As he threw the church keys at the new lay leader, Jim (not his real name) angrily declared, “You’ll never see me here again!”
Does he really mean it? I wondered as Jim stormed out in the middle of our board meeting. And if he does, how will we survive? Christ Church has had some tense moments in its 165-year history, and it has had near-death experiences more than once. Would this time, however, be the death of this struggling congregation?
Ours is one of the oldest churches in the state. The building, made of locally quarried limestone, seems transplanted from the English countryside of the founding members, hence its nickname, “The Old Stone Church.”
A cemetery anchors the hillside down to the road, with the graves of many of the area’s earliest residents. It still is used today.
The church reached its high point in the 1890s just prior to mechanized farming. In 1932, during the depths of the Great Depression, the bishop closed the building and dissolved the congregation. A generous benefactor reopened and restored the building in the 1950s, yet the congregation never redeveloped its strength. Its pastors, usually in retirement, stayed only briefly.
Jim Lawrence and his family came from the cathedral congregation in nearby Peoria in the early 1990s at the request of the bishop, and moved to a house nearby. I arrived in 1996.
Jim makes a comfortable living. He also is used to getting his way, and his way is old-fashioned and assertive. Each year he gave significant money to the church, and he served as lay leader year after year because there was no one else to lead. When my wife and I arrived, the five Lawrences, one older couple (the Smiths), and two elderly singles made up the congregation.
Believe it or not, there was division even in that small group. Jim and his son were members, while his wife and daughters still maintained membership in the cathedral congregation. The Smiths did not care for Jim and his family, but Mr. Smith was the treasurer and pragmatic about the situation, as Jim’s contributions were keeping the church open. Mr. Smith’s cousin, one of the two elderly singles, quite literally resented Jim. The elderly lady was a quiet woman who came and went without much comment.
“We can’t challenge him,” she said. “He puts us down no matter what we say. What can we do?”
Not an auspicious beginning for a pastorate.
What drew me to this “difficult” church? Certainly not because I had a “church fixer complex.” Some of my ministry colleagues see themselves as skilled in repairing damaged congregations, but even as a full-time management consultant, I harbored no such illusions. Nor was it because I am a church preservationist, even though I appreciate a well-rooted congregation. I went simply because my bishop sent me there. But on my first Sunday, I knew God had sent me to a special place, to accomplish his purpose, yet to be disclosed.
A history of problems surfaced. I learned of one pastor’s short stint and possible misappropriation of money. Plans for a fellowship hall had languished for years with disagreement over where it should be located and how it should be built.
Other differences surfaced over how to maintain the historic cemetery and how to keep the church secure from vandals. While suburban development was encroaching on the area, the church continues to be somewhat isolated on a country road.
I mediated these disagreements by encouraging each man to think about what they both desired—the survival of the congregation and the pride in the historic church building (on the National Register of Historic Places). They also preferred a familiar, older style of worship and music as found in our older hymnal. Oh, and there was one other thing the men had in common—they couldn’t sing. Mr. Smith knew it, but Mr. Lawrence apparently did not—or if he did, he was happy making a joyful noise for all to hear.
Cracks in the foundation Things went well, at least by Christ Church standards, for three years. While the elderly lady no longer attended because of health, we were joined by a middle-aged widow and then by a couple who taught at the nearby high school. The husband and wife were “exiles” (their word) from a nearby Presbyterian congregation that had suffered a serious division. Finances were a little better than they had been, and we began to make some necessary repairs on the old building, including tuck pointing, and re-hanging the historic bell in the bell tower.
Jim liked the fact that I took seriously the challenges of historic preservation. “You are careful about the exterior care of this church,” he remarked at one meeting. “We’ve needed this for a long time.” He introduced himself to the people beginning to trickle in, and he was happy mostly when they pitched in to help clean up the church property.
Yet I began to feel uneasy. From time to time, Jim used a sharp tone. While he accepted the people who visited and stayed, he was critical of those who visited “to test us out.” They didn’t know how to worship in our vintage style, but he refused to entertain any modification for visitors. Outreach was a waste of time, in his view. Social ministry was for liberal churches. He sneered at innovation. He criticized me for reaching out to visitors, especially those wanting to be married. He considered that a waste of time since the people weren’t likely to return.
Once he pulled me aside and with an angry red face told me he did not like the stance I was taking on outreach.
“Maybe God is leading the church in a different direction,” I said.
“We honor God by making no changes,” he snapped.
I didn’t doubt Jim’s religious commitments. He was passionate about his beliefs, reverent in the service, and received Communion regularly. What I wondered about was his resistance to change and to active discipleship.
Our five-member church board began to discuss outreach and redirecting monies from denominational support to local needs. Jim became furious, accusing members of disloyalty to the bishop and the historic faith.
“We can’t face him or challenge him,” one woman told me. “He puts us down no matter what we say. What are we going to do?” She shook her head and looked at me. “What are you going to do?” Then she added, “Whatever you do, we’re 100 percent with you.”
Slowly and inexplicably, a few people came and joined the church. The Smiths left after more disagreements over control of the old building. The cousin died and was buried in the church cemetery. The older lady left. Now, besides the Lawrences and me and my wife, there were two couples, one single man, and five single ladies.
Then came the Great Burial Crisis—and we were all changed.
Slo-mo explosion A man passed away on a bitter, snowy December night. The next day the mortuary called to say that he had a plot in the church cemetery. They needed access to open the grave the following week. In the meantime, a huge snowstorm intervened. A howling northwest wind shut the roads around the church, making our steep gravel driveway impassable.
