I sat in John and Brenda’s living room absorbing their angry and unyielding stares. The thought kept running through my mind, What in the world am I doing here?
On the surface I knew why. Some elders had suggested I visit the family to seek reconciliation.
Brenda had been a relentless critic of my ministry, going as far as to stand in a public meeting and read this passage from Jeremiah: ” ‘Woe to the shepherds who are destroying and scattering the sheep of my pasture!’ declares the Lord. … ‘Because you have scattered my flock and driven them away and have not bestowed care on them, I will bestow punishment on you for the evil you have done.’ “
Though she stopped short of ending her reading with the words, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your presence,” that was clearly her intent.
A board action occurring just before I came as pastor had planted the seeds of conflict. Differences had arisen between a staff member and members of the board. This staff person had a small but loyal following in the church.
Eventually the board asked the staff member to resign. Part of the reason was that “the new pastor will want his own staff.” While I had not made the decision to oust this person, his followers held me responsible. In fact, it took me over a year to learn that his supporters were blaming me for his departure.
This group and a few others became increasingly vocal in their opposition to my leadership. To them I was “not the person to lead this congregation.”
“All the love has gone out of this church,” was their recurring refrain. “You don’t seem to care so-and-so is leaving,” was another charge. “We made a mistake when we called you.”
What reasons lay behind their animosity? The board and I groped for answers. Theological differences? A power struggle? Resentment over bringing new people into leadership?
We held a congregational meeting, which turned ugly. One woman claimed she had seen a vision prior to entering the building. According to her, an angel appeared on top of the roof directing her to go in and denounce the pastor and elder board.
She wasn’t alone that night in her anger. From the back row came cat-calls and insults: “False shepherd,” “liar,” and “unloving pastor.”
Neither conclusions nor conciliation were reached.
When all else fails, apologize?
In the aftermath of that horrible meeting, the elders and I met to pick up the pieces. We were at a loss as to just what to do next.
One of the elders, who had several friends in the dissenting group, suggested another alternative. If I would just go and ask forgiveness, peace could be restored to the church.
I asked him if there was anything in particular I had done wrong that needed confession. He couldn’t name anything at the moment, but he felt if I accepted the blame, that might succeed in healing the divisions.
I didn’t relish the thought of confronting and groveling before my critics. But battle-scarred and war-weary, I was as anxious as anyone to put an end to the uncivil war. Reluctantly, I agreed to seek out the critics one by one, ask them what I had done to offend them, and apologize.
Since much of the criticism centered around John and Brenda, I decided to begin there. I spent nearly three hours at their house. They weren’t reluctant at all to review my shortcomings.
“You’ve really blown it,” John said at one point.
“How?” I responded.
“Look at all the people who’ve left,” he shot back. “Doesn’t that concern you?”
“Of course it does,” I replied. “But in most cases, these people have never expressed any displeasure with me. They told me they were leaving because of the divisions at church. They’re weary of people calling them to report the latest rumor or accusation. How can I change that?”
Brenda abruptly brought up another charge.
At the end of the evening, I was still perplexed. Yes, I understood they didn’t like me. Yes, they wanted another pastor. And yes, I could see how some of my decisions had given other people more influence. But what had I done that was ungodly and unrighteous?
Yet, I remembered my directive. Apologize. Humble yourself. Ask forgiveness. Then things will get better.
“John, Brenda, I apologize for failing you as pastor. I accept the blame. Please forgive me so we can start again,” I said.
They nodded, without warmth. Rather than feeling I had just done something right, I had this awful sense I had done something terribly wrong.
As I walked out the door that evening, no sense of peace descended on my heart. No relief swept over my soul. No burdens lifted. Instead, I just felt empty.
Appeasement in our time
In the weeks that followed, I had similar meetings with other critics. In each case I left with the same emptiness of soul. A rather odd pattern also appeared in my meetings. Despite the fact I would apologize, almost never did I receive a reciprocal apology or confession of wrongdoing. Nor was absolution pronounced. Clearly, this was a one-way street. A dead-end street to be more precise. If this was genuine reconciliation at work, it certainly didn’t feel like it.
I called a denominational official and poured out my heart. He knew this congregation. Overwhelmed by the futility of my efforts, I blurted out, “Do you think the problem is sin in my life? Is that what’s going on here? Tell me the truth.”
“No, Bob,” he replied. “If that were the case, I’d love you enough to say so.” That phone conversation was a turning point in my own assessment of the situation.
