What happened to Gary and Pamela Ewing within the first year of pastoring is lamentable enough, apart from the fact it could easily have been prevented more than once. Their story is a patent example of why the apostle Paul, in two different chapters of 1 Timothy, warned against granting ministry responsibility too soon. “Lay hands suddenly on no man,” he wrote (5:22), especially “not a novice, lest being lifted up with pride he fall into the condemnation of the devil” (3:6).
Growing up in the small Idaho town of Wendell, Gary and Pam were high school sweethearts who got married at the ages of eighteen and sixteen because a baby was on the way. The censure they felt from Pam’s parents and the townspeople—especially church members—sealed off any spiritual inclinations, which were minimal to start with. Gary took a few night classes at a vo-tech school in nearby Twin Falls but soon found he was good at selling, and for the next six years money was his god. The young couple scrambled, acquired, moved often, had two more children, and lived like normal American pagans. Gary’s natural leadership abilities and gregarious nature dominated the marriage, Pam sticking quietly to her kitchen and her babies.
The family darkened the door of a church only because Gary wanted to play on its softball team, for which attendance was a requirement. The Christ they met there was willing to accept and forgive them. They became Christians. The change in their lives was genuine. Says Gary:
I sort of lost my desire to get rich. I felt my life had been mostly a waste up to then. I didn’t want to give up my lifestyle, but I wanted to be and do what God wanted me to do.
My “killer instinct” as a salesman seemed to escape me, and I wasn’t sure what that meant. I still had to feed my family somehow, but selling wasn’t as much fun as it used to be.
After four years of active participation in the church, doing everything from driving a Sunday school bus to singing, Gary heard about a lucrative distributorship available in Las Cruces, New Mexico. He uprooted the family for the thousand-mile move, and they soon joined a church.
Gary was given an adult Sunday school class to teach, and the room quickly filled up. He peppered his pastor with doctrinal questions, eager to learn all he could. Finally one day he said, “You know, maybe I should go to Bible school.”
Pastor Coffey promptly handed him a brochure and a catalog about the denominational college in Memphis. Soon afterward, Gary put the house up for sale, packed up once again, and headed east.
The first year was rugged. The family lived on its savings and what could be earned through weekend church meetings at which they sang. As summer approached, Gary began lining up an itinerary of churches and camps back in the Northwest. This former salesman at least knew how to work a prospect list.
And that was how they came to the small, pastorless congregation at Burley, Idaho. The board chairman who hosted them that evening insisted on showing Gary the parsonage after the concert was over. Gary had no intention of interrupting his schooling, and intended to be an evangelist once he finished.
But two weeks later, as their tour was nearly finished and the weariness of life on the road—a different bed every night—was taking its toll, the state presbyter called. “Are you ready to take that church in Burley?” he wanted to know. Gary thought a minute about the advantages of a regular paycheck and said yes. The matter was settled right there. By September 1, the thirty-year-old father of three with the ready smile, engaging personality, and quiet wife became a pastor, despite only one year of formal training. He would try to pick up more classes by extension, he told himself.
The first Sunday morning, Gary found himself preaching to a congregation of thirteen. Among the first thoughts that crossed his mind, he remembers, was that this church had better grow fast if he didn’t want to starve. The salary agreement, modest though it was, meant nothing if the treasury was empty. Plus, the denomination required a 22 percent slice of all local receipts no matter what. Gary had his work cut out for him.
Soon new people did begin to come, including a collection of young bikers. The congregation began taking on a Heinz 57 look, but the mood was definitely up as the numbers increased. In contrast to the unusual types was a couple named Don and Rachel Fontaine. With their two little girls, they looked fit for the cover of a family magazine, and Gary breathed a silent thanksgiving for their interest and involvement. Rachel, in fact, was a minister’s daughter.
By the next spring, attendance was running in the seventies, and the pastor was given a raise. That was good, because Pamela Ewing was now expecting; their fourth child would be born in June. The condition of the church immensely pleased the presbyter, who congratulated Gary and told him to keep doing whatever had brought the success thus far.
Rachel Fontaine soon began telling her pastor about the problems in her marriage and also her deep resentment of her mother. Gary took it in stride.
I was going to be one of those pastors who was above reproach and didn’t have to flinch every time a woman had a problem. I could minister to people without having hangups. I’d heard all the stories about pastors getting involved with women in the church, and I figured the guy must have been looking for it.
