was in three-quarter time and confused everyone by marking a four-four beat.
By the time the September board meeting rolled around, though, Ken had put the tour mix-up behind him. Steve said he’d paid his debts, and Ken supported the motion to increase Steve’s hours to twenty-five per week. That was all Steve could handle anyway with his two graduate courses.
The next day he stopped by Steve’s office and told him the good news. “By the way,” Ken joshed, “how are things with Gloria?” Lately Ken had noticed them talking together after rehearsals. Since Steve had been there a year, he didn’t feel too uptight about it.
“How did you know?” Steve’s head jerked up like he’d heard a rifle shot.
“C’mon,” Ken laughed. “I may have gray hair, but my eyes still work.”
“Well, we just didn’t want anyone to know until we announced it Sunday.”
“Huh?” Now Ken was confused.
“Gloria and I are engaged. We’re going to get married in February.”
Ken stared for a second or two. Finally he collected his wits enough to say, “What a surprise!” He shook Steve’s hand and left. Ken couldn’t believe how fast they’d hit it off. They must have been seeing each other all year, he thought, but he didn’t have any proof, so he let the idea go.
That fall Steve and Gloria began their premarital counseling with Jim, a church member with a master’s degree in counseling who helped part time with the counseling load. One day Jim told Ken, “I’m concerned about Steve and Gloria.”
“Because of their age difference?”
“Well, not so much that. Five or six years can pose some problems, of course, but lots of marriages make it with bigger gaps. It’s their maturity level. I’m just not sure they’re ready for the demands of marriage. There’s also some friction with Gloria’s mom. She’d always wanted her to go to college.”
Ken’s eyebrows raised. Gloria’s mom was one of the most influential women in the congregation. This had better be handled right.
“If you’re really concerned, you need to tell them. That’s part of the role of the counselor. I’ll be willing to sit in with you if you need me there,” Ken suggested.
“I’ll discuss it with them and see what happens,” Jim promised.
After considerable discussion the next few weeks, Jim and Ken finally decided they could not play God. Steve and Gloria were determined to get married, and Ken couldn’t see any good way to prevent it. If he refused to do the ceremony, Gloria’s mom—the whole church—would be on his case.
In late January, Ruth Gillis made an appointment. Ken figured it was another semiannual barrage about choir matters.
“Reverend McMahon,” Ruth said, once she and Clarence got settled, “we don’t think Steve Borchard is really repentant.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he hasn’t paid us back a darn nickel,” Clarence said, his face flushed.
“You mean he hasn’t paid you anything? I thought he settled that last summer.”
“He came and talked to us,” Clarence said, “but he hasn’t paid us back. Instead he goes out and spends his money on some tape player. And it’s not just that. He’s not in school like he claims.”
The last comment hit Ken as outlandish. Steve had told him several times how hard his music theory class was. “What makes you think he’s not in school?”
“We asked another student to check whether he’s got a mailbox at the school, and he doesn’t,” Ruth said slowly, as if laying down a trump card.
“Not all students have mailboxes on campus.”
“We also checked with the registrar, and Steve isn’t enrolled.”
“Are you sure?”
Clarence and Ruth nodded together.
“OK,” Ken sighed, “I’ll look into it.”
The next morning, Ken asked Steve, “How’s school going?”
“It’s tough,” said Steve. “But I’m learning a lot.”
“You’ve got two classes this quarter?”
“Music theory and choral conducting. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Haven’t had much chance to talk to you lately.”
Ken went back to his office feeling dirty. This can’t keep going, he told himself. Clarence and Ruth are going to make me a bigger snoop than they are. He called Ruth and told her that Steve was indeed in graduate school.
But a week later, Clarence and Ruth stopped by his office in the afternoon. “We’ve double-checked with the registrar, we’ve checked with the finance office, and Steve is not in school.”
Ken had had enough. “Why are you two sneaking around checking on Steve?”
Ruth looked so hurt that Ken backpedaled a bit. “All right,” he said. “We’ll get this thing straight once and for all. I’ll bring Steve in here, and you can talk to him yourself. Are you willing to do that?”
“Bring him in,” Clarence said.
