(In the following true account, names and some identifying details have been changed.)
This is my beloved son, in whom I am well-pleased.” The congregation shifted their gaze from the handsome preacher in the pulpit to the handsome young man on the front pew. Chris Nelson felt their eyes but focused on his father’s words.
“I’ve had the privilege to preach at other ordination services,” the speaker said. “But this occasion is very special, as a father and as a preacher of the gospel. Chris grew up in a preacher’s home. For him to respond to God’s calling in spite of what he knows about ministry is both remarkable and encouraging.”
After the message, Chris knelt at the altar as the ordained gathered around him for the laying on of hands. His father was last to pray. When he called out, “Lord, bless him with a long and fruitful ministry,” Chris became choked with emotion.
Lord, may I serve you as faithfully as my father has, he thought.
SNOW-COVERED WINDSHIELD
Four years later, Chris was in his study when he got a call. “I need to see you today,” was all his father said.
That’s strange, Chris thought as he hung up the phone. Why would he drive five hours just to tell me something? He stared at the commentaries and legal pads cluttering his desk. He’s probably fed up with denominational work and ready to get back into the pastorate.
Behind Chris’s desk hung his ordination certificate. Even now as he looked at it, he could feel his father’s pride.
It was dark when his father arrived. When Chris opened the door, he hardly recognized the man with snow on his collar. His father’s face was drawn. He looked small in his overcoat and boots.
“Put on your parka,” he said. “Let’s go for a drive.” As they backed out of the driveway, Chris’s father said, “Hey, our Vikings won two in a row. If they keep this up, they might make it to the playoffs yet.”
“Is Mom okay?” Chris asked. You didn’t drive up here to discuss football, he thought.
“Mom’s fine. She’s a strong woman. She sees the silver cloud in every lining.”
You mangled that line.
His father pulled into an empty lot and turned off the engine. He began to ramble; for the next twenty minutes he talked about stress and sin, about setting an example and disappointing the ones you love.
Chris finally interrupted: “Who sinned, Dad? Who disappointed whom?”
The older man stared at the snow-covered windshield. “I’ve been unfaithful to your mother.”
The news hit Chris’s brain like a shot of Novacaine. No, please. Not you. Not this.
“With Ruth?” Chris had to know. The direct question made his father flinch.
“You knew?”
“Who else? She’s been your secretary forever. How long?”
His father continued to stare at the windshield. He finally whispered, “Eight years.”
“It’s been over for a while now,” his father explained. “But someone else knows, and I had to tell you.”
Chris choked on anger and tears. “How could you? What … “
“Go ahead, yell at me while you’ve got the chance,” his father said, his own voice growing louder. “Once the association hears about this, you’ll have to stand in line to spit on me.”
You’re right about that. Our peers have no grace for the fallen. He forced his rage to the back corner of his mind.
“I won’t spit on you,” Chris responded, with more confidence than he felt. “And I won’t stop loving you.”
For the next several hours, Chris attempted to bandage the old warrior’s wounds. I’ve got to think of Dad’s needs right now.
NIGHT CHILL
Chris lay awake most of the night. His wife, Bonnie, had finally cried herself to sleep, utterly broken. A troubled childhood had made it easy for her to look to his family for peace and security.
Where was I? Chris thought. Why didn’t I notice something? Ironically, Chris had dated Ruth’s daughter for several years. When he broke up with her, his father had pressured him to reconcile. The whole time I was dating Lisa, Chris thought with a sick feeling, my father was sleeping with her mother.
He thought back to that first year out of seminary. He and Bonnie were newlyweds, wide-eyed for ministry. They had returned to plant a church in the state where his father had spent decades of fruitful ministry.
The new congregation flourished; at age 30, Chris was asked to serve on the denomination’s executive committee, the board that oversaw five superintendents— including his father.
Did he pull strings to get me nominated to the committee, knowing this affair would come to light one day? Chris couldn’t stop seeing hidden motivations.