I called Jim Saturday evening and said that, as pastor, I was canceling the church service the next day because of the weather. “The weather forecasters are talking about several more inches of snow, high winds, and subzero temperatures. The road to church can drift shut in minutes.”
Jim wouldn’t hear of it. “Our street is open; there’s no reason to cancel anything.”
He opened the church on Sunday morning anyway. Afterward he called me and others in the congregation to insist that the roadway be plowed for the burial the next morning. Jim was angry that none of us had risked the drive up the hill. According to one parishioner, he read the riot act to her about lack of loyalty to the church. That’s when it became clear Christ Church had had enough.
Our January board meeting was unusually quiet. First we had a report about the Christmas services. Jim complained about the 110 in attendance—so many newcomers didn’t know when to stand or kneel. Then the question arose of the lay leader for the next year: who should we ask the bishop to appoint from among our board members?
The question was greeted with silence.
After a moment, our eldest church member spoke up: “I think Jim has done an outstanding job over these five years. But we need to give him a rest. I’d like to nominate another person for that work.” She named her candidate.
Have you ever experienced an event in which everything seems to proceed in slow motion? I watched with fascination while I called for other nominations (none offered) and a vote. The vote was unanimous—until Jim said deliberately, “I abstain.”
It’s odd how people become angry in different ways. Some explode, others pout. The blood slowly rose through Jim’s ashen neck and into his face, but he said nothing. There being no additional business, I adjourned the meeting, and that is, as they say, when all hell broke loose.
“I’ve done more for this church than you’ll ever know,” Jim erupted. “And you all are going to ruin the church!”
“But Jim,” one member countered, “you’re still on the board!”
“Not now, I’m not! You can have this place all to yourselves!” Turning to me, he charged, “And you planned all this, didn’t you? You’re a dangerous man! You have no business being a minister.”
Staring him straight in the eye, I said quietly and firmly, “You are not to talk like this to me or to anyone in this church. Ever!”
Jim turned to his wife. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” When she hesitated, he screamed, “NOW!” She scurried to get her things together. Then he threw the keys at us all.
During the next week, the phone lines lit up between the bishop’s office, church members, and my home. The bishop expressed his sorrow at the turn of events, but I assured him that the congregation was united in the steps they wanted to take.
The treasurer fretted, “We’re never going to make it without his money.”
“Let’s be in prayer about it,” I responded. “I think the Lord is about to do great things here. The best is ahead of us.”
All’s well that ends During the service the following Sunday, there was a lightness and transparency in prayer and praise. Musically, the congregation began to sing more boldly (and very much in tune). Then three things began to happen.
Visitors came and stayed. Former attenders asked, “Where’s Jim?” We told them the truth. “Well, it seems so much warmer here now” was a common reply. “We’ll be here more often.” Several have returned and joined, and some have moved into leadership.
We did not lose money. In fact, we broke even after a few months without Jim. More important, however, existing members began to venture in faith and moved closer to the biblical tithe, while new members and visitors gave generously too. Within a year, our congregation had the highest per capita giving level for the denomination in our region.
Finally, our worship became much more flexible. As a result, an increasing number of visitors told us they never had been part of a church in their adult lives (or at all). We have the highest number of adults preparing to be baptized of any church in our denomination in the region. In other words, people are finding salvation and welcome at Christ Church.
Today, four years later, our average Sunday attendance of 60 stretches our tiny chapel to capacity, and we’re considering a second service. We may need three services for Christmas. We had enthusiastic participation by more than 20 members in a spiritual gifts assessment. That’s become the basis for a team-based healing ministry, an outreach to families handling hiv/aids, and ministry to women in recovery from abuse.
And we have all kinds of seekers who find the Lord in this church, every Sunday. They don’t know about the conflict, and they don’t need to know. They find a welcome and a path to Jesus, and a congregation ready for what God has planned. The Holy Spirit is moving—now that one family moved on.
John R. Throop is vicar of Christ Church Limestone, Peoria, Illinois.
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What Would You Do?
We put this question to the three panelists on Leadership’s recent satellite-to-church telecast, produced by Church Communication Network.
Ken Sande, Peacemaker Ministries: If this congregation was just letting things go along and waiting for circumstances to change, that’s a formula for disaster. There may have been opportunities earlier on to go to this man and talk about his behavior. I’d be most concerned about relationship issues. There was probably an ongoing erosion of relationship, people getting offended, people talking about each other but not to each other. This just builds until it explodes like a volcano. Rene Schlaepfer, Twin Lakes Church, Aptos, California: The top reasons for conflict in Leadership’s survey—control, leadership, finances, vision, and direction—were all present. This wasn’t about just one leader—it’s a complex situation—but one person’s influence can’t be easily diluted in a church this size. We all have contentious people in the congregation. For most of us, our gut instinct is to wag our finger at them or ignore them. The question is what lengths do you go to reconcile those relationships before they reach this stage: having lunch together, looking at Scripture together, and addressing their behavior. Jim Van Yperen, Metanoia Ministries: Most of the time we want to run away, and that is the worst thing you can do with an aggressive person. Go toward them. Find out what’s inside a contentious person—he’s got a problem—but what’s the source of that problem? If we just address the symptoms of his aggression, that’s just going to be like two goats butting heads. You have to move closer to the person to understand them. Sande: What is success in this situation? Sometimes people part company, but the question is, How are their hearts toward one another? Some people would say simply getting rid of Jim is a plus, but I’m concerned about the attempts to reconcile with this brother. Relationships are so vital. Even if the lay leader rebuffs them, keep making the efforts. We define success as being faithful to God. Even if no one else responds, the person who makes a genuine attempt at reconciliation can walk away knowing the Lord is saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” |
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