A Time to Heal - Christianity Today

Standing at the Denver airport, Peter and Barbara Jensen decided to splurge and rent a convertible. Their next stop was Wal-Mart, where they bought a John Denver CD. With the car top down, they turned up the music and headed into the Rockies to let the wind, the mountains, and Marble Retreat bring some healing.

Barbara, the talker of the two, could hardly wait to get to Marble, a center "for ministers in crisis." She knew she had a number of issues to work through, and she was anxious to "get fixed." Peter didn't know what to expect.

"I wasn't apprehensive," said Peter in a recent interview. "I didn't know what was going to happen, but based on what little I knew, I wasn't fearful."

Peter is unusual. For many exhausted, struggling, strung-out pastors, the idea of going to a retreat center for pastors is even more stress producing: What exactly goes on at those places? Will it help someone like me? Is it the touchy-feely sort of thing that makes me so uncomfortable?

LEADERSHIP often features articles by specialists in ministry to pastors, as well as periodically listing some of the leading clergy-care ministries (see here). Here we go deeper and accompany one couple through the experience. The Jensen's story is not "typical." Each pastoral couple is unique. Still, hearing one couple's story (identifying details have been changed to protect their privacy) at one retreat center (here details have not been changed) will let you know what to expect.

This case: a slow betrayal

When I interviewed the Jensens, Peter had just moved to a new church six months earlier. What had prompted them to go to Marble? It wasn't adultery or embezzlement or a dramatic scandal. It was a common case of a church betraying its pastor.

At Peter's previous church in Indiana, things went well the first four years, with budget and attendance rising.

The first sign of trouble arose shortly after the church worked through a master plan, which included purchase of new property and construction of a Sunday school wing. All the committees and eventually the congregation approved it overwhelmingly.

"Then reality set in," says Peter. "It's one thing to put something on paper; it's another to take steps toward that becoming reality."

A few months later, the church council asked permission of the congregation to raise funds. About a fourth of the congregation voted no. Peter and the church council felt it best to put the project on hold pending more unanimity.

Though the building project went forward two years later, the same thing happened when Peter and the council proposed that Sunday school go to two morning sessions. Again, after months of study and planning, two weeks before the new schedule was to be implemented, Peter sensed significant opposition.

At a church council meeting, Peter wondered if they should postpone the change. "There was a collective sigh of relief," he remembers, with several deacons chiming in, "That's a great idea!"

A pattern of shying away from decisions was becoming ingrained.

Peter was optimistic when he introduced to the personnel committee a gifted and experienced man to lead a college ministry. The church was close to a major university and a large community college. The church's budget hovered around half a million, and Peter thought it was time to invite a part-time college minister, at $75 week, to begin a ministry. The committee decided it was more money than the church could afford.

Peter was devastated by their small-mindedness. What was going on? It took a constitutional crisis to make matters clear.

The last straw

As the church was revising its by-laws, Peter and the board chairman had agreed that Peter need not go to the preliminary meetings but would be invited when substantive matters were discussed. After months of meetings, Peter asked the chairman, "How are we coming with the by-laws?"

"We're still doing preliminary stuff," the chairman replied, "nothing you need to be concerned about."

Months later, Peter was finally invited. But at the beginning of that meeting, one of the members said, "We feel we're far enough along in this process that we can present this to the deacons for their input before we present it to the church."

What he noticed immediately was that in the list of church officers, the pastor was no longer included.

The chairman had reassured Peter earlier that week that nothing was firm, that all controversial issues could be openly discussed. But Peter had raised only a question or two when the chairman interrupted him. "After months of hard work by all these dedicated people, I don't think it's right that we question their work."

Peter told me, "After being there almost 18 years, to see that kind of behind-the-scenes misrepresentation—it broke my heart."

A vote was taken; the document was passed.

That confrontation was but the end of years of increasing tension between Peter and this hefty minority.

The years had taken their toll on Barbara and their three daughters, too. As always in church, there were awkward complications: for example, one of their daughters was best friends with the chairman's daughter. As the situation worsened, Barbara suffered bouts of depression and Peter's anxiety attacks—both of which would not be fully acknowledged until after their time at Marble—only became worse.