At the next executive committee meeting, Richard Nelson’s resignation was quickly accepted. If I weren’t sitting here, Chris realized, they’d be ripping my dad to shreds.
Someone extended Chris a few words, then before he knew it, the next item of business was announced. What about helping Mom and Dad out? Chris thought. He started to interrupt but held his tongue. I can talk with these folks better one on one, he reasoned.
But in the months that followed, the group refused to meet with Chris’s father. Chris decided to bring it up one more time in committee.
“What more do you want from us, young man?” was the response. “Do you really think we can restore your father to ministry after what he’s done?”
Chris looked around the table at his father’s former peers. He saw the graying heads, the shirts straining at the buttons. “No,” he said. “But after all my dad did for this association, won’t you at least meet him face to face and see his brokenness for yourselves?”
The answer was direct: “Brother Nelson, I suggest you cut loose from your father. You cannot pull him back up. You will only be dragged down yourself.”
CONFUSION
As summer came and went, Chris began to wonder if those words would be fulfilled. He had little energy or emotion for pastoring. The next big step for his church was to purchase land and build permanent facilities; he didn’t know if he could lead the church through that.
His father’s phone calls didn’t help; they only fueled his anger toward the executive committee. Meanwhile, Chris wondered: He never mentions the affair. Is he still seeing Ruth? He tried not to dwell on it. He had to support his dad; no one else would.
Chris and Bonnie spent a few days at Thanksgiving with his parents. Chris’s siblings made excuses why they couldn’t attend. Chris and his dad spent most of the day in front of the television, silent as the Vikings lost to the Lions.
“You and your dad hardly talked these past few days,” Bonnie commented, as they drove home on Saturday morning.
Many miles later he replied, “I keep thinking about the day I quit the executive committee. They weren’t convinced Dad was repentant or even that he’d ended the affair. Now I’m starting to wonder. Did you notice the way he treated Mom all weekend?”
“He’s always a little impatient with her,” Bonnie acknowledged.
“I can’t stand it,” Chris said. “She’s stood by him through this whole thing, then he treats her like a child.”
Much later he asked, “Do you think Dad’s genuinely repentant, or just sorry he got caught?” He didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“Honey,” Bonnie replied, “how can I answer a question like that?”
Throughout the next year, Chris’s father called almost every day. Chris had less and less to say. He had enough of his own troubles. The church he pastored found the ideal property, then lost it to another church with greater resources.
When his dad began talking about planting a non-denominational church in the Twin Cities, Chris cringed. How could he return to ministry? He hasn’t gone through any sort of discipline process. Yet he had to admit it sounded like a great opportunity. Chris began asking questions and making suggestions. At least he’s hopeful again.
In early winter, Bonnie gave birth to their first son. They named him Dustin. Chris left the delivery room after midnight and drove to a park on the edge of town. He dropped to his knees and stared at the stars, brilliant in the cold, clean air. Father, he prayed, What a marvelous gift you’ve shared with us! How much you must love us! Make me the kind of father a son can be proud of. Protect me from myself, in Jesus’ name.
RESIGNATION
“Is he down for good?” Chris asked when Bonnie came out of Dustin’s room.
“I think so. Wrestling with his daddy wears him out.”
Bonnie snuggled up close. “You two are so cute together. I wish we had a video camera so we could … “
Chris bristled. “I’m doing the best I can on a church planter’s salary.”
“Honey, I didn’t mean … “
This is as good a time as any. “We’re both sick of living in poverty,” Chris said. “I’ve decided to resign from the church. We’ve been at it for over five years now, and I’ve taken it as far as I can.”
“The church is growing,” Bonnie said. “You’ve finally got some leadership in place. Sure, we lost the land, but things are better now.” Seeing no change in his expression, she asked, “Have you discussed it with your dad?”
“Believe it or not, I can make a decision without asking him.”
“It’s just that you talk to him more than you talk to me,” Bonnie said. She began to cry.
“That’s for his sake. Not mine. I’m the only one he has to talk with anymore. He needs me.”