Now I’m chairing an inquisition! Ken thought. But it was too late. He’d promised.
Steve looked puzzled when he entered Ken’s office and saw Clarence and Ruth sitting there. Ken tried to put him at rest. “Steve, there’s a little confusion I’d like you to clear up for us. Clarence and Ruth feel they have good reason to believe you are not actually in graduate school. I’ve assured them you are.”
“Of course I’m in school,” Steve said, staring at Clarence and Ruth.
“Then maybe you should tell us why the registrar and finance officer don’t have any record of you,” Ruth shot back.
Ken didn’t realize their relationship had deteriorated that far. “Uh, maybe it would be helpful if you clarified your association with the school, Steve.”
“That’s easy. I’m auditing two courses: music theory and choral conducting.”
“Oh, you’re auditing,” Ken said quickly, before Ruth could say anything.
“Even so, wouldn’t the registrar have some record of that?” asked Clarence.
“Yes, but you see, I made special arrangements with the professors since all I’m doing is sitting in. But I am in school.” Then Steve got up and walked out. The meeting was obviously over.
But the assaults weren’t. Four or five times over the next few weeks Clarence and Ruth called with new charges that Steve was guilty of some misdeed.
“That choir isn’t big enough for the three of them,” Ken told Jean one evening. “Clarence and Ruth would lynch Steve if I’d let them.” Ken kept Jean up till 1:00 a.m. talking about the situation. He finally decided that, as painful as it was, for everyone’s peace of mind he was going to have to ask Clarence and Ruth to leave the choir. “I hate to do it,” he said, “but I can’t have one of my staff members under constant attack.”
With Steve and Gloria’s wedding the next weekend, Ken didn’t talk to Clarence and Ruth until the final week of February. He decided to drive to their home. “I came to talk about the problem with Steve,” he said when Ruth opened the door.
“I’m glad,” she said. “Clarence and I just can’t quit stewing about it.”
Ken sat in the recliner. “I’ve been very concerned about your relationship with Steve,” he began, searching their faces. “The constant friction worries me. It’s affecting the whole choir, and I’m worried about what it’s doing to you two, to your peace of mind.”
“We’d feel a whole lot better if Steve paid back our money,” Clarence admitted.
“I know, and Steve assures me he’s going to pay. But something has to be done. I’ve prayed and thought long and hard about this, and for the sake of the choir and peace of the church, I’d like you two to step down from the choir. At least for now.”
Ruth gasped. “But Reverend, you can’t mean it. Why, that choir is our whole life.”
“I know, and it’s painful for me to suggest it,” Ken said. “This isn’t an act of discipline, just something I’m asking you to do for the good of the church.”
“What about our good?” Ruth asked. “Don’t we count?” Ruth looked him in the eye. “You don’t believe us. You think we’re lying about Steve.”
“Of course not,” Ken said quickly. But then he didn’t know what to say. For what seemed like a long time they sat in silence. Finally Clarence spoke.
“Pastor, the reason I’m constantly harping on this lying thing is because I’ve been there. From the time I was thirteen until I was nineteen, I lived in my own world. I was a pathological liar, and my parents didn’t trust me if I told them what time it was. I wouldn’t have changed, but God brought a major disaster in my life and broke me. So I know lying when I see it. Steve is doing that to you. You’re going to be very sorry if you don’t check for yourself whether Steve’s in school. We’ve checked it to our satisfaction. You need to do it.”
Ken had never heard Clarence admit any mistake before, let alone something like this. You don’t just make up stories about being a pathological liar, he thought. But to check on Steve? All I need is people around town saying, “McMahon can’t trust his own staff.” But there in front of him was Clarence, shaking as he spoke.
“OK,” he said. “I’ll check.”
Passive-aggressive game
Ken waited until Steve got back from his honeymoon in the Poconos, just in case he needed to have him clarify something. Then on Tuesday Ken drove to downtown Philadelphia to the graduate school campus. His heart was pounding as he found Dr. Austin’s office on the second floor of Old Main. “Dr. Austin,” he said, once inside, “Steve Borchard is our choir director and a student here at the graduate school. Have you ever given him permission to sit in on your music theory class—not audit, just sit in?”
