While visiting the elders of another church to learn about a pastoral opening, I felt like the main character in Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Air turbulence required not one but two attempts to land at Dulles airport. Next came the cab ride: 90 minutes of stop-and-go traffic to the outskirts of Washington, DC, in record-breaking heat.

Because of these delays, the elders and I scrambled to coordinate a new meeting location by phone. I had 15 minutes in a gas station to change from travel clothes to something nicer before the search team picked me up, so I got the key to use the restroom around back. I’ve never been one to quickly label a moment “spiritual warfare,” but as I struggled to button my dress shirt, I was ready to rebuke the flickering fluorescent light that compounded my nausea.

Yet this prelude to our meeting wasn’t the most difficult part. The worst part was shaking hands with the elders, feeling like a traitor to my current ...