“So are we going to look for another church?”
“I’m not sure I want to be a pastor anymore,” Chris said. “Maybe I went into ministry because that was what my dad wanted.”
Bonnie reached out and took Chris’s hand. “You’ve never gotten over all this mess with your dad, have you?”
“Every decision I’ve ever made has been to please him,” Chris said. “For years I even worried about my salvation. Was it real, or did I do it to make him happy?”
“Are you sure now?” Bonnie asked.
“I’m sure about my salvation. I’m just not sure about my vocation. Maybe I’ll land a corporate job, and we’ll get out of this financial black hole. First thing we’ll buy is a video camera. I can always go back to laying carpet. At least it paid better than ministry.”
“You hated laying carpet.”
“I’m kidding. Things can’t get that bad.”
THE CALL SOUTH
Resigning from the church was just the beginning of financial hardship. Chris and Bonnie had to sell their house, narrowly escaping foreclosure. They moved into the basement of a friend’s house on the winter solstice, the darkest, coldest day of their lives.
“Where’s the mail?” Chris asked after another tedious day of laying carpet.
“Don’t I even get a kiss?” Bonnie asked as she dumped spaghetti in the boiling water on the hotplate.
“Where is it?”
“On the bedside table.”
Bonnie had left a message for Chris earlier: “It came.” “It” was a letter from a church in Memphis.
Chris walked behind the curtain that served as their bedroom wall. He emerged a few minutes later, his forehead creased. “They’re interested,” he said, and sat in a kitchen chair.
Bonnie put down her spoon. “Why the serious face?” she said. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“These last nine months have been hard,” he said, “but I’m not sure this is right. I know you’d like being closer to your mom … “
“We’d have a place of our own again,” Bonnie said. “I wouldn’t have to watch other people’s kids.”
Dustin waddled in, thumb in mouth, and climbed onto his father’s lap.
“The only reason to pursue this is a sense of God’s calling,” Chris said. “The only sense I feel right now is a sense to get out of here.”
“Are anyone’s motives ever entirely pure?”
Chris thought for a moment. “Dad always made it seem crystal clear when God was calling him to a new church.”
“Won’t God shut the door if this isn’t right?”
“I keep thinking about St. Paul,” he said, abruptly shifting gears. “I feel such a burden for that city.”
“There is nothing for us in St. Paul,” Bonnie snapped. “I can’t live any closer to your parents. You and I have to find a life of our own.”
The comment stuck; Chris eventually candidated in Memphis. His father kept dropping big hints about the two of them pastoring together someday. Chris felt torn between his wife and his father. What do I want? he wondered. What does God want?
When the Memphis church extended a unanimous call, Chris loaded his family and his belongings in a U-Haul and headed south.
Within days of their arrival, though, Chris could barely get out of bed. He had no energy to prepare for Sundays, much less to build new relationships. To resign was career suicide—but he could see no other option.
Chris met Don Carver, chairman of the search committee, for breakfast and broke the news.
“We all felt so good about you coming here,” Don said, stumbling for words. “We thought the feeling was mutual.”
“It’s not you,” Chris replied.
“Let me talk with the board,” Don said. “I’m sure we can arrange for you to get away and think this through.”
“There’s nothing to think over,” Chris said. “Coming here was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. God didn’t call me here. Don’t worry about the money, I’ll pay the church back for the moving expenses.”
A U-Haul truck was loaded again, car in tow, this time headed north. As the Nelsons left the Memphis city limits before dawn, Dustin slept in his carseat. Chris looked at Bonnie, her delicate profile silhouetted by the street lights.
Are you sorry you married me? Chris wondered.
FATHER’S SHADOW
Moving to St. Paul did not lift Chris’s mood. He began seeing a counselor for his depression. One week, Chris and Bonnie drove through blowing snowdrifts to meet Chris’s therapist.
“I’ve noticed an interesting thing as I’ve listened to your story,” the therapist said. “You never had an adolescence, did you?”