“I can’t give that permission and I wouldn’t,” he said.
Ken pulled out a picture of Steve and held it across the desk. “Is this man in your classes?”
Dr. Austin shook his head. “Never seen him.”
“Thank you,” Ken said. “That’s all I needed to know.” Neither had the conducting prof seen Steve.
Once back at the church, Ken walked into Steve’s office and remained standing.
“Hi, Ken,” Steve smiled, “what’s up?”
“About school,” Ken said tensely. “Your profs don’t know anything about your auditing arrangement. They don’t even know who you are.”
Steve blinked a few times but answered quickly. “Well, the classes are so large, and actually, I arranged the audit through the registrar’s secretary. I never did talk to the profs themselves. But when I talked to the secretary, she said it would be OK.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Ken said, not convinced. Back in his study Ken called the registrar’s office and talked with the secretary.
“I remember him asking last fall if he could sit in on classes,” she said. “I told him I’d check, but he never came back. But we wouldn’t grant that permission to anybody.”
Ken hung up and called Irv Hadley. He explained the entire story: Clarence and Ruth’s accusations, what the school had said.
“He talked to me for fifteen minutes one Sunday about his classes. And you mean to tell me he’s not even in school?” Irv said.
“I can hardly believe it myself, but the registrar, the professors—nobody knows him.”
“We can’t have a staff member of this church lying like that,” Irv said. “I don’t care who he is. If he were one of my employees, I’d fire him in a minute. The rest of the board needs to know about this.”
That Sunday night Ken recounted the story for the board. They decided that Irv and Ken should ask Steve to resign quietly.
On Tuesday morning the three of them met in Ken’s office. Steve looked a little shaken with Irv in the same room.
“Steve,” Ken began, “we called you in here today because it’s come to our attention that you’ve been lying to us. Everything you’ve told us about your involvement in graduate school has been untrue. You’re not going to classes, you’re not auditing, you didn’t get permission from the professors, and you lied about the secretary situation.”
Ken thought Steve might deny it, but he didn’t. He just looked down at his feet.
Irv jumped in. “I don’t know why you’ve lied about all this, but you’ve made Ken almost destroy his relationship with Clarence and Ruth. You have compromised the integrity of this entire church. You have broken trust, and that’s a precious commodity.”
Steve started to cry.
“Steve, we love you and we want to help you,” Ken added, really meaning it. “But for your sake and for the sake of the church, we’re asking you to resign from leadership. You’re our brother in Christ and we want you to stay in the church. But this pattern of lying is serious. You need to step down and work on it. We hope you’ll cooperate in the process so you can be forgiven and restored.”
No one spoke for almost five minutes. The only sound was Steve’s sobs. Finally Ken said, “Steve, we know you’ll need some time. Stay here as long as you need to, and when you’re ready we’d like to meet with you again.” Ken prayed briefly and then he and Irv left.
Steve stopped by Ken’s office later that day. “I need to see you tonight, Ken. I can’t go on like this.”
Ken knew Irv would be busy that evening. He didn’t really want to meet with Steve alone, but when he saw how upset Steve was, he felt he couldn’t make him wait. “OK. I want you to tell Gloria what’s happening and bring her with you tonight. It’s very important that she know what’s going on.” Ken knew the fallout from Steve’s resignation could wreck their young marriage unless they handled it together.
That night Ken was back in his office by 6:30. Just before 7:00 Steve walked in—alone.
“Where’s Gloria?” Ken asked.
“I, uh, didn’t tell her yet. Ken, I’m scared!”
“I would be, too,” Ken said. “Let’s talk.”
They met until quarter of twelve. Steve cried much of the time. Ken read from 2 Corinthians 7 and encouraged Steve that godly sorrow would lead him to true repentance and restoration. He assured Steve that God would forgive him and the church would forgive him. Steve would have to bear some unavoidable consequences, but he could endure those knowing he was forgiven. Then they prayed together, and when they were done they stood and embraced. Ken was crying, too. Before they left, Ken urged Steve to come in with Gloria to talk things through. Steve said he would.
Ken was glad to see the bedroom light still on when he pulled into the driveway. He told Jean how good the meeting had been.
