Forced Out

WHEN I KNOCKED ON THE COUPLE’S massive oak door, a woman answered. Her husband was on the phone.

Her bloodshot eyes signaled immediately that this might not be the routine one-hour pastoral visit I had planned. Rick and Becky were new to the church, and I wanted to get acquainted.

“We almost canceled your visit tonight,” she blurted. “Rick and I both lost our jobs this morning. Our boss came by at 9 a.m. and told us that due to corporate reshuffling ‘for the good of all concerned,’ our jobs were phased out as of today.”

The shock, she said, was superseded only by the company’s lack of compassion—they had invested fifteen years in the company. Of no one in particular, Becky asked desperately, “And how can they possibly believe this reorganization was the best for everyone involved? Who do they think they are?”

Too bad, I thought, that corporations can’t handle terminations in a more Christlike manner.

I stayed several hours, but before leaving, I cautioned them not to make any rash decisions and then knelt beside them, concluding with a prayer that would haunt me just a few weeks later.

“Lord,” I prayed, “help Rick and Becky to remain open to you during this difficult time. Give them patience to wait on you. Perhaps this is a time when you will lead them in a radically new direction.”

After the prayer I sensed our time together had given them hope. On my way out, we hugged, and they said, “God knew that we needed to keep this appointment with you tonight. Thank you for your encouragement.”

It was approaching midnight. As I drove home along the twisted, moonlit road, I quietly thanked the Lord for the providential visit. God would be faithful during this time of upheaval, I firmly believed, and it could be a time of significant growth for them.

I must admit, though, my mind also entertained another thought on the drive home.

Isn’t it fortunate, I thought, that the chances of that ever happening to me are remote. Sure, a host of hazards accompany the pastor’s calling, but surprise terminations aren’t one of them. I felt comforted—at least I was free from that worry.

Six weeks later, at 10:15 one evening, our telephone rang. I picked up the phone, recognizing the voice of the board chairman.

I had expected a call. The board was meeting that evening and had promised me a late update. Earlier in the meeting, I had made a proposal to the board about how we could respond to some of the volatile issues facing the church. I informed them that I thought it best for me to resign from the church in six months so a new pastor could bring a fresh start. Affirming my commitment to the battle-weary ministry, I hoped to use the transition to bring much-needed healing to the congregation.

“The board chose me to call you tonight,” the chairman began, “because I’m a good friend of yours and my wife is on the staff.”

Hardly taking a breath, he continued, “The board asked me to inform you that it voted to terminate you as our pastor. We have decided to effect your intended resignation immediately.”

“You mean the board is firing me?” I stammered.

“Absolutely not,” he corrected. “We are only making your resignation effective tonight rather than in six months.”

“What about the votes of the two absent board members?” I countered. He wasn’t dissuaded; my termination was definite and immediate. In fact, he wasn’t going to prolong this painful conversation either. He concluded with “the board believes this is the right decision, and it will work out best for everyone involved.”

It occurred to me that I had heard similar words just weeks before.

When I hung up the phone, my wife, Suzanne, sat beside me on the bed. Even hearing only one side of the conversation, she had no difficulty figuring out what had happened. With our arms around each other, we sat in stunned silence.

“I guess we’re finished here,” I finally said.

With despair in her voice and tears in her eyes, she replied, “How can they do this? What are we going to do?”

La-z-Boy™ depression

I had discovered firsthand that unemployment hits pastors. This wasn’t corporate restructuring, however. I was essentially fired.

For the first week I felt overcome by low-grade depression and helplessness. With little or no provocation, I would shout at our children or snap at my wife. Some days I sat paralyzed in my living room chair, barely able to answer the phone. Friends’ assurances seemed hollow.

It’s easy for you to tell me about God’s faithfulness I thought. You still have your job.

