Resolved: that all men should live for the glory of God. Resolved second: that whether others do or not, I will.
Jonathan Edwards
Dragons are best known for what comes out of their mouths. At times their mouths are flame throwers; other times the heat and smoke are not apparent, but the noxious gas does the damage. Their tongues may be smooth, but they are usually forked.
The tongues of church dragons also wreak destruction. James compares the tongue to the small spark that sets a great forest ablaze. Pastors also know the dangers of verbal sparks in a tinder-dry congregation. In most cases, the fire eventually singes the pastor in some sort of personal attack.
These personal attacks, however, rarely start with a direct clash. The would-be attacker usually begins a covert warfare, going to others in the congregation, seeking those of like mind, those who deal in dissent.
Then, like the serpent in Genesis 3, the strategy is one of planting questions in people’s minds, at first seemingly innocent questions, but with the result of raising doubts about the pastor’s competence, credibility, ministry, or motives. One pastor’s experience illustrates the complexities of dragon warfare and the damage these personal attacks can bring.
The Vulnerable Ministry
Gordon Landis first became aware of the undercurrents of dissension during the building program. He knew any building program puts stress on a congregation and produces criticism, but in this case, one of his decisions, made with good intentions, was coming back to haunt him.
In the six years since Gordon and his wife, Sarah, had planted Pebble Mountain Baptist, the church had grown to 250 members, and everyone recognized the need for a new facility. That wasn’t the problem. Neither was fund raising — members were generous, and the church had to take only a $50,000 mortgage, excellent for a small town in Tennessee.
His tactical blunder was trying to save money by building with mostly donated labor. Decisions had to be made as they went along, and too many people were involved in minor issues, which led to second-guessing.
Once the disagreements began, they seemed to snowball, and inevitably the criticisms began to be directed at Gordon. One deacon’s wife in particular, a charter member of the church, began questioning carpet colors, classroom arrangements, and square-footage requirements. After Gordon ignored or overruled her three or four times, her criticisms turned toward his ministry.
“Pastor, your preaching has changed over the last six years,” said Lucille.
“I hope so,” Gordon replied. “If you don’t do some changing in six years, you’re dead.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she persisted. “You’re not as effective. You’re not reaching people like you used to.”
Gordon privately asked his deacons for their perceptions. None of them agreed with Lucille. Sarah thought the comments were unfair. But Gordon couldn’t quite shake the nagging doubts. His confidence in the pulpit wavered ever so slightly.
Soon Lucille began taking a different approach.
“Pastor, this church is growing, and it’s getting too big for you to be able to stay in touch with everyone. I want to help you. I’ll watch the church for you, especially for needs in people’s lives. You need to know what’s happening.”
“I don’t want any witch hunts,” said Gordon.
“Oh, no. Of course not,” said Lucille. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m just going to help you stay close to the people. I insist.”
To pacify her, Gordon agreed. I don’t have to jump every time she points the finger, he thought.
Lucille turned out to be an excellent detective. She certainly seemed to know what was going on. Most of her reports were accurate. She alerted Gordon to a personal dispute between two deacons, and he began picking up the clues in business meetings. Eventually he was able to help them reconcile. When she reported that a contractor in the church was fudging on building code requirements, Gordon had lunch with him and asked in general terms how his faith affected the way he did business. The conversation eventually led to the man confessing his shoddy practices and promising changes.
The instance that caused Gordon to regret his unleashing of Lucille was, ironically, one he knew about before she did.
Paul and Pat Parsons were having severe marital problems. Pat had moved out and was dating another man, often staying overnight at his apartment. Gordon had met with Paul and Pat both individually and as a couple, and he was encouraged — Pat was no longer demanding an immediate divorce, and she seemed at least open to the idea of reconciling. But she wasn’t ready to move back in with Paul.
That’s where it stood when Lucille rushed in to tell Gordon that church discipline had to be exercised because of Pat’s adultery. Gordon told Lucille he was dealing with the situation through counseling and that he was making progress. Lucille agreed to let him handle it privately — reluctantly, it seemed to Gordon.
Three weeks later, Pat finally agreed with Gordon that she would stop dating her boyfriend, though she wouldn’t admit her affair was wrong. Paul was beginning to show signs he might be able to forgive her adultery and work at being a better husband.
But things weren’t moving fast enough for Lucille. She called each deacon, told what she knew about the affair, and demanded that unless Pat confessed her sin, repented, and asked forgiveness, she should be asked to leave the church. After three deacons called within an hour to ask what was going on, Gordon immediately called Lucille to ask why she’d not let him handle the situation.