“Ken, he’s got your number,” Jean finally said.
“What do you mean?” Ken crossed his arms.
“All Steve has to do is hint that he needs your help and cry a little bit, and he’s got you, because you’re a rescuer.”
“What’s wrong with that? He does need help.”
“It sure seems to me that Steve is playing the passive-aggressive game. He aggressively does his dirty work. Then when you confront him, he becomes passive and weak as a baby. You rush in to help, and suddenly he’s in control because you can’t confront him anymore.”
Backlash
Ken couldn’t sleep that night. He kept replaying what Jean had said. Am I really that gullible? I don’t know any other way to build a staff except to trust people.
He wanted to be firm, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t worthy to issue ultimatums. Everything I do is tainted, too. Am I really any better than he is? Maybe my sins are in different areas, but deep down we’re the same. There, but for the grace of God, go I.
On Friday Ken found a letter from Steve on his desk: I thought I should straighten things out between you and me. Concerning my course work, I must confess I have not represented myself well. That error in judgment is mine. I apologize for the hardship this has placed on you. In a sense I have told only half the truth, but the real issue is that I have, by my omission of certain facts, been half honest.
Nowhere did Steve admit he’d done anything wrong. He kept hiding behind “errors in judgment” and “omissions of facts.”
Later in the day, Steve told Ken that he and Gloria needed to meet with him that night. Ken called Irv and found out he was sick and wouldn’t be able to come. He didn’t like the idea of meeting with them alone, because he was beginning to doubt his discernment. But he decided the issue couldn’t wait.
Steve and Gloria arrived about 7:00. Ken had to give Gloria credit. For being such a young bride, she didn’t look shaken at all.
“What can I do to get my job back?” Steve said. “I’m really sorry. I want to repent.”
Befirm, McMahon, Ken thought. “It’s too late for that, Steve. Your job is not the issue at this point. The issue is your integrity. We love you, but we don’t feel it will be helpful to you or the church for you to remain in leadership.”
Steve looked dumbfounded. I don’t think he realizes what his problem is, Ken thought. Ken began to retell the grad school story so he would be able to understand how much damage he’d caused. But just as he was starting, Steve interrupted.
“Look, Ken, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want you to know that we agree with the decision, and we want to be the ones to tell the choir.”
“That’s a good idea,” Ken said, relieved that Steve was coming around. They decided Steve would tell the choir at next Thursday’s rehearsal. Ken would also be there. “You don’t need to tell all the details,” Ken said. “But you need to confess that you’ve not been honest—and that it’s been over a long period of time and with many people, not just a couple.” Ken added this last part because by now the choir had split wide open, with Steve and Gloria and their supporters on one side and Clarence and Ruth and a smaller group of backers on the other. If Steve said he was resigning because of “a couple of people,” everyone in the choir would immediately think “Clarence and Ruth.”
“OK,” Steve said. “Thursday.” Then he and Gloria left.
Gloria hadn’t said a word, but she had stayed calm. As Ken drove home, it suddenly hit him. Gloria doesn’t know what’s going on. That’s why Steve cut me off when I started retelling the details. He didn’t want her to know. Ken felt a twinge in his right side. She must think we’re just picking on Steve. Thursday night is going to be tough on her.
All day Thursday Ken’s mind kept racing ahead to the rehearsal. He struggled to concentrate on his 10:00 counseling appointment. Around one he gave up on a sermon outline and went out for a sandwich. He ran into Lucy Stanton, a long-time choir member, at the coffee shop. She said hi, but Ken could have sworn she gave him a dirty look. I’m getting paranoid, he thought.
Ken got to his office by 6:30 that evening to try to pray and clear his mind before the rehearsal started at 7:00. At 6:55, Doris, Gloria’s mom, stormed into his office.
“You have no right to fire Steve!” Doris began.
“Wait a minute. Who told you we’re firing Steve?”
“Steve did, this morning, after he told the choir.”
“What? You mean he already told the choir?”
“Some of them. He called a few to explain things. They’re just as upset as I am.”
