1 Timothy 3
If anyone wants to provide leadership in the church, good! But there are pre-conditions; A leader must be well-thought-of, committed to his wife, cool and collected, accessible, and hospitable. He must know what he?s talking about, not be over fond of wine, not pushy, but gentle, not thin-skinned, not money-hungry. He must handle his own affairs well, attentive to his own children, and having their respect. For if someone is unable to handle his own affairs, how can he take care of God?s church? He must not be a new believer, lest the position go to his head and the Devil trip him up. Outsiders must think well of him, or else the Devil will figure out a way to lure him into his trap. [The Message]
I sat in the pastor’s meeting as the regional overseer made the announcement. The prominent pastor had resigned his position in one of the leading churches in our association. "He resigned because of sin in his life: pornography, misuse of alcohol and prescription drugs. There have been allegations of improper use of church funds."
The announcement went on as I thought about the public confession of this man’s sins. "What if other people knew about the secret sins in my life," I thought. If my personal struggles became public knowledge would I be judged any more fit than the brother who was the subject of the meeting? In the harsh light of my own self-examination, I found myself wanting.
I thought: "If they knew me, really knew me, they wouldn’t let me pastor."
Questions and answers and comments flew around the room. I sensed an undertone of anger and judgment. I felt a personal sense of shame as I heard the leader say: "Now, if any of you are struggling with these kinds of issues, tell us so we can help you." "Yeah," I thought, "Help you out of the ministry!"
In the aftermath of that meeting I struggled with thoughts that had continued to plague me since I started pastoring full-time. Am I "good enough" to pastor, or is my ministry a "big mistake?" And the companion question, "Who is "good enough" to pastor?"
How did I get into this mess?
Raised in a denominational church that majored in "holy" living, it was easy to think that doing the right things and not doing the wrong things was the key to pleasing God. Our church had a long list of behavioral do’s and don’ts: Don’t dance, smoke, drink, go to movies, etc. Do attend church regularly, tithe, support missions, and learn your memory verses.
Coming from the crucible of a dysfunctional family with a workaholic, distant dad, and a drug-addicted and ultimately suicidal mom, it was easy to strive for "perfection" in my religious life.
I could get recognition by being the best student in "Bible" class. By the time I was baptized at the age of 13, I had begun to consider ministry as a possible career. I had also gotten the idea in my early adolescent mind, that having been washed clean through baptism, I would live a sinless life from that day forward.
Not that my habitual sin-patterns were particularly vile at that stage of my life. No repetitive dishonesty or habitual sexual sin had surfaced. Looking back, I was probably a pretty respectable sinner, only engaging in self-righteousness, and occasional rebellion and disobedience.
Growing up in the 60s allowed me to become a poster child for the phrase, "Don’t trust anyone over the age of 30." I hadn’t graduated to "If it feels good, do it." As a student in denominational schools from high school to college, I found myself constantly questioning the status quo of rules and authority. "Why?" was always on my mind. Of course, when I didn’t get an answer that met my standards, and sometimes even if I did, I felt free to break the rules.
Under frequent discipline for "citizenship" infractions, a pattern of "righteous" disobedience developed. Yet, I never threw the baby out with the bath water, like so many of my friends and classmates ultimately did. God and the church remained an important part of my life.
Always a fast-track student, I arrived at my college campus as a freshman at the age of 16. Without a lot of parental guidance, I explored a lot of career alternatives. By the time I reached my junior year of college, I had changed my major 19 times. Because religion was a required subject, I had more credits in it than any other major. I did want to graduate someday, so I became a religion major.
By then, I was active in student government and extracurricular activities, my true college major. As editor of the campus newspaper I spearheaded a campaign to change the college church. Ultimately it got the church pastor replaced and a campus chaplain hired.
I participated in folk-singing anti-war protests and in the meantime looked diligently to fill the hole my family upbringing had left in my heart by engaging in a rather frenetic dating search.
At the ripe age of 19 I met my wife-to-be, dated her for six weeks and became engaged to be married that summer.
Still students for our senior year, we found the challenge of married life, finances, relationship, and full-time school to be plumbing the depths of our shallow pool of maturity and experience.
In the spring of that year, I got a letter from the Selective Service System that started innocuously, "Greetings." This was May, 1969. The Viet Nam War was at the height of its production of death and destruction. It wasn’t difficult for me to move from being a "religion" major to being a "theology" major, preparing for the ministry.
I used to joke that as soon as I got that letter, that I received a "call," a highly-motivated call to the ministry.
That calling lasted long enough for me to get a deferment from the draft and to drop out of New Testament Greek. I realized that even if I graduated with my degree in theology, that my denomination would have a hard time finding a job for a 22 yr. old, rabble rousing, anti-authoritarian minister. I discovered that I had spent nearly six years in college, but had no degree, and no marketable skill.
In that era of denominational college life, being a "theology" major was like being an automatic big man on campus. Hundreds of young men (God forbid that a woman would seek a place in pastoral ministry) were studying and vying for positions as future leaders of the church.
It was cool to be studying for the ministry. I remember how worried I was when I got a "C" in my class on sermon-making. I also remember the pressure I felt to be "good." Or at least to appear that way. I was married, so it was legal for me to be sexual. I had convinced myself that it had been OK to have pre-marital sex because, just as the Old Testament patriarchs had "known" their women and were married, so I was committed to my wife.