Rachel later volunteered to paint the interior of the parsonage. It was a welcome offer, since Gary lacked the time and Pam was far along in her pregnancy. Day after day, the young housewife would stop by to work on the project.
One bright spring day, over iced tea at the kitchen table, she broke down and began to cry. She told the pastoral couple she felt like running away. Soon Pam Ewing had to leave to drive a daughter to a swimming lesson; it was then that Rachel confessed she was in love with another man—a gas station attendant in town. Gary patted her arm and said, “You have a wonderful husband and two little girls who really need you. We’re just not going to let this happen.” They prayed together.
That evening she stopped back at the parsonage, distraught, and insisted on seeing her pastor again. Gary went out to her van to talk, since his children were at the kitchen table eating. There she announced, “I lied to you this morning. It’s not the guy at the station. You’re the guy. You’re driving me crazy! I just can’t take it anymore.”
Gary was shocked. He still remembers his response: “This can’t be—I’m fifty pounds overweight!” He then said he was sure she would feel differently tomorrow. He followed that remark with the fatal error of suggesting she come to the church office in the morning to talk.
That night, Gary hardly slept. His own marriage was badly deteriorated, he told himself; Pam didn’t really appreciate him, was cold to his romances, stayed in her own quiet world. The struggles of the past few years, the hand-to-mouth living, the moving, the tensions of trying to rejuvenate this church—not much had gone very well in recent times. And now this complication …
I really believed Rachel would come the next morning and tell me how sorry she was, or else she would be too ashamed to appear at all. But part of me, I must confess, hoped she would show up. As I got to the office, I remember telling God I needed help, because I felt out of control. I was suddenly very alone.
Rachel showed up that morning, a big smile on her face, dressed to dazzle. She once again recounted the stories of her husband’s failures and abuses. Then suddenly she began talking about how she had always wanted to be a pastor’s wife. She was so happy she had finally found Gary. It was as if Pam no longer existed. Gary recalls:
Like a dummy, I sat there and took it all in. I remember her flashing those brown eyes at me and saying, “I think you’re terrific.” I suddenly realized it had been a long time since I’d heard those words from anyone. I grew two feet.
Rachel knew me better than I knew myself. She was always a step ahead of me.
I finally pulled myself together and told her I was married and had three kids, and what she was talking about could never be. Her only choice was to go home and work things out with her husband. They needed marriage counseling, and I was not in a position to provide it.
She didn’t even seem to hear me. “My mother told me once when I was a girl that I could get anything in life I wanted if I wanted it bad enough,” she said. “That’s what I intend to do.”
When she left, Gary placed an urgent phone call to Bill Coffey in New Mexico, who directed him to tell two people: his wife and the state presbyter. Gary set up a lunch with his superior for the next day. There he spilled the story.
The man told Gary first to tell his wife and second to tell Rachel to leave the church if she could not control herself. If that did not stop her, Gary should threaten to tell her husband. When Gary hinted at the struggle he was feeling inside, the presbyter said, “This kind of thing happens all the time in the ministry. You’re the master of the situation. You can handle it. By the way, your church hasn’t been sending in the budget portions on time. We want you to send them in on a weekly basis from now on.”
Budget portions?! Gary’s mind reeled. Here he was in the crisis of his life, and his leader wanted to talk about dollars for headquarters.
Back home, Gary did talk to his wife. He told her he was being chased, but he kept quiet about his own feelings. Pam showed little reaction. To this country girl, life with Gary had always seemed tumultuous. She would continue to be his follower, and whatever came in the future, she would accept.
Gary, however, was disappointed.
I’d hoped she would have been ready to scratch this woman’s eyes out. I asked if she wanted to go with me to talk to Rachel, and she said she didn’t think that was necessary.
I got angry. Here I had another woman throwing herself at my feet, and Pam acted like she didn’t even care. Why was I staying with a woman who didn’t even want me? The only reason she stayed was that she was pregnant and didn’t know what else to do. I felt like a fool.
Gary called another pastor friend two hours away, who said he would come to Burley to see him. Later on, however, the man canceled for lack of time.
Meanwhile, Rachel continued stopping by the church on nearly a daily basis. He remembers praying alone at the altar more than one morning, coming to a firm resolve—”and then she’d show up, and I’d be a mess again. She always knew the right things to say.”
A month went by. Finally one Thursday, Gary summoned the courage to tell her it was over. He was not going to tolerate this relationship any longer. Either Rachel had to leave the church, or he was going to resign. That, of course, brought a flood of tears.