Ken was angry and scared all at once. “He was supposed to announce that tonight when we could discuss it. But tell me the story as you understand it.” Whenever he got scared, Ken dropped into the pastor-as-listener mode.
“Naturally, Steve didn’t feel free to share all the details, but you don’t have to think too hard to realize it’s because he doesn’t get along with Clarence and Ruth.”
That’s not it! Ken was screaming inside, but he’d been a pastor long enough to contain himself. “What else have you heard?”
“Well, Lucy Stanton said Steve’s being fired because he’s not organized enough. Ken, he’s still young. You can’t fire him just because he’s got some things to learn.”
“Listen, Doris, neither of those things has anything to do with why we’ve asked Steve to resign. We’re asking Steve to step down because he has lied to many members of this church about a variety of things for a long period of time.”
“What do you mean?” Doris asked.
Ken proceeded to describe the whole web of lies about grad school.
“You have no proof,” Doris said when Ken had finished.
“Doris, I can get the proof.” Ken couldn’t believe she wasn’t convinced. “The point is that the lying hasn’t been an isolated incident with Steve. It’s been an ongoing pattern.”
“I think he’s being falsely accused,” Doris said. They talked for another ten minutes, but nothing Ken said would shake Doris’s belief that her son-in-law was an innocent victim. Doris finally left madder than when she’d come.
Ken looked at his watch: 7:50. The rehearsal! He jumped up from his chair and sprinted to the sanctuary. He rounded the corner, slowed, then stopped. The sanctuary was dark. Steve must have made the announcement and then let the choir go. The most important meeting of my life and I miss it because Doris pins me in my office, Ken thought. If they’ve heard Steve’s side of the story, they’re never going to believe me. We’ve lost the war.
When Ken walked in the door at home, he could hear Jean on the phone. “Yes, he should be home soon. I’ll have him return your call.” Jean hung up and turned to him. “Ken, that’s the fourth call in the last ten minutes. They’re all about Steve.”
“I’ll return them in the den.”
“Ken, they sounded angry. What happened?”
“I don’t know, dear. I don’t know.”
Ken emerged from the den around eleven, feeling like a weary infantryman crawling from a foxhole. Every time he’d hung up, another call had come in. He still had one call to make, but by now it was too late to call anyone. Each call had been sickeningly like his meeting with Doris, beginning with some sort of attack, like, “I can’t believe you would fire Steve.” Ken would ask, “What is the problem as it’s been related to you?” and inevitably the person would say, “Steve’s being fired because he’s disorganized, but mostly because of Clarence and Ruth.”
Ken would try to explain, but the caller either didn’t really believe him or wanted to know what proof Ken had. After the second call, Ken began promising people he and Irv would come to the next choir rehearsal to clear up the matter.
What proof?
Sunday tested Ken’s will. He had hardly slept since Thursday. He’d answered, at last count, thirty-five calls. The choir had been scheduled to sing, but obviously couldn’t without a director, so they sat in the pews. Many of them glared at Ken throughout the service. And there was Steve, sitting near the back, surrounded by members of the choir, and smiling.
Monday morning Steve dropped by the church to finish clearing out his office. Ken asked him to come into his office and sit down.
“What happened last Thursday?” Ken asked, his voice edged with anger.
“I presented the whole situation to the choir as a positive and biblical decision,” Steve said. “They took it about as well as could be expected.”
“Then why do forty people have the wrong story?”
“Well, you see, an issue came up that I feel you should consider,” Steve said. “The choir said to me, ‘We forgive you, and God forgives you. Why can’t we, as the people under your ministry, restore you?’ So what could I say? There are a lot of people, Ken, who want me to stay. And not just in the choir, either.”
So now the fighting gets dirty, huh? Ken thought. “Listen,” he said, “ten words from you could save me a year of trouble, and I want those ten words. Thursday night you are going to come to choir rehearsal and tell those people the truth. Is that understood?”
Steve nodded. Too quickly, Ken thought.
When Ken and Irv walked into the sanctuary Thursday evening, the first thing they heard was crying. Most of the choir was standing in a big huddle, and the crying seemed to be coming from there. When Ken and Irv got closer, they saw it was Gloria. Steve had his arm around her, saying things like, “It’s all right, honey. It’s going to be all right.” Everyone turned and stared at Ken and Irv.