“If you’re not going to deal with this sin, Pastor, then I have to take it openly to the deacon board. You’ve shirked your responsibility to tell her to repent or leave the church.”
Gordon tried to say that the situation was improving, that he was handling it, and that going public would only undo the fragile ties he’d been able to knit together. “Please don’t upset the apple cart,” he said. “The notoriety can only hurt the couple and the church.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that,” Lucille said. “It’s open sin; it has to be dealt with openly. If she hasn’t confessed by now, she won’t. Leopards don’t change their spots.”
Half-truths, like half-bricks, Gordon knew, are more dangerous because they fly farther.
“Lucille, don’t tell me what the Holy Spirit can’t do.”
But Lucille wouldn’t listen. She swayed the board members to take action. In a split vote, the deacons decided to discipline Pat. Since the sin had become public knowledge, and since Pat still wasn’t admitting her affair was wrong, justifying it in her own mind, they felt they had to act publicly.
Sadly, after the church action, Pat gave up on her marriage and moved in with her boyfriend. Paul stopped coming to church at all.
Lucille emerged from the episode stronger than ever, a prophetess of sorts. She began telling her women’s Sunday school class that she didn’t see how God could bless the church with growth until it got stronger leaders. When the church continued to grow numerically, taking in thirty new members the next twelve weeks, she began questioning whether the church could grow “in maturity.”
In the following months, she made issues out of the women’s organization, lighting in the sanctuary, the church kitchen schedule, remodeling the bathrooms, and furnishings in the nursery. Gordon began gaining a whole new appreciation for the imprecatory psalms.
When she stood up in prayer meeting and pointed out that the pastor’s views of the Second Coming differed from those of her favorite Christian TV talk show host, Gordon blew up.
“I admit it. I lost my cool,” he says. “I told her I got my theology from the Bible, not from a Phil Donahue clone or an actress with more make-up than a Gypsy. I said the trumpet of the Lord will rouse more people than the troupes of polyester-clad singers with their Christian muzak that puts me to sleep. I said the most interesting, and apparently the most important, part of the show is the appeal for money. Have you ever noticed how the donation phone line is an 800 number while the prayer line is always a toll call?
“I admitted I wasn’t as attractive as the TV personalities, and I’m sure I’m wrong on a lot of things, including some fine points of doctrine, but I’ve been called to this church, and I’m ministering as faithfully as I can. Even if I can’t compare with other preachers, at least I’m here, I’m yours, and I’m available twenty-four hours a day.”
The thirty faithful at prayer meeting were motionless, stunned at the outburst.
Lucille, somewhat flustered, said, “I’m sorry, Pastor. I didn’t mean to belittle your ministry. Maybe we should apologize to each other and start over.”
Gordon didn’t feel he had anything to apologize for, but he took a deep breath, accepted her apology, and said, “Yes, I’m ready to be friends and go ahead with the Lord’s work.”
After that, Lucille didn’t openly criticize Gordon, but what she began telling her friends was “I don’t get anything out of the sermons, but he’s the pastor, and he’ll be here until God moves him on.”
After one service, she told Gordon, “Pastor, you’re a good people person, but your preaching doesn’t meet my spiritual needs. It doesn’t have the depth I need. Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to leave, even though I could be fed elsewhere. I need to stay here and help you.” Gordon tried to suggest gently that ministry is a two-way street, that she could minister most effectively in a church she felt good about, and that she needn’t stay at Pebble Mountain if she was unhappy. But Lucille wasn’t about to leave.
She did, however, continue to make life difficult.
Each Sunday during the pastoral prayer, Gordon was in the habit of praying with eyes open, looking at the congregation he was uplifting in prayer. Every time his glance rested on the third pew from the rear, right side, he saw Lucille sternly staring back, her arms folded and her eyebrows knit. Soon he consciously avoided looking at the right side of the sanctuary. And he didn’t really feel like praying at all.
During sermons, Lucille’s posture changed. She opened her Bible and studiously lowered her head for twenty minutes of fervent Scripture reading. If she wasn’t going to get anything out of the sermon, she might as well read the Bible — at least that was the message communicated to Gordon.
Gordon’s married daughter, Marcia, and her husband, Hank, sang in a semiprofessional bluegrass band, “The Rainbows,” with another couple from the church, Don and Peggy. The four of them spent a lot of time together (“too much,” according to Lucille).