Several days passed before I could do anything other than stare into the pine forest outside our living room window. When my wife finally coaxed me out of our LA-Z-BOY™ recliner with the invitation “Would you go with me for a hike in the woods?” my recovery began. I didn’t feel like leaving the security of my chair, but her patience with my anger and irritability made me feel indebted to her. Reluctantly, I gave in. Walking the trails that afternoon, I began to feel hopeful for the first time since the phone call.

Looking back, I’m certain navigating the choppy waters of unemployment might have been easier if I had possessed a primer on pastoral unemployment. But I’d never read anything on the subject. I needed help with the myriad daily questions I was asking: How do I explain to family, friends, and fellow pastors what happened? How do we survive financially before I find employment?

And, of course, the ultimate question: What is God trying to teach me through this awful experience?

To the first question, what do we tell family and friends, we decided to be up-front, telling people we were no longer at the church, rather than to let the grapevine run its course. So we called family and close friends, relaying the facts of our termination. That was not easy. The biggest challenge was sticking only to the facts. Brief conversations, we quickly discovered, helped us do that. The longer we talked, the more likely we were to criticize people on the board or spew our volatile emotions.

When neighbors noticed I was around home every day, I informed them with a pat answer: “The church and I thought it best for both of us if I took an early retirement.” They got the point and seldom asked for details.

The church promised us a severance package that would help us financially through the early weeks. Unfortunately, because of deteriorating finances and declining attendance, the church was unable to fulfill its promise. I discovered this when what turned out to be our last severance check arrived for only half the usual amount. There was no accompanying note or preparatory phone call, only half a paycheck. Once again, I felt angry and disappointed.

To fill the financial gap, I resurrected my skills as a carpenter and became a fix-it repairman. My wife was also able to add an extra day at the office where she worked part-time. The remaining shortfall God provided through special gifts from friends in the church and the community. We also found help through a ministry in southwestern Colorado called Sonscape, designed for wounded ministers and their spouses. One week there began to restore our walk with God, renewing our desire to serve again.

As I walked through the valley of unemployment, I began to learn several important lessons.

Mr. Mom

When I lost my job in ministry, I not only had to deal with loss of self-confidence and steady income but also with the losses experienced by my children, who were in elementary school at the time. They could not understand why they could not attend their church anymore and why Dad no longer preached on Sundays.

For the first six weeks after being fired, Suzanne and I couldn’t bring ourselves to attend another church. At first, our two young boys were thrilled with the thought of missing church.

“Do we get to stay home from church again to-morrow, Dad?” became a routine Saturday evening question. Somehow, by not going to church, they felt naughty, like they were getting away with something.

We tried to explain. “For us, going to church is a little different than for the rest who attend our church,” I told them. “Not only did we attend that church, but that is also where I was employed. So since I’m not working there anymore, it isn’t okay for us to attend there.”

They didn’t fully understand the connection. Later they asked, “Why can’t we sing in the children’s choir spring concert?” and “Why isn’t our family going to family camp this summer?”

Even though our boys couldn’t fully grasp the significance of my termination, keeping them informed, we believed, was important. Our open communication seemed to calm the ripple effect my job loss had at home.

We also discovered a book that presents basic questions that adults who have lost a job might not think to ask their children. When a Parent Loses a Job, published by the National Childhood Grief Institute in Edina, Minnesota, helped our children cope with the range of emotions associated with a parent’s job loss. Too often a job loss can trigger family problems and even divorce. But it need not be that way. It can be a time for a family to pull together and for the children to help the parents accept some of the grief by sharing it. The imagination of children can run wild. Children may believe worse things are going on and assume the problems are their fault.

By watching their parents, children can learn significant lessons about how to maintain a sense of hope and faith. Before going to bed, for example, our boys regularly prayed for me, asking God to help me with this difficult situation. One night our youngest petitioned, “God, help Daddy find another church to be its pastor and help him not to run over [with the car] the people on the board.” The boys had a sense of my needs as well as a sense of humor.

