I had nothing to hide. No reprehensible behavior I was struggling with, no glaring character defects. In fact, I was feeling pretty self-righteous. Doug Self, with whom I’ve been meeting weekly since 1976, and I were sitting comfortably in front of the fireplace at the Redstone Inn, enjoying our early cup of coffee as usual. We filled each other in on our week’s events as usual. We enjoyed the peaceful ambiance as usual.
Then out of the blue, Doug said, “Louis, I have something for you from the Lord.”
Not as usual.
Doug proceeded to point out some ungodly attitudes in me that he’d been noticing. He had been hearing me be critical and unloving.
Ouch!
I knew what he was referring to. Frankly, I wasn’t interested in re-evaluating my position or changing it.
The encounter reminded me why I need accountability-and why I resist it. I find accountability difficult for at least four reasons.
I fear rejection
“If you really knew what I’m like inside, you wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”
I’ve heard that from countless individuals during my twenty-five years as a psychiatrist. At times I’ve felt the same way. Fear of rejection often makes accountability scary. But the times I’ve come clean, no matter how hard, have led to acceptance and forgiveness rather than rejection.
I learned this lesson early on.
My parents stressed honesty: “It will be better for you to tell the truth than try to lie. If we find out you’ve been untruthful, your punishment will be much worse.” Growing up, I believed that. In fact my fear of the “much worse” was usually stronger than my fear of rejection.
I remember vividly one exception, and it taught me it’s better to open up than get caught.
In fifth grade, there was a new girl in our class whom nobody liked much. She was a bit hateful, but I’m sure she had every reason to be. We certainly didn’t treat her hospitably.
One day Jane brought an autograph book to class and asked everyone to sign it and write something to her. At the time, I was learning some things about the world, including my first cuss words. So I thought it would be clever to call Jane a bad name in her autograph book, but to disguise it by writing it backwards. Needless to say, it didn’t take her long to decipher my code—and show our teacher.
The first thing I knew, I was on my way to the principal’s office. Those were the days when a principal could use corporal punishment, and Townsend Thompson was famous for using that authority. What made things worse was that as I entered Mr. Thompson’s office, the first person I saw was my dad. Then, Mr. Thompson, and then, Jane’s autograph book. After a brief and weak disclaimer, I confessed tearfully to the dreadful act. I didn’t get the paddle, but I can still feel the sting of my dad’s words, “Louis, I’m surprised you’d ever do such a thing. Can you imagine how that must have hurt this young lady? I don’t need to remind you that you’re a Christian. I don’t think that is what you’ve learned at church or at home.”
Then Dad put his arm around my shoulders and said, “I’m not going to tell your mother about this. I think some things should be between a dad and his son. I’ve told Mr. Thompson he has my permission to punish you in any way he sees fit.”
Mr. Thompson asked if I’d learned my lesson; I assured him I had! He then “suggested” I write an apology to Jane and never let that sort of language come from me again. I did, and it didn’t.
I still fear the sting of rejection. But I’ve learned it’s always wisest to come clean. I’m glad I learned that lesson with childhood pranks, because I needed it when I faced serious adult situations.
One time, I had to confess to my wife that I’d become emotionally involved with a nurse during my internship. That stupidity could easily have ended our marriage. Only by God’s grace and Melissa’s remarkable forgiveness did we survive. If I had been open to Melissa or somebody else during that time, the whole thing might have been avoided.
I feared that admitting the temptation and attraction would bring rejection. Instead Melissa said, “Louis, I’m very hurt and angry. I don’t understand how you could have let that happen, but I forgive you. I’ll need time to rebuild trust, and I want you to know if that ever happens again, I’m gone!”
I believed her. That event helped me learn to have a commitment to accountability.
I feel embarrassed
The things I confess to Doug, I often fail at repeatedly. That becomes embarrassing. I feel convicted, get up the courage to confess, pledge to quit doing whatever it was, only to repeat the behavior. It may seem trivial to you, but one such problem has been speeding. I have a heavy foot, and out here in western Colorado, we have miles to go to get anywhere (twenty-five miles to the grocery store and post office). What makes it worse is that the speed limit on our winding mountain road is 30 to 50 mph.