When The Rainbows won a statewide contest and were scheduled to sing in Nashville at a Sunday evening gospel and bluegrass jamboree, one of the deacons suggested the Sunday evening service be canceled so the pastor could see his daughter perform, and besides, the deacon happened to be a bluegrass fan, too. The deacons all agreed it was terrific for the pastor to support his daughter this way, and service was canceled.
Lucille, despite her husband’s vote to the contrary, didn’t care for the decision. “God comes first,” she told Gordon. “He takes precedence over you, your family, or anything else. God doesn’t want you to cancel a church service, especially for a country-western concert. Those are pretty loose morally, Pastor. Your ministry is slipping.”
By this time, Lucille had been joined by two other women, one of them another deacon’s wife. They were concerned that their pastor occasionally went to a movie; they didn’t approve of his taste in music; in short, they didn’t care for Gordon’s moral judgments.
Gordon didn’t feel he had anything to defend, and the deacons didn’t seem to take the women’s criticisms seriously, so Gordon tried to ignore the comments, but they nagged and dragged, sapping his excitement for ministry.
One of the dangers of chronic critics, however, is that you don’t know when they should be taken seriously. Like the boy who cried wolf, they numb you with so many complaints you don’t know which ones to act on and which to ignore. When Lucille and her two assistants came to Gordon to tell him she thought his daughter was living an immoral life, at first he thought they meant her singing. But they had something else in mind.
“I think Marcia is spending too much time with Don,” Lucille said. “She can get him to do things for her that his wife can’t get him to do. It doesn’t look good. I think they’re having an affair.”
Gordon’s fatherly instincts wanted to rush to his daughter’s defense; his pastoral instincts wanted to say, “The apostle Paul says you who are spiritual should try to restore those who sin — have you talked directly with Marcia about this?” But Gordon knew arguing with Lucille wouldn’t solve anything, and he thought a confrontation between Lucille and Marcia would only be ugly, so he agreed to Lucille’s demand — “Yes, I’ll talk with her about it.”
Marcia denied any involvement with Don and, thought Gordon, was appropriately incensed at the very suggestion of an affair. Marcia was ready to confront Lucille and demand she retract these “lies.” Gordon tried to calm her, telling her to ignore Lucille, that she often spoke without knowing the full truth. When Lucille called Gordon again, he defended his daughter.
Two weeks later, however, on Friday afternoon, Marcia went to the home of one of the older deacons, a man she trusted, and confessed she had been intimate with Don and that she’d lied to her father about it.
“You’ve got to tell your dad immediately,” he said. “He has his livelihood, his service for the Lord, his reputation all on the line for you.”
Marcia did confess to her father, and “it nearly killed me,” Gordon says. “I immediately got on the phone to the three women who’d come to me, and I told them, ‘You were absolutely right, and I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry.'”
Two of the women graciously accepted Gordon’s apology and said they believed he hadn’t known about it. Lucille, however, accused Gordon of knowing all along. Gordon hung up a broken man.
He didn’t go to church that Sunday. He had given his resignation to the board chairman, and he and his wife stayed home, held each other, and cried.
At that service, however, unknown to Gordon, Marcia stood before the congregation, admitted her sin without naming Don, and asked for forgiveness. The church tearfully and unanimously accepted her back.
The chairman then read Gordon’s letter of resignation and said, “We’re not going to vote to accept or reject this resignation right now. We’ll do that at a special business meeting next Sunday night, but let’s spend the rest of the service in prayer for Marcia, for our pastor, and for our church.”
The following week for Gordon was a blur. Don met with the deacons, confessed his sin, and they considered the matter closed. The three families involved in the investigation, however, including two deacons, threatened to pull out “and take half the congregation with us” if the pastor’s resignation wasn’t accepted. The other deacons felt the pastor need not resign for the sin of a grown, married daughter.
Hopelessly deadlocked, the board set up an ad hoc committee of all the men in the church to hear testimony in the case. The three families expressed their dissatisfaction with Gordon’s ministry; others defended his record. The procedures lasted three weeks. Gordon and Sarah were left in limbo. He’d told the board he would not return to the pulpit until the church decided one way or another on his resignation.
“I didn’t know if I could return even if they invited me back,” Gordon remembers. “My spiritual life was devastated. When you’re standing knee-deep in mud, it’s hard enough to reach up for the Father’s hand, and I was face-down in the mud.”
Gordon searched the want ads for jobs: truck driving, retail sales, anything. He even drove by the navy recruiter’s office wondering if he could still qualify as a chaplain.