Teens particularly can be included in many of the family discussions relating to a job loss. Of course, discretion should be used in sharing too many details when the children are present. With our preadolescent children, for example, my wife and I never used the names of board members. Though the boys were curious, we didn’t think it was necessary for them to know which of their friends’ parents on the board had decided to terminate me.

The boys had a hard time adjusting to our financial situation. “Dad, are we going to be poor now?” became a frequent question. I assured them that God would provide for our needs. We made a point of sharing with them the various ways God provided financially for us. When a sizable check came in the mail from a neighborhood Christian, we showed our boys the letter and the check right away.

Being on a tight budget also helped our family discern more carefully between needs and wants. We all recognized that our summer vacation plans would need to be pared down. We asked our boys, “Even though we aren’t going on a big vacation this summer, do you think you still have everything you need?”

“Well, yes,” they responded. “But we can hardly wait for you to get a job so we can finally get a new toy.” Rather than pull them out of the Christian camp they loved, we swallowed our pride and requested financial assistance.

My unemployment was a wonderful opportunity to spend larger blocks of time with my children. I learned the art of carpooling. Walking my sons to the school bus became a morning ritual. And I joined a dozen moms from our youngest’s school class to take the kids on an excursion called “A Day in Denver.” Our son was the proudest kid in his class that day, the only one whose dad came along.

My wife also saw more of me. Things we had only talked about previously we now did: riding bikes, playing tennis, hiking, having lunch together. These activities enabled us to grow closer during this painful time. Without Suzanne’s support, my unemployment would have been a minus rather than a plus to our family relationships. Although our money was tight, we did have extra time, and we chose to spend it freely with each other. Fortunately we owned our home and didn’t feel the immediate pressure to move. Pastors who live in a parsonage may have much more complex situations to address, such as finding immediate housing and uprooting their family to a new area. We didn’t have to yank our sons from their school and friends.

Not so personal

Being fired made me feel like a complete failure. I tended to accept all the blame or lay it all at the feet of the board. Neither approach was helpful. I had to acknowledge that it takes two parties to quarrel and have a parting of the ways.

I began listing mentally some of the lessons from this ordeal, trying to analyze what I could have done differently or better. That process was helpful. I recognized the debacle was partially my fault, and that was all God asked me to accept.

I also recognized that others were partly to blame as well. My journal entries during those first days following my termination were filled with angry accusations: “How could that board have been so blind and self-righteous?” But as the ink flowed from the pen to my paper, along with it went some of the anger in my soul. I recognized I should have communicated more openly with the board about the deep church problems. I also should have viewed the board, the staff, and myself as teammates rather than opponents.

No one has ever seen those written words, but as I reread them now, I recognize how my journal became my therapist. Journaling allowed me to express unrighteous thoughts and feelings. In so doing, issues such as personal responsibility, forgiveness, acceptance, and trust floated to the surface.

The loss of my job demonstrated painfully to me that I’m not in control of my life—but I needed to control what I could. Because of the demands of ministry, I had been neglecting activities that I enjoyed.

A time of unemployment can be an opportunity to eat and exercise properly. Sharpening dormant skills, cultivating a hobby, and having fun aren’t sins during this kind of interim. Before our severance pay ran out, I tackled several woodworking projects that had been on hold. I built a new porch swing and picnic table. Our garage has never been more organized, and my wife’s fix-it list was finally fixed.

Not only did I spend more time with my family, I spent more time with God. After that terrible phone call, one of the first friends I had lunch with challenged me to draw closer to the Lord than I had ever been. “Just because you feel ostracized from the church at this time, doesn’t mean the Lord of the church isn’t still longing for your friendship,” he said.

That was good advice. I used the first hour of the day after our boys went to school to spend time with the Lord, and it proved to be a real gift. Rather than the quick ten- or fifteen-minute devotional time I always had at my office, I could now ask God questions and listen for answers; I read chapters instead of verses; I rediscovered the joy of using a hymnal to commune with God.