I’ve grown convinced that driving ten mph over the limit is wrong, particularly since our car is known by almost everyone in the valley. They know I’m active in our local church and espouse a conservative position. So I make and break and remake my commitment to drive the speed limit. That’s embarrassing.
I’ve heard confessions from hundreds of pastors who have the same struggle, only in other areas: pornography, lustful thoughts, lack of spiritual discipline, loss of temper, emotional abuse of family members, stealing, lying, cheating on taxes. The list goes on and can become such an embarrassment that accountability is lost.
I resent control by hostile people
I’ve been blessed by the loving people in my life: my parents, Townsend Thompson, Melissa, Doug, and many others have shown me grace. Being accountable to them has beenrelatively easy.
It’s not so easy to submit to someone angry at you. At Marble, we often work with pastors who have broken faith and trust with the people in their lives. One part of working through those situations is being assigned to an “accountability group.” I highly encourage it. Making changes in one’s life is hard and especially difficult if attempted in isolation.
The problem, though, is that members of the accountability group—often people from the congregation or denomination—are struggling with their own feelings of betrayal. They are hurt and angry.
The pastors I work with say the experience of an accountability group begins to feel like the Spanish Inquisition. Rather than receive support and gentle admonition, the pastor who has sinned senses total hostility. He’s already feeling guilty, and the punitive atmosphere pushes him down rather than lifts him up.
Several years ago, a middle-aged pastor from a growing suburban church came to Marble Retreat. He had been caught in adultery and resigned his position. His wife agreed to work through it with him and restore their marriage. His denominational supervisor and local church board began the restoration process. I believe they genuinely wanted to forgive Jack and restore him to ministry, but they were furious. Not only had he been involved in sexual sin, but he had lied to them on several occasions.
The chairman of the board had been Jack’s closest friend. They’d known each other for fifteen years. They golfed on Thursdays, and their families often took vacations together. When Bill began to notice suspicious behavior, he confronted Jack.
They were riding in a golf cart together, and Jack remembered the conversation. Bill was hesitant and almost apologetic: “Jack, I’m worried about something. It may be nothing at all, but I can’t seem to get peace in my heart about it. I hope you won’t take this wrong. I’ve been seeing how you act around your secretary. I’m uncomfortable to be there. Is anything going on between you and her?”
Jack thought, Oh, no, this could really blow up on me.
He managed to handle it smoothly: “Don’t worry, Bill. There’s nothing going on. I may have been a little too playful around her, but we’ve got a healthy work relationship. I can see why you might have been concerned and really appreciate your willingness to ask. I’ll tone it down some. I know nothing is going to happen, but I don’t want it even to look inappropriate. Thanks.”
Jack did intend to take that question as a serious red flag. He told his secretary they had to break off their relationship. They wept and repented together and determined never to sin again. Unfortunately that lasted only a few months. They drifted back into their adulterous behavior. This time they were more careful not to raise suspicions and frequently called halts only to fall again.
Bill confronted Jack two more times before the truth came to light. The second time he included their denominational executive. Still Jack rejected their attempts to confront him, becoming quite defensive. Before it was finally over, Jack had lied to several trusted men in his life, as well as his wife. They had trusted and highly respected Jack. He had disappointed them with disastrous consequences. Two of these men were assigned to be on Jack’s accountability team.
At Marble Retreat, Jack told us how devastating the experience had been. Not only was he facing the loss of career, self-esteem, and community respect, but every time the accountability group met, which was infrequently, he felt their anger all over again. They said they’d forgiven him, but Jack never felt forgiven. They also directed him not to see or talk with anyone in the church, so he and his wife felt isolated. Jack and his wife found out what leprosy was like.
In his journal, Jack wrote a moving description of his experiences. He wrote as if he had been in Puritan New England and pilloried for his sin. He wrote of the shame he felt standing in the stocks on the town square and the humiliation of seeing the anger and hurt in the eyes of his children. But in the end, his sentence was complete; he was released to rejoin the community. Puritan stocks looked like a wonderful alternative to the isolation and interminable castigation he was facing.
The accountability process can be a healing experience. But if the group members are wounded and angry, accountability deteriorates into hostile oblivion.