The following Sunday was a potluck dinner at the church to celebrate the year’s successes. Attendance hit an all-time high of ninety-two. While the meal was in progress, Rachel was suddenly discovered to be weeping uncontrollably in the sanctuary. A woman and then the board chairman came to Gary to suggest he see what was wrong.
Gary panicked inside to think what she might be saying to her would-be comforters. He went to her side, asked the others to leave, and then said, “What’s going on?”
“I can’t live without you!” she sobbed. They talked quietly for half an hour, Gary reinforcing Thursday’s decision that the two of them must be only friends. The danger of exposure passed.
The next morning, Rachel was back to the church. She walked in, threw her arms around him, planted a kiss, and announced she had no intention of quitting.
From here on, the events of Gary Ewing’s life proceed almost like a soap opera, only they actually happened. Pam gave birth that Saturday to another daughter. Within days, Rachel had thrown her husband out of the house and begun divorce proceedings. Actual adultery began soon afterward and continued steadily for the next two months. Gary remembers the first time:
It was a Monday—the toughest day of a pastor’s week, I guess. I was upset with Pam over something.
I think I had the attitude This is going to happen anyway; I might as well get it over with. Rachel stopped by, and we ended up in the church nursery. It wasn’t something planned for that day; it just happened.
Afterward, I was amazed that I felt no guilt. That really bothered me. I thought I must really be rotten to feel no remorse for what had happened.
Gary left town at one point for a four-day trip to Alberta, to try to clear his head. When he returned, he and Pam had a major argument, although she did not know how far the affair had gone. Throughout the summer, he continued to meet Rachel at Twin Falls motels or out in the country; she had a commodious van.
I had never been around anyone with whom I felt so comfortable. I guess I unloaded my whole life to her—every secret I knew. She made me feel ultra-relaxed. The emotional attachment was just welling up inside, and I didn’t want to give it up.
She was stronger than I was—I admit it. I felt like I was standing on a highway with my shoes glued to the pavement, and a semi was bearing down on me. My only hope was that it would turn off the road somehow.
I saw everything I’d been working for—everything I thought God was doing in the church—about to be smashed.
Gary sent notice of his resignation, effective August 1, to the church board and the state presbyter. The presbyter called to say, “I just wanted to know if you meant what you said in your letter.”
“Yes, I did,” Gary replied.
“OK. Sometimes people don’t, so I just wanted to check.” That was all.
The prospect of the Ewings leaving for New Mexico struck fear in Rachel Fontaine. Two weeks before, she informed Gary she was pregnant. That put the final nail in the coffin of his marriage, Gary assumed; once Pam found out, she would surely evict him.
The move south proved short-lived, however; for some reason, Pastor Coffey seemed less welcoming than when they had lived there before. Gary could not find work, and so the Ewings retreated to Pam’s parents farm back in Idaho. Gary persisted in trying to keep his wife and his lover in the dark about each other. Rachel raised the ante by informing him that a doctor’s test had revealed the baby would be a boy, and later on, twin boys (Gary had four daughters). She produced an ultrasound picture of the fetuses.
The pressure was overwhelming. Gary says:
I couldn’t think straight. There was no way out of this swamp. It was horrendous.
You get so deceived. I was thinking, God, where are you?! All I wanted in life was to mind my own business and get rich. And then you put this thing in my heart about preaching, winning souls. I was just trying to help you, and now I’m losing everything. Why couldn’t you give me enough strength to deal with this? Where are all the other Christians to help?
When I think back now, I can’t believe my own hypocrisy. I mean, Rachel and I would go out to a restaurant—and bow our heads together to pray over the food! Habit, I guess. And yet we were sleeping together.
Sometime after Christmas, as Rachel’s demands increased, Gary finally told his wife the whole sordid story. He confessed his unfaithfulness and then asked if Pam wanted him to pack up and leave.
At first, through her sobbing, she said yes. But then, she changed her mind. A new thought struck her brain: “How do you know she’s pregnant? Have you been to the doctor with her?”
Gary had not. Could this all be a hoax? Her weight gain had seemed suspiciously small to this point, even though she was a tall woman who concealed her pregnancies a long time, she said. He began asking hard questions. Within days he got to the truth: Rachel was not pregnant at all. The ultrasound had been borrowed from a nurse friend.
That angered him enough to dismiss Rachel Fontaine from his life for good.
The Ewing marriage was rebuilt slowly, gradually.
We spent six months of not doing very much at all, just living on her folks’ farm. I ran a lot, baled some hay, milked cows. It was the best thing that could have happened to us.