Focus on the family

My wife pointed out that when I, as a pastor, lost my job, we lost more than just a paycheck. We also lost our church family, the very community that others who are unemployed can still draw upon to find comfort, understanding, and encouragement.

Church attendance, then, was something we needed to confront. For the first six weeks after my termination, we had no desire to set foot in a church. We accepted our feelings and gave ourselves permission to treat Sunday just like our nonchurched neighbors. The only difference was that we had a time of family worship, either on Saturday evening or Sunday morning after breakfast. Then we used Sunday as a restful family day.

When we finally felt comfortable in attending a public worship service, we sought out one of the largest churches in the area, where we could be anonymous. That was a good idea. Both Suzanne and I cried our way through those initial worship services. I’m sure the people sitting around us wondered what our problem was, but at least they allowed us privacy.

Eventually we were ready to add a few personal relationships to our public worship experiences. That’s when we began attending a large church where we knew a few people. We stayed there, thankful to have found a church that allowed us the freedom to heal without any pressure to be involved.

To supplement our casual church attendance, though, we needed the support of Christian friends. My wife and I were invited to participate in two small groups. Although we declined to do so on a weekly basis, meeting with them occasionally was encouraging. We knew they prayed for us, and when we did attend, we felt unconditionally loved and accepted.

Though the last thing I felt like doing was rehashing my firing, this was not the time to become isolated. There were people in our former church, we discovered, who loved us and were hurt by my termination. They wanted to care for us, but they needed our permission to do so. We initiated contact with them and accepted their approaches toward us.

In the congregation I served, two other men had recently lost their jobs, and so I met regularly with them for mutual support and encouragement. When one of them found a new job, his success bolstered our confidence that we, too, would see God provide.

During the final weeks of the battle at our church, I had decided to leave pastoral ministry after my resignation. I concluded that “no job is worth this.”

My wife described best what I was feeling: “It feels as though our lives have been vandalized.”

It was like someone had crept into our lives, stealing our most precious possessions and damaging our values. Our trust in Christians evaporated, as did our love for giving and serving. Considering another church was impossible; we simply had nothing left to give.

In the weeks that followed my termination, however, the Lord challenged that conclusion. The first person he used was a seminary professor I happened to see. He mentioned he had heard the news of my termination. After consoling me for a few minutes, he said, “I hope you won’t leave the pastorate; the church needs pastors like you.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand what we’ve been through—all the pressures and demands of church ministry,” I replied. “It’s different than teaching in a seminary where everyone professes a significant measure of spiritual maturity.

“No job or ministry is worth all the hassle and heartache I have experienced the past year,” I continued. “There has to be another acceptable way for me to serve the Lord other than pastoring a local church.”

Time and again, however, the professor’s message was reiterated in different words from a variety of people who knew me well and had observed my ministry over the years. Talking with others familiar with my ministry refocused my calling. I had to overcome my fear of asking them for candid evaluations of my gifts, abilities, effectiveness, and calling.

Personality, temperament, and vocational testing were also helpful. My wife and I received this help at the retreat we attended in southwestern Colorado.

A probing question from a friend also aided my reevaluation. “What would you do for a living and a ministry,” he asked, “if you knew God would grant you the ability to do it and bless you with success?”

Each time I answered that question, being a pastor topped my list. The more time passed, the more I regained my perspective on the call God had placed on my life to serve as a pastor. Six months after my termination, I joined the staff as associate pastor at the church we were attending.

When I left the home of the couple who had lost their jobs, the wisdom I offered that evening was academic and untried. But not anymore. Today my life is forever changed. Unemployment, I’ve discovered, can be redeemed by God, helping one refocus on the most precious element of our relationship: God’s faithfulness.

Church conflict, I’ve come to realize, may be the most effective tool God has to shape our character. That is the thesis of this book. Both in the specific instance of my job termination and in the day-to-day conflict of pastoral ministry, I’ve discovered that God has changed me. I wouldn’t have chosen such a route, but the frustration and hurt and loneliness of conflict have been used by God to develop my soul.