Peter announced his resignation soon after that crucial by-laws meeting, and by the spring of 1998, they were unemployed, disillusioned, and emotionally and psychologically exhausted.

When two sets of friends, unbeknownst to one another, each offered to pay Peter and Barbara's way to Marble, they sensed God's leading and made arrangements to go.

What's their problem?

Peter and Barbara, after driving along the Crystal River Valley, dotted with majestic pine and stands of aspen, turned onto Serpentine Road and there, tucked among tall pines with rocky peaks as a backdrop, sat the Marble lodge.

When they stepped inside, they met Henry, who was tending the fireplace. Henry and Eva, the host couple, attended to all the practical needs for the two weeks: preparing meals, housekeeping, and supplying firewood.

Since the Jensens were the first to arrive, they had the pick of the rooms, but they had a hard time deciding since each room had a balcony looking out over the mountains. Between the view, the coziness of the lodge, and the wildlife before them—they were most taken with the hummingbirds—they were already feeling some of their tension released.

Soon the two other couples arrived (at Marble, a group is normally four couples). Henry and Eva served a splendid dinner at a table set with mountain flowers. The other couples were missionaries, one from Latin America, and one from France. After light conversation (during which, they later discovered, each was thinking, What is their problem?), they retired for the night.

At Marble, mornings are given to group therapy, afternoons to one-hour sessions of individual therapy. The rest of the day, plus evenings and weekends, are free time, which in reality is a key part of the healing process.

The group sessions at Marble were led by Louis McBurney and his wife, Melissa. With his weathered face, scraggly beard, scratchy voice, and ready smile, Louis gives the impression of a lumberjack monk, but his degree is in psychiatry from Mayo Clinic.

Melissa strikes you initially as a gentle nurturer, but you're surprised to discover she's also a rugged backpacker and fearless jeeper on Colorado's washed out mining roads.

As the group settled into their chairs the first morning, Louis, from his rocking chair with coffee cup in hand, described the schedule and expectations for the two weeks, the confidentiality of the sessions, and suggested they begin by sharing life histories, beginning with childhood, family of origin, and relationships with parents. That took the rest of the morning.

The next day, Louis asked, "So what's going on?" Silence followed as the group tried to figure out what Louis meant. Peter and Barbara got the impression that Louis would have sat there in silence as long as necessary for someone to say something.

This initially puzzled the Jensens, who prefer clear agendas in meetings. Barbara remembers thinking, I'm only here for two weeks, and I want to be fixed. So whatever you have to do, go ahead.

In fact, there is an agenda. But Louis wants the couples to determine what to talk about and how quickly to get to important issues. It rarely takes more than a few seconds for someone to start talking. Once issues are raised, Louis then explores them with the group.

With this group, it didn't take long for the pain to be shared.

Their stories unfold

The two from France were struggling in their marriage. Dave was highly involved in his ministry, and when he was home, he kept his thoughts to himself. His wife, Ginger, meanwhile, had been enduring the stress of living in a different culture and raising the kids all by herself. She felt Dave had neglected the children in their crucial younger years, and she herself felt lonely, neglected, misunderstood, and under-appreciated. Dave, for his part, was hurt by her accusations.

The couple from Latin America was trying to deal with living in a politically volatile and frequently violent situation. This caused enormous stress on their relationship as the husband felt called and ennobled by that call while the wife simply felt afraid for herself and the children. She felt he needlessly risked their lives; he felt she wasn't devoted enough to God.

Barbara was quick to jump in. "I've been in a state of on-and-off depression for years," she said. "The way it manifests in my life is through weight gain and weight loss, up and down. I would lose 60 pounds, then gain it right back.

"At one point, my doctor told me, 'Barbara, you have classic signs of depression.' At this time, I was thin, dressing sharp, looking good, to be frank. But even though I had a wonderful facade, he could see right through it. He started treating me, though I didn't stay on the medication long."

Part of the problem was that Barbara had become a buffer for Peter. "When the church made demands on Peter's time and energy, it affected our family life. Whenever he was called to visit the hospital or attend some meeting, I had to pick up the slack at home. It seemed like whenever I needed him, he wasn't there. There wasn't anyone to talk to. My girls were about the closest thing, but I didn't want to unload on them."