It took a while for the whole impact of what I was doing to sink in. When it did, it hit me with the force of a Wisconsin logging truck-I was confessing to their sins, not my own. Much of what they accused me of were precisely their problems: an unloving heart, a calloused spirit, and the abuse of power.
Apologizing to others for their problems left me feeling violated and angry. I felt I had surrendered a portion of my integrity to regain a measure of peace in the church. If this wasn’t appeasement, then historians owe Neville Chamberlain an apology.
Not surprisingly, my visits didn’t lead to a new era of peace in the church. Rather, the apologies seemed to embolden the critics. Feeling vindicated and justified, they went back on the offensive.
Their renewed attacks left many on the board dumbfounded. Why would they continue now that I had made amends for my errors?
Eventually, the tactics of the belligerents prompted the board to take disciplinary action. Several were asked to resign their membership. The remaining dissenters left with tires squealing.
Confessions of a bruised pastor
There are several valuable lessons I learned from this long and painful episode.
There’s a difference between accusations and actual sins. Just because a hostile church member accuses a pastor of being a “false shepherd” doesn’t automatically make him one.
Yet, from the moment I was accused of “scattering the sheep,” the resulting tension was enough for some people to believe I was guilty. From that point onward, my job was to prove my innocence.
Trying to be a good soldier of the cloth, I unthinkingly accepted a new job description as both pastor and paschal lamb. Only when I began to reflect on the fruitless results of these home visits, did it dawn on me how absurd the situation had become.
I remember returning one night from a difficult home meeting. My wife asked me how it had gone.
“I didn’t accomplish a thing,” I muttered as I slumped down in fatigue on the sofa.
Only later did I find a portion of Scripture that gave voice to what I was feeling that night. Proverbs says, “It is not good to punish an innocent man, or to flog officials for their integrity.” I had just finished another evening at the end of the whip. Why? Because I had accepted the notion that receiving such floggings would bring peace to the church. This wasn’t ministry, it was masochism.
We can only confess sins we’ve actually committed. Though this might seem an elementary point of theology, we cannot confess, or be forgiven, for things we haven’t done.
That’s really the stuff co-dependency is made of. When someone else behaves in a destructive manner, yet we fail to confront them, and instead assume the responsibility for their actions, we’re headed toward serious dysfunction. My apologies only added to the denial process in the church. Sooner or later people would have to face the truth.
Just as alcoholics will deny responsibility for their actions, so did my critics. In essence they said, “You are the reason we’re spreading rumors. You are the cause of our hate campaign. You make us do the harmful things we do.”
On the other hand, I did need to apologize quickly for my real failings. One night at a Communion service, before distributing the bread and the cup, I gave a special invitation.
“I know there’s been a long season of division in our church,” I began. “Some individuals have said it’s the result of my offending others and failure to be a loving pastor. If that’s true, I’d like to ask forgiveness tonight, on a one-on-one basis before we serve Communion.”
There was dead silence in the congregation.
“I’m going to sit on the front row by myself for a period of time,” I continued. “If anyone here has a grievance, or believes I’ve sinned against them, I invite them to join me here. I won’t argue or justify my actions. Just tell me what it is, let me ask your forgiveness, and be reconciled at the Lord’s Table.”
As the organ played softly, no one moved. Then an older man made his way to the seat next to me.
“Pastor, I’ve been really angry that you haven’t visited Mrs. Stover lately. She’s suffering with cancer. I’m concerned that if my wife ever got sick, I wouldn’t have a pastor to visit her.”
I could see the sincerity in the gentleman’s eyes.
“I apologize,” I said. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’ll go visit Mrs. Stover tomorrow.”
And I did. That encounter and confession felt clean, genuine, and liberating. But other than the one elderly gentleman, not another soul came to the front that evening, though several of my most ardent critics were glaring at me from the pews.
Better a peacemaker than a peacekeeper. Why is it that United Nations blue-helmet forces seem incapable of bringing resolution to regional conflicts, whether in the Middle East or Southern Europe?
I think I understand part of the answer. The problem lies with their mission. They are commissioned to be peacekeepers, rather than peacemakers. Peacekeepers try to enforce a cease-fire, while peacemakers work toward a permanent end to the conflict.
That was part of my problem. I had played the role of a peacekeeper rather than peacemaker. I attempted to forge a fragile cease-fire through offering unjustified apologies. Instead, I should have worked harder at forcing the real issues onto the table. When the real problems at work in the church were exposed and dealt with, peace was finally restored.
-Name withheld
Copyright © 1993 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