After twenty-one days of deliberation, the ad hoc committee reached a decision. All of the men, except the three, came to Gordon and Sarah’s house and asked them to remain. Sixty men, packed into the living room and dining room, assured Gordon of their 100-percent support. They told him the three couples had agreed to leave. Gordon gratefully accepted their invitation to be in the pulpit the next Sunday.
“I’m a fairly emotional person,” says Gordon. “I cried all the way through the meeting, and most of the men were crying, too.”
For two more years, Gordon Landis remained at Pebble Mountain Baptist, despite the stories circulating through the other churches in town by the three families who left. Newcomers would visit the church and tell Gordon, “We heard about the troubles here, but we thought we’d see for ourselves what the church is like.”
The small-town atmosphere did not let the scars heal quickly. Marcia and Hank’s marriage could not survive the strain; they divorced, and Marcia moved to Nashville. Don and Peggy stayed together but moved to Birmingham. For Gordon, the delayed stress was as bad as the original stress had been.
“Several times Sarah and I would be in a restaurant, and across the room would be one of the three families,” says Gordon. “They’d be talking with someone else, and in our paranoia, we were sure we were the subject of conversation. I began to become somebody I did not want to be. Always a people person, I nevertheless withdrew from personal relationships. I like to trust people, but I began to back off.
“We no longer talked freely about our children, afraid of the inevitable painful questions. We could no longer bare our souls to our friends. I stopped asking the probing pastoral questions because I didn’t want to know about any more problems.”
This isn’t pastoral care, thought Gordon. I’m violating one of my vows before God.
One Saturday morning, Gordon went to the church and walked up and down the aisles of the sanctuary, arguing with God.
I don’t want to be mad at you, but I don’t like where you’ve got me, he prayed. You say you’re in control of all things and that all things work together for good for those who love you, but things aren’t working together too well for me. I’ve got a church, but my ministry is lifeless.
“Suddenly God graphically made me realize that if there was distance in my relationships, it was because I had moved,” says Gordon. “I knew I had to get back.” He went home, and he and Sarah knelt by the couch, praying for freedom to care for others and committing the results to God. “He gave us that peace, that release to be ourselves.”
Despite resolving the matter in his own mind, four years after the crisis, Gordon realized his ministry would probably be more effective elsewhere, and he is now pastoring another church. The attack of the dragon, while not fatal, had inflicted a wound that would take years to heal.
The Mind of the Minister
This is only one account of the effects of infighting with dragons. As with many struggles in life, the battle lines are not always clearly drawn. You don’t know when to attack, when to withdraw, or when to call for help. All you know is your head pounds, your blood pressure rises, and the tension doesn’t go away.
How does a leader deal with personal attacks, accusations against family, character, ministry, motives?
Specific strategies will be discussed in chapters 7, 8, and 9. But before discussing steps of action, the essential attitude must be spelled out: When attacked by a dragon, do not become one.
No encounter with a dragon is a complete failure unless one fights venom with venom. No victory is worth winning if it forces us to become bilious. To paraphrase John Claypool, if I become a beast in order to overcome a beast, all that reigns is beastliness. Paul’s familiar words in Romans 12 apply even to the mean and ugly attacks from church members: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone.”
This doesn’t guarantee victory; it does guarantee success. The dragon may have his way; the job of a Christ-one is to live His way.
Joseph offers a challenging model for responding to personal attacks. Sold into slavery by his own brothers, his father didn’t know he was even alive. Then, just as he began to rebuild his life, he was betrayed again by Potiphar’s wife, who lied about him, destroyed his reputation, cost him his job, and had him imprisoned.
Somehow through the dark years, however, Joseph maintained his faith, patience, and trust in God. And when he met his brothers years later, he could say, “You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good.”
This freeing attitude is possible only through the Spirit. That doesn’t mean, of course, that we continue in conflict that grace may abound. God forbid!
It is almost impossible to love those we fear. We do neither ourselves nor the dragons a favor by allowing them to wreak destruction unchecked. We don’t meekly bow before the most dominant personality. If the dragon remains someone to be feared, love has lost. We have to take what steps we can to prevent the future fearful consequences, but then, having done everything “as far as it depends on you (to) live at peace with everyone” (Rom. 12:18), our fears must be exchanged for faith, which makes possible genuine love for enemies, love even for dragons.
We are to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves, streetwise peacemakers, compassionate confronters, and above all, patient disciples who understand that God can redeem even the worst situation for his glory.
Copyright © 1985 by Christianity Today