Character is forged in the crucible of trials. While successes are great, failure is the best teacher. And so I left college (short of a degree in anything) and began my education in the "University of Hard Knocks."
At the age of 23 I started my first business and was well on my way to my first business failure.
My religious life centered around weekly attendance at the denominational mega-church in the university town where I lived. Because of my wife’s position as a secretary on staff, I was acquainted with some of the inner-workings of the church. My drive to achieve in my business career was matched by an equal desire to influence and change the "way we did church."
My marriage was struggling through a time of major testing. Each of us bring our own expectations and background to any relationship. By the time I was 23, I had already failed to live up to my wife’s expectations in many areas. Our relationship was marked by confrontation and differences of viewpoint.
My failure to obtain a college degree was difficult for my wife to swallow. At one point we were very near to separation and divorce. We decided, however, that parenthood might be just what we needed to cure our relational woes and had our first child.
My drive to succeed, and my willingness to impulsively take risks lead to the failure of my publishing business and my first bankruptcy. By this point, with two children, financial struggles, and continued marital strife, the marital bonds were stretched to the breaking point.
And yet, despite these obvious difficulties and continued failures, church attendance and involvement was central to our lives. Divorce became an option, both in confrontational conversations and in my thought life.
Finally, in my second year of law school, we separated and eventually divorced.
Divorce is a sin. Don’t let any enlightened person tell you otherwise. Not only is it a sin that inflicts deep emotional wounds in the separating spouses, most of all, it is a sin against children. In most cases it’s also a very self-centered act. "My needs are not being met," we tell ourselves to justify our own actions. Whether its lust or power motivating our decision it’s wrong.
My wife continued to work on the church staff and received quite a bit of support during the final stages of our marriage. On the other hand, I never heard a word from any member of the pastoral staff during the two years leading up to the final divorce decree.
I remember that at one point I harbored some hopes that completing law school and becoming an attorney might raise my prospects in my estranged wife’s eyes. I thought reconciliation might be an option. I actually talked to her about the possibility and suggested postponing filing for divorce. By this time, she was through with me, wanting to move on, and told me we should proceed. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hold much hope for our relationship either.
About 1 year later in October, 1981, I was remarried.
Our denominational church had a policy regarding divorce and remarriage. Discover who the party "at fault" is, disfellowship them, that is, "kick them out," and then the "innocent" party is free to remarry. In the absence of clear evidence of adultery, or other ‘Biblical’ grounds for divorce, the remarriage to another person is a clear finding of "adultery." Two weeks after my new marriage I received a letter inviting me to resign my church membership.
This began a period of spiritual wandering. The religious instruction of my denominational upbringing inextricably linked "church membership" to salvation. Being disfellowshipped, in my mind, was like being excommunicated. Without pastoral contact or care I was being rejected by my church, and in my mind perhaps, by God.
To say I was angry, would be understating it. To say I was upset, would be way too mild. For the first time in my life, a social and cultural anchor was withdrawn. When the church you are part of is "the remnant;" when the church you are a part of has "the truth;" when the implication of exclusiveness is explicit, then rejection and abandonment by that group feels like rejection and abandonment by God.
For the next eight years I searched for a "spiritual" home.
From Robert H. Schuler, who married my second wife and I, I learned acceptance can be an act of mercy. We were privileged to be a part of his church plant in San Juan Capistrano for a few months.
From Don McClure and Larry Elizondo at Calvary Chapel, Redlands, I learned how to really pray and worship. Don’s ability to lead and administer a church appeared effortless. At the keyboard, Larry would begin to worship and praise seamlessly until the congregation had been transported to heavenly places.
From Clifton Davis’s pastoral internship I learned that celebrity can be combined with a hunger and passion for God.
While we wandered from church to church, the pain and struggle of raising a blended family, dealing with ex-spouses and struggling in the business world "to make a million dollars" all took their toll.
Eventually I ended up worshipping at the "Church of the Open Fairway," the local golf course. God seemed distant and unconcerned with my life. In the midst of my struggles, a faith that would sustain me had not formed.
In the meantime, we continued to attempt to bring some spiritual leadership to our children, making sure they attended some church most weeks and by enrolling them in Christian school. We hoped that they would be well-cared-for by trained volunteers and dedicated educators, to make up for what their parents could not provide in religious instruction and leadership.
The children were part of a Christian "scouting" type club. In the midst of marching drills and campcraft, it was hoped that they would learn something about God. We rented a recreational vehicle to attend a weekend "camporee" for the club. Our children were pre- and early teens. My work life was about as demanding as it could get, 60-70 hour weeks were not unusual. Times of good and regular income were punctuated by dry spells.
I came to that weekend burned out and exhausted. After pulling into the campground about 9 p.m. and parking the RV on a slope, I went to sleep exhausted. I didn’t emerge from the cocoon of the motorhome until about 4 o’clock the next afternoon. I remember feeling leaden, bereft of drive or purpose.
Sitting around the campsite with some friends, one of them showed her excitement about her church. She said the music was contemporary and the preaching excellent. I remember arguing with her about the possibility of any church experience being life-giving. I really dismissed the possibility.
But my wife had been listening closely as our friend shared. It was only a few months later that she "scouted" out the church. She came home that day with rave reviews for every aspect of the service, from the music to the preaching. It was only a few weeks before I broke down and gave the church a "try." Just one visit and I was hooked.