They look like we’ve been beating her, and that’s why she’s crying, Ken thought.
Once everyone had been seated, Ken said simply, “I know the last week has been very difficult for you. We’d like to straighten things out tonight. Steve has something he’d like to say.”
Gloria was still crying, softly now.
Steve began rambling about misunderstandings and how things “hadn’t worked out.” He finished by saying, “I have not been as honest as I should have been with a couple of people.”
Ken kept waiting for him to say something more, but he sat back down. So Ken stood up and said, “Steve, that’s not the issue. You have repeatedly misrepresented yourself over a long period of time and with numbers of people. And you have used the reputation of the staff and the church to cover your tracks.” Ken went on to briefly outline the situations with the grad school and church van. He wanted to mention the special music lists, the tour mix-up, and a host of other things, but he didn’t have firm proof of those.
One of the tenors Steve had recruited raised his hand. “You’re saying that Steve has lied.”
“That’s right. Repeatedly.”
“But how can you prove that?”
“Let me give you an example,” Irv said, and explained how Steve had told him about his classes while the professors said they had never seen him.
“But how do we know that what you’re saying now is true?”
I can’t believe this, Ken thought. If this were about adultery, would anyone ask for videotapes and motel receipts?
“Irv and I are not going to go into all the details,” Ken said, “because it’s not fair to Steve. We want Steve to stay in the church and work on this area, and he can’t do that if his every action is for public consumption. This is a leadership issue. The board and I stand behind our assertion that Steve has repeatedly not told the truth.”
The meeting ended soon after, which was just as well, Ken thought. No one was listening anyway because they were caught up by Gloria’s crying.
Reconciliation rejection
“We lost that battle,” Irv said in Ken’s office afterward. “Steve’s got that whole choir, except for Clarence and Ruth and a few others, on his side. And from what I can tell, he’s got a good chunk of the rest of the congregation on his side, too.” Irv leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.
“They think we’re lying,” Ken added. “You can’t minister to people if they think you’re lying to them. And that hurts more than anything. If there’s one thing I try to do, it’s shoot straight.”
“I know. But what are we going to do now?”
“I won’t retreat, Irv. I can’t.”
The next morning Steve’s mother-in-law called Ken at home before seven. “Steve told me about the meeting last night,” she said. “What disturbs me is that it shows you don’t have any proof of what you’re saying. I can’t believe this church has turned into a kangaroo court.”
“We have proof, Doris,” Ken said. “But it looks like the only way we’re going to settle this thing is to get all the responsible parties together. You bring Steve and sit down with me and the board. We’ll go over all the information together. But it’s completely unfair to Steve for me to talk about him when he’s not here to defend himself.” Ken hoped Doris would accept the offer. It was the only way Ken could think of to keep the battle from raging underground, where Ken knew he couldn’t win.
But the offer didn’t slow Doris or her friends. Nearly every day for three weeks, one of them would call to accuse Ken of ousting Steve for personal, unjustifiable reasons. Ken stood firm: “You bring Steve, and we’ll sit down with the board and go over the evidence.”
Ken called Steve several times and told him what he’d told Doris. “They say you’ve never had a chance to defend yourself. Here’s your chance. Come meet with us.” Steve finally sent a letter saying, “I have strong feelings about the way this situation has been handled, the fairness of it” and saying he needed more time for his “emotions to lessen and healing to take place.”
When Ken wasn’t on the phone with Steve or Doris, he was talking with one of the choir members, what few were left. Over half the choir quit after Irv and Ken had met with them, and Ken was trying to keep up morale in the remaining members. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to ask Steve to step down,” one alto told him, “but do we have to kill the entire choir over it?” When he heard that, Ken wanted to cry.
One day Clarence and Ruth called. “Did you hear what Steve’s doing?” they asked.
I’m afraid to ask, Ken thought. “No, what?”
“Ten or twelve people from the choir are meeting at his house every Thursday. We know because we saw their cars parked in front. One can only guess what they’re doing.”
Ken called Steve.
“Why, Ken, what a surprise,” Steve crooned.