I don’t like facing my negative feelings
I’m a master at self-deceit. I can employ denial, rationalization, and projection so fast it would set old Freud’s head shrinking. These psychological maneuvers are mostly unconscious. They pop up automatically when some uncomfortable feeling threatens to jump out of me. I don’t like my anger or guilt or anxiety—these emotions just don’t fit with who I like to be (or at least like to appear to be). My self-image is that I’m a gentle, open, gracious person who seldom has negative feelings. So I find ways to avoid dealing with them.
Denial is a nifty way. I am able to avoid the unattractive feelings so quickly that I’m honestly fooling myself. I can say, “What, me worry?” or “I’m not angry!” I may be the only one who believes it, which is the real danger.
Rationalization, however, is a conscious mechanism, so I can’t claim innocence in employing it. I adroitly look at my situation and justify my behavior. Considering the situation logically, I convince myself that my attitudes or behavior are reasonable. In fact, they’re admirable. Perhaps, godly. Yes, that’s it. I’m totally justified.
For instance, I’ve been seeing changes come into our church fellowship. Changes in the congregation. Changes in the worship style. Changes in emphases. That has not been easy to watch. (Here’s where the rationalization takes over.) My concernis not territorial because we were one of the founding families and are protective of the way things have been for twenty years. No, the reason for my discomfort is my deep desire to reach our mountain community. The changes I see may interfere with the opportunity for outreach.
Let me explain more specifically about this conflict I’m facing (which will fit with my self-image of openness).
Year after year at Marble Retreat, we hear painful stories of pastors’ being abused by some controlling elder in their congregation. These have usually been founding members who have had major positions of responsibility. They become seen as the church boss.
I determined long ago never to create that kind of pressure on a staff person inmy church. However, Melissa and I fit the description—the only remaining founding family in the church, lots of leadership roles over the last eighteen years, and lots of church experience that many of our people haven’t had.
It has been devastating to realize that if my pastor came to Marble Retreat, he’d probably be describing me in those same terms: controlling, critical, resistant to change, non-supportive, rejecting, and untrustworthy.
My worst fear has been realized.
I’m going to try something hard here—that is, not use denial, rationalization, or projection. I want to describe the feelings I’ve had to cope with during these last months, without justifying them or blaming anyone.
When our new pastor came, he was enthusiastic and eager to prove himself. His stated purpose was admirable: “To grow us deeper spiritually, then let that spill out into our community in outreach.” He wanted to equip the saints for the work of the ministry. I certainly couldn’t disagree with that vision.
I must confess, however, that with my perception of our church having done that for fourteen years, I felt defensive. Rather than joining in his enthusiasm, I questioned whether our investment and level of spiritual maturity was being depreciated or denied. Changes that were suggested or traditions that seemed devalued loomed as personal attacks.
I knew my emotional response was exaggerated or unfounded. Yet there it was. I began to resist and resent many of the new directions the church was headed. The hard part was the clergy who came limping into Marble Retreat, reminders of how elders like me could inflict great harm—even destroy a pastor and congregation!
That’s when my accountability group stepped in. They held up a mirror for me to see how unlike my self-image I was being. I can easily say this whole experience has been one of the most difficult of my life. The great peacemaker was contributing great distress. The gentle, gracious lover was adding to an atmosphere of non-acceptance.
Speck-and-log removal
Fortunately, I can now report, several weeks after I started writing this article, that some real healing has begun. After my accountability group got my attention, I had some long, painful talks with the Lord. I was reminded of God’s grace toward me. I had to deal with the speck in my eye, which turned out to be a two-by-four.
I felt convicted that I needed to let the whole church know I’d been creating some difficult pressure for our pastor and ask their forgiveness. I have already asked for and received this.
That confession provided a forum for our pastor to express the pain and resistance he has faced. The current climate, after a couple of tense weeks, is much more Christian. Just in time for Easter, there was resurrection and renewal. Our accountability circle has expanded considerably, and I believe in the end there will be new levels of love and trust. We’re not totally out of the woods, but it sure feels better to be re-focused on the Lord rather than on myself.
And I rediscovered that accountability works.
Louis McBurney is a psychiatrist and founder of Marble Retreat in Marble, Colorado.
1996 by Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP journal
Last Updated: September 17, 1996