I realized I’d never really let Pam know me. I’d kept everybody out and tried to control them.
For the first time we were understanding each other. We’d both wanted each other to be something different. Pam has always wanted to have a nice home and take care of her kids, have me go to work at eight and come home at five. And I’ve always wanted her to be my little queen so I could buy her nice clothes and make everybody notice her.
I have now learned to appreciate her solidness. I’m content to let her be herself.
Pam says she has gradually come to trust her husband once again. How did she survive the nearly twelve months of agony? “I don’t know. A lot of the time I was in the dark, because he kept denying everything. I guess the Lord just helped me through.” She is not the kind to philosophize about such matters; she simply takes life, and her mercurial husband, a day at a time.
Meanwhile, the fledgling ministry of Gary Ewing has been nearly killed. He spent two years wandering from job to job, seeking direction. Then he accepted an invitation to try to revive a dying independent congregation in rural Montana, and after sixteen months there, moved on to a similar situation fifty miles away. Rumors of his past have followed him to both locations.
He still manages to attract people to his churches; he retains that ability to light a fire, get things going. Will he make it as a pastor? If he had not been so badly handled up to now and had not made such tragic errors of his own, he might have become a useful servant for the long term. But as things stand, Gary Ewing’s future is a question mark.
Reflections
by David SeamandsWe get a lot of applicants like Gary Ewing here at the seminary—the older student who now thinks he should be a preacher. He was successful in a secular line of work and an energetic lay worker in the church, so his pastor nudged him our direction.
Sometimes things work out well, but in other cases, great frustration sets in. These men go suddenly from affluence to poverty, living off the equity of the nice home they sold; the wife has to go to work, the teenage children wonder what in the world is going on, and there’s great disruption. Several of these cases, I am sorry to say, have ended in affairs.
Someone once asked Dwight L. Moody what was the greatest thing he had done in life. He thought awhile and finally said, “I talked ten thousand laymen out of entering the ministry.” He always claimed he was just a shoe salesman himself.
When Gary Ewing was plunged into a pastorate after only one year of formal ministerial training, it is perhaps not surprising that he could not cope with a Rachel Fontaine. I find it significant that she is the daughter of a ministerial home. The chief way for religious kids to get even with their parents is to hurt them in some moral or religious sphere. By pulling down “the ministry,” they achieve their goals.
The story of Gary telling his state presbyter about the situation is tragic. Here is a man who is such an institutionalist that he misses altogether the fact of a person struggling, whose whole ministry and life are at stake. He thinks only of apportionments. I am afraid this kind of blindness is not unusual among church officials. Some groups talk much about pluralism, but the application is selective: “Live like you want, believe what you want—but be sure to support the institution.” I exaggerate, but not by much.
Gary Ewing does not really tell his wife the whole story, which is why she does not explode as we could have wished. He says only that he is being chased—not that it feels good to be chased.
Gary nevertheless wants somebody to get tough with him. He hopes Pam will scratch Rachel’s eyes out, he says. As it happens, neither his presbyter nor his wife takes him seriously.
The wives I know who have saved the day have said, “Well, I understand that you’re a man, and I understand your problems, but I want you to know if that happens anymore, I’m going to do such-and-such.”
Gary finally resigns the church. Now, look at that perfunctory call from the presbyter. Here was the chance not for the tough line but for tender concern: “Gary, please come and see me. What’s this about?” Redemption could have come at that point, still early in the adulterous relationship.
Months later, when the jig is finally up, Pam’s womanly wisdom is fascinating; she nails the fake pregnancy right away! It takes one to know one, I suppose. This was the oldest trick in history, but Gary was so consumed with guilt he wasn’t thinking straight. We men are so stupid sometimes—which is another reason why we should respect our wives’ intuitions. They know the woman who’s after us; my wife has warned me so many times, and I’ve said, “You’re crazy! Don’t be ridiculous.” I’m sorry to say, she’s been right every time.
She has even sometimes said, “Everybody in the church knows it but you.” That’s really embarrassing.
The incredible lengths to which people will go to maintain affairs is amazing. I remember dealing with one minister in an affair, and the amount of money he was spending to maintain it came to thousands and thousands. His family, meanwhile, was almost in poverty.
Affairs always involve lying and hypocrisy. This, however, sometimes brings people to their senses as they ask, What in the world is happening to me? I’ve become a professional liar and cheater; my whole character has deteriorated.
Copyright © 1985 by Christianity Today