“Steve, I understand a group from the choir is meeting at your house every Thursday.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Steve, you are not Community Church’s choir director anymore. You should not have half the choir meeting with you every week.”
“They wanted to. It’s an informal thing. We get together to just, er, pray about things at church.”
“I don’t care what the reason is, those meetings have to stop. This is supposed to be a time of repentance for you.” Ken paused, but Steve didn’t say anything. “Steve, however incongruous it might seem, my heart is open to you. But this waiting game must end. I have made it clear we want you to come talk with the board. The ball’s in your court. If you don’t come talk with us in a month, by May 20, we will have to let everyone know that was your choice.”
For Ken, the month felt like thirty days on the rack. Every day people would call: “What’s happening to our choir?” “Ken, you don’t have proof.” “I have questions about the fairness of this whole thing.” Ken stopped scheduling lunch appointments because he couldn’t endure the hour-long assaults. He’d lie awake at night and think, I’m helpless. Jean loves me, Irv supports me, but they can’t protect me.
Ken didn’t do much that month but answer the phone and try to get his sermons together. Every Sunday, he’d look out and see Steve sitting there. “I know I want Steve to stay in the church and be restored,” he told Jean after one Sunday, “but it feels like a divorcée attending the wedding of a former mate.”
Ken did meet with Irv often. They’d pray, often on their knees, for strength and wisdom. They began to document their claims. Irv pored over all the church financial records dealing with Steve. He found several fishy items. The previous summer the board had authorized Steve to do miscellaneous maintenance projects around the church to supplement his income. The very days when the choir went on tour, when Steve had to work at the 7-Eleven, he had submitted a bill for thirty hours of caulking windows.
Ken called Steve’s home pastor in Doylestown. He felt like a rat doing it, but recently he’d gotten a hunch regarding why Steve had lied about graduate school.
“This is Ken McMahon from Levittown Community Church,” he began. “I want you to listen to me and gain my tone. You may not trust me, but please, listen to what I have to say.”
“Go ahead,” said the pastor.
“Did Steve ever tell you about the graduate music courses he was taking? Were you aware that he had not been taking any classes? Have you been giving him any financial aid?”
“Yes, we give $600 a semester to people studying for churchrelated careers. You’re saying he hasn’t been going to school?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I want to check on that.”
A few days later the pastor called Ken to say he’d checked with the school, and the church was canceling the financial aid.
Steve arranged to meet with the board on Saturday morning, May 19, one day short of the deadline. He walked into the church lounge at five minutes after nine—alone. Ken was surprised that Doris and Gloria hadn’t come with him. Ken and Irv and Bill Seifert stood up and shook his hand.
“Well, Steve, do you have something to say to us?” Ken asked when they were seated again. Ken felt like a racehorse in the chute—churning inside with adrenaline, anger, and fear, but still under control.
“Yeah, I’d like to apologize for our misunderstandings and for the hardship I’ve caused you.”
“Does that mean you’re admitting that what we’ve done is correct, and that the reason we disciplined you was properly stated?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I’m sorry we misunderstood each other and that I didn’t help in that circumstance.”
“That’s not exactly what we had in mind, Steve,” Ken said.
Irv was sitting next to Steve, and he leaned over, put his arm around him, and began talking in a quiet, steady voice. “Steve, we want you to understand that we love you and want to be reconciled. But the Bible makes it clear that first there needs to be confession of your sin and repentance, a change of mind about that sin. You see, we’re not the ones you have offended. We’re included, but you have offended the church. What we need to know today is whether you are confessing—not just admitting under duress—that you have sinned so that we can be reconciled to you. We’re ready to do that, and we’d like to.”
Steve shifted in his seat and looked out the window. Irv continued, “Let me tell you why that’s necessary. One Sunday last September, you and I talked in the foyer for fifteen minutes about your graduate school experience. You went into great detail about how difficult your choral conducting class was, and how hard your music theory professor was, and about the papers you were writing. The bottom line is, every single one of those things was false, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was.” Steve’s eyes became moist.
Ken outlined the other lies about having to work the weekend of the choir tour, and not dating Gloria, about reporting hours that he hadn’t really worked. Steve admitted to the situations where he could tell they had firm evidence, but he denied all the others. Finally Steve said, “What do you want me to do now?”
