Four years after the McKnights came to Dearborn, Michigan (see chapter 8), they accepted a position that sounded ideal to them: co-pastor of 2,000-member Trinity Lutheran Church in Amarillo, Texas. Jerry was now forty-two, Arlene was forty, and two of their three children were on their own or in college. The southwestern climate and lifestyle attracted them, but even more exciting was the chance to work with Ray Gundry.
Jerry had met him through a denominational commission and greatly respected the strong church he had built over the past fifteen years. The more Ray talked about Jerry becoming his partner in ministry, sharing the vision, and regular preaching, the more the McKnights paid attention. The chance to preach 40 percent of the time was especially attractive.
Several of their friends questioned whether a bipolar leadership structure would work, but others gave it a green light.
Actually, there remains a difference even today about the term co-pastor. Jerry says that was the bargain; Ray says not quite. Both men recognized that Ray, by virtue of his long service in Amarillo, would continue to be the de facto leader of the church. They wanted some title for Jerry that reflected a shared ministry, so in the end they agreed to drop all adjectives and just be “Pastor Gundry,” “Pastor McKnight.”
It turned into a nightmare.
Says Ray:
I wasn’t aware, I guess, of how I came across to Jerry. What I thought was helpful instruction on my part—background information—he viewed as paternalistic. I had said, “I want to willingly share the ministry with you, so long as I have 51 percent of the vote.” He thought that meant 51 percent of the decisions. There’s a difference.
I thought I was secure enough to let titles go. But I never saw myself as a “co-pastor.”
Jerry remembers a couple of times the first year when he failed to acknowledge Ray’s prominence in the denomination, and Ray reacted sharply. After times like that, Jerry began thinking about the eight-thousand-dollar cut in salary he had taken to come to Amarillo. He reserved most of his strong speeches, however, for Arlene.
One day Jerry came home and said, “I don’t know; we may not be staying here.”
I just came apart. “Oh, no! I can’t bear to move again.”
By this time, we’d probably moved ten times in our married life, and I was tired of it. I was just starting to get settled. I had some good friends.
My personality is such that I’ve always dreamed of being in one place—forever! Maybe I should have lived a hundred years ago. My sister’s husband works an eight-to-five job at General Motors. They’ve lived in one house all their lives. I’d end up talking about that when Jerry would come home frustrated.
At the end of the second year, the two pastors went on a personal retreat. Jerry expressed his feeling that the dream was not really working and that he should start looking elsewhere. Ray’s response: “While that is not what I want, I agree it would probably be in the best interest of both of us.”
That word was gradually spread to the board chairman, then the whole board, and finally the membership. The McKnights sold their home and rented a condominium while Jerry began setting up candidating trips to other churches. The board, however, asked Jerry to stay on, and after other options did not develop, he said he would. The McKnights took a deep breath and bought another house.
By this time, some in the congregation were developing a deep affinity for Jerry. He was asked at one point to conduct the funeral of a retired minister in the congregation, and when he gently said to the widow, “Wouldn’t you like to have Pastor Gundry conduct the service?” she said no. Ray said nothing directly about the matter, but his reaction showed itself in a different direction: an angry exchange with the principal of the church’s parochial school, whom Jerry had recruited and was currently trying to defend against charges of incompetence.
The McKnights stayed another three years in Amarillo, five in all, and the details of the struggle vary depending on who is being interviewed. Suffice it to say that by the end, both men were depleted. Jerry and Arlene moved to a senior pastorate back in their native Canada.
By that time, they had spent many a lunch together talking about what to do. Arlene would rebuff talk of relocation, reminding Jerry how often they had moved in the past. Jerry would rebut that by saying, “But didn’t we sense God’s direction each time? Which of the moves do you think we shouldn’t have made?” His wife would agree that she had concurred with each change. Says Jerry:
Each of us used leverage on the other, I guess. I’d push the spiritual angle, and she’d talk about the need for stability, the trouble we had with our son last move, and how she hated to leave her friends.
She also feared becoming the senior pastor’s wife; she enjoyed being in the shadows as just one of the staff.
I admit, when I go into a new situation, it has built-in potential for relationships: a new board, new staff, the membership, all looking my direction. Rapport comes easily. That’s not the case with a wife; she’s more on her own in a strange place.
More often, though, Arlene listened thoughtfully to her husband and tried to help him cope.
It was sad for us all. I hurt for Jerry, because I could see how he was upset. I hurt for me, because I’d hoped it was going to be a really terrific experience, and it wasn’t.
The truth is, both Jerry and Arlene have done well in their new location. They are happy, and their church is launching an energetic building program. Ray Gundry is not surprised:
Jerry needed to be on his own—God put that capacity into his life. Naturally, I would say his years here helped get him ready for the larger responsibility. I don’t know if he would see it that way.
From this church’s point of view, however, it was a great experiment that didn’t work. In fact, it was an injustice to Jerry. One pastor has to be ultimately responsible in a church.
I made plenty of mistakes, I know; I wasn’t lily-white in all that happened. I made some wrong assumptions about Jerry. The truth is, those were the toughest years of my ministry. They produced the greatest stress even on my marriage.
The two men have had almost no contact since the McKnights left. Jerry, however, still asserts that Ray Gundry’s heart is good, his intentions honorable, in spite of the deadlock that evolved. He also has gained some objectivity about his own role:
From a human point of view, it was a terrible experience. The whole thing was stupid. But looking at it as a Christian, I believe God has his hand in our lives and directs our steps. So although it was a tough time, we made it through, and I learned a lot.
Reflections
by Louis McBurneyThis is a dramatic case of expectations not being synchronized. Amarillo looked like a dream situation to the McKnights, and they entered without evaluating closely enough what was likely to happen. We could wish Ray and Jerry had asked questions such as “What do you imagine it will be like as co-pastors? What do you envision will be your area of involvement? What does having 51 percent of the vote mean?” (That was a crucial point.)
Church staff design is, admittedly, a real challenge, because so many of the issues do not show up until after the honeymoon. You can, however, decrease the intensity of the problems by establishing good communication patterns right away, during the honeymoon, by learning to sit down and talk together about what’s going on in the relationship between pastors. That way, when the problems come along, you’ll be able to cope with them more effectively.
About the most positive thing that happened was when the two men retreated. At least they made an attempt to talk it out.
However, they were not successful in the long run. This raises the implications of disagreement. Because of our own personal needs or insecurities, we often enter conflict situations with a win-lose approach. If you happen to have a strong need to win, you draw firm lines, and you can’t just disagree. Unless the other person concedes, you feel you lost.
Theologically, God always wins and the Devil loses, right? So when two godly men disagree about something, the Devil must be in one of them!?
But if you look at Scripture, you see example after example of people losing, not making their point, disagreeing. And if you really take seriously Christ’s teaching about going the second mile or turning the other cheek, it is hard to insist on winning all the time.
The reason a person isn’t able to back off is that he has his own worth or survival tied up with always being right. This betrays a basic lack of trust in God’s ability to work. It also flies in the face of Jesus’ teaching about judgmentalism. Often when you feel you must win, you have to judge the other person as wrong, not just different.
Some things don’t need to be settled today. Some things don’t need to be settled ever. Others, however, may require you to say, “You know, this is a point I don’t think we’re ever going to agree on. Can we have a relationship anyway?” Maybe you can, maybe you can’t.
But often if you stop to analyze, Why is this so important to me? you will diffuse the need to make the other person see it your way. Some of these things come simply with age, living long enough to see the eternal perspective.
Copyright © 1985 by Christianity Today