“Sure I did,” Chris replied. “I mean, I went through puberty.” He laughed; Bonnie did not.
“I’ve heard nothing,” the therapist continued, “that makes me think you’ve ever taken those steps toward independence that are characteristic of adolescence. You’ve been the faithful, obedient son all your life.”
“Is that a problem?” Chris asked, growing edgy.
“I think your emotional distress is caused by the tension of desperately needing to please your dad, but also needing to make your own decisions. You can’t do both, and it’s tearing you apart.”
Chris refused to discuss the diagnosis, cutting off Bonnie’s attempts to bring it up.
A month later, Bonnie, Dustin, and Chris went to his folks’ house after church for Dustin’s birthday party. Chris and his dad were conducting their usual post-church analysis, and Chris’s mother was clearing the table, when it happened.
“Will you stop rattling those dishes?” his father snapped. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.” Embarrassed, Chris’s mom carried the dirty plates and glasses into the kitchen.
“You don’t have to talk to her that way,” Chris said in a low voice. His father and Bonnie looked at him, their eyes wide.
“I couldn’t hear over all that racket,” his father said.
“You’ve always picked on her,” Chris said. “She’s stood by you through thick and thin, yet you humiliate her in front of others.”
“Honey,” Bonnie said. She reached for his arm.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” his father said, his voice rising.
“I’m talking to a man who can’t treat his own family with common courtesy!” Chris replied. “I’m talking to the man who put his family through hell because he couldn’t keep his zipper up!”
“Just stop right there!” his father screamed. He stood, glaring down at Chris. Chris stood as well, his face inches from his father’s.
His voice shaking, Chris pressed on. “You pretend like nothing ever happened, but look around. Mom is afraid of her own shadow. Your daughters won’t have a thing to do with you. And look at me. I’ve virtually destroyed my career trying to stand by you. I owe a church $5,000 because I quit after one month to come help you … “
“I’m not listening to any more of this,” his father shouted and stomped downstairs.
Chris regretted the outburst. But in a strange way, he felt emancipated. Maybe he hadn’t done it in the best way, but he had finally said what he felt.
CHINOOK WINDS
Chris and his father avoided each other for a while, then gradually picked up as if the argument never happened.
A few months later, Chris held his second son, Daniel, for the first time. Bonnie watched them, then commented, “You’re such a good daddy.”
Chris stroked his son’s cheek. I had a pretty good example. He was surprised by the thought.
When Chris left the hospital, he heard water dripping from the trees. A Chinook wind was blowing, the snow melting. He sensed a change.
Later that night, he couldn’t sleep. He took pen and paper and wrote what had been stirring inside him:
“Dear Dad, tonight I witnessed another miracle, the birth of my second son. As I held him, I wondered about his future. And mine. I know that I would never consciously do anything to hurt or disappoint him.
“I realize that you never intended to hurt any of us. Though you won’t talk about it, I know you must live daily with the pain of your choices.
“I’m sorry if I’ve added to your pain. Tonight, I want to tell you how much I love you. I’ve learned a lot from you, about being a good pastor, about being a good dad. Thanks, Dad, for teaching me well.”
Shortly thereafter, a small but stable church out west extended Chris a call. A year later, Chris and Bonnie sat by the pool outside their new apartment in Southern California. The sun beat hot on their skin.
“I can’t get over the response to the message yesterday,” Chris thought aloud. “There were still people praying half an hour after I quit preaching.”
Bonnie smiled. “Part of it was because you shared some of your own pain. I heard things in that sermon I’ve never heard you say aloud before.”
“Yeah, I still don’t know these folks well enough to tell them everything, but there was no way I could preach on God’s sufficiency without sharing a little of what we’ve been through.”
A rustling sound on the baby monitor brought Chris to his feet. “Relax, I’ll check on them,” he said. My sons need me.
Epilogue: The Nelsons continue to thrive after several years in their new ministry. Chris continues the hard work of rebuilding trust with his father.
*********************
Ed Rowell is assistant editor of Leadership.
1996 Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP Journal