“We simply want you to confess your sin to us and the Lord so we can restore you. We would like you to write it out—not to be published, just to help you—and come meet with us again and read it. It would help you and the church if Gloria and her mother came also.”
“All right,” Steve said. “I’ll set up a time, and I’ll call you in two days.”
Then he walked out of the lounge, and Ken never saw him again.
Epilogue
Steve’s mother-in-law left the church shortly thereafter. The church hired a choir director on a temporary basis, then after a year hired a full-time replacement. The church has continued to grow, though the choir remained stagnant for years and only recently has begun turning around. Another church hired Steve, against Ken’s recommendation, and dismissed him one year later. Steve is now serving another church.
Subterfuge safeguard
Deception assumes many guises. A church treasurer may skim funds. A board member may falsely recount what you said in a meeting. Regardless of its outward appearance, lying is a deadly weapon. It poisons relationships and trust.
How can we protect ourselves? What strategies can shield us from fleecers, flimflams, and frauds? Based on his own painful experience, Ken McMahon suggests the following:
Watch for repeated patterns of behavior. “Looking back, I can’t believe we didn’t pick up on Steve sooner,” Ken says. “He seemed to leave a trail of debts and unresolved conflict.” When a member of the church repeatedly mishandles money or kicks up dust, there’s usually a character problem inside.
Of course, mistakes are often a sign not of malice but immaturity. How can you distinguish the two? As a general rule, the sincere admit their mistakes and learn from them. The swindler covers his “mistakes” and repeats them. Ken points out: “All Steve had to do was say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m having trouble paying my bills and didn’t tell the truth.’ But he couldn’t, because he feared looking bad. So when I hire somebody now, I look for a person who is not overprotective of his or her image, someone who can openly face detractors.”
Do your homework. If you suspect a parishioner is conning you, gather proof. This step pains most pastors. “I hated checking up on Steve,” Ken says. “First, snooping looks terrible to people outside the church. It gives the church a bad name. Second, playing detective goes against my grain. Maybe it’s our weak spot, but we pastors believe the best of people. To doubt someone in my church, to double-check everything he says, tears me up.”
But only such documentation will stand up “in court,” whether that be a one-on-one confrontation or an all-church meeting. Deception, by its very nature, is the best camouflaged of all sins, the hardest to expose. And when someone is accused of it, everyone else in the church will demand to see the instant replay. Some inner urge makes people insist on seeing the evidence and deciding for themselves.
Never make a move alone. “Perhaps the biggest tactical error I made,” Ken says, “is that I met with Steve alone several times. I shouldn’t have allowed that. I needed someone like Jean or Irv, someone more discerning who could have firmly called Steve’s bluff.” Plus, when acting alone, no one can corroborate your story and prevent your-word-against-his situations.
Ken did, however, involve the board early on, and this proved wise. By acting in concert, each action taken against Steve became a board and church matter, rather than Ken’s personal vendetta. And when the powder keg exploded, the board helped shield Ken from the flying fragments.
Another reason support is needed can be found in Jesus’ description of Satan as “the father of lies.” Any action to expose lying seems a foray into enemy-occupied territory. A pastor can expect to meet unusual spiritual resistance. “I found it almost impossible to pray during this,” Ken says. “I relied on Irv and a woman in our congregation who prayed for me several times a day. When I felt confused, oppressed, and unsure of my ability as a pastor, I needed people who were ‘true worshipers,’ people who have been through deep waters and as a result know how to pray.”
Hide inside the Mighty Fortress. As Ken discovered, even your best efforts may not prevent a considerable amount of damage.
“With a practiced deceiver, it’s a no-win situation,” he says. “You never come out unscathed. Only recently have I gotten to the point where I don’t think about Steve every day. The choir is just now coming out of a prolonged drought. People are finally beginning to trust me again.”
But Ken knew where to run for cover. “It’s a truism, but the only thing that mattered in the middle of this was my relationship with the Lord. I finally realized no amount of self-effort could protect me. Yet I was not alone. God protected me.”
Copyright © 1997