Barbara also mentioned to the group Peter's anxiety attacks—something Peter first balked at but then realized that if that was something that troubled her, she had the right to share it. Barbara said Peter was unaware of the anger building in him, and she saw his denial bearing fruit: Peter found it increasingly difficult to drive, especially around cities. At first it was just moments of panic when he felt trapped on freeways, but it wasn't long before he simply could not drive certain places. So, when he had a commitment in the city, Barbara began rearranging her schedule so she could drive him.

"I would make excuses as to why I should drive," she said. "I'd say I wanted to spend time with him, or that I was going in that direction anyway. I knew the real reason; he knew the reason. But we couldn't talk about it."

At one point, she became alarmed. "I realized that if I had a crisis and had to get to the hospital, I couldn't depend on him to get me there—a frightening thought."

On the sharing went for two mornings, each person telling his or her story, Louis asking clarifying questions, other members of the group reacting. Peter, meanwhile, was being very pastoral.

"I sat there on Monday and Tuesday and listened to these other people bare their souls, talk about their problems and their frustrations and their anger," he says. "I thought, I need to pray for these people, to minister to them—all the time ignoring the anger that had built up in me."

I'm only here for two weeks, and I want to be fixed. So whatever you have to do, go ahead.

On Wednesday morning, it was Peter's turn.

Pastors don't get angry, do they?

After Peter told his story about the church and the by-laws, Louis asked, "Do you find yourself being angry?"

"I don't know if anger is right." Anger was an inappropriate emotion that accomplished little good, Peter felt. "They are good people at heart," he said. "They were really trying to serve God, but they just got confused sometimes."

"But was it fair what they did to you?" Louis asked.

"Well, maybe not."

"And that doesn't make you angry?"

"Shocked. Surprised. Disappointed. Even outraged. But I don't know about angry."

Louis turned to the group. "What do you feel when you hear Peter's story?"

"It makes me angry what they've done to you," said the missionary from France.

"Anger is not strong enough," chimed in his wife. "It makes me furious."

Slowly, as the group talked and Louis probed, Peter was able to recognize that he was, in fact, deeply angry, and that this was one cause of his anxiety attacks.

"The Marble experience forced me to be honest, which is kind of an oddball thing," he says. "Why should I have to be forced to be honest? I'd put layers of spin on every situation, and those layers had to be peeled off."

Peter couldn't imagine that people would accept him if he admitted being an angry person. But something surprised him when he admitted his anger.

The wife of the Latin American missionary spoke up toward the end of that session. "Peter, when we first got here, I sensed you were holding back. Here we are spilling our guts, and you're just sitting there like you don't have these kind of problems. But this morning you opened up, and you let us know that you're having problems just like we're having. And I want you to know I like you better this way."

Peter remembers getting cold chills at that point: "I was operating under the illusion that if I could keep my best foot forward, then people would like me. But she was saying just the opposite. It blew me away."

Raw edges, healthy core

"After a few sessions," says Peter, "there really wasn't any need to hold back. We could let go. That's one of the unique dynamics of the Marble experience. We'd hear and feel a lot of the pent-up emotion, especially between the couples."

At times, Peter prayed they wouldn't witness a knock-down, drag-out fight, but on reflection he realized that no one ever shouted; this was just loving, forceful honesty, which he was not used to.

Now he says, "That's part of the risk in that kind of setting: if people are making a good faith effort to be honest, there will be some raw edges and some raw nerves. That's part of the therapeutic process."

During tense moments, the therapist is key. At one point, Peter says, Dave was getting uptight as his wife unloaded her frustration. "He felt he was being misrepresented. I'm sure he was embarrassed. Every so often he would say, 'Aren't we going a little too far here?' "

When Louis felt the tension level was too high, he'd invite other people to react: "Okay, what do you think about what they're saying?" Or he'd call for a break, or ask clarifying questions to make sure reality matched the emotions.

Free-time therapy

For Peter and Barbara free time was as therapeutic as the sessions. Meals enjoyed with the other couples, the competitive card games and Ping-Pong afterwards, produced healing laughter and tight friendships that are now preserved by e-mail.

They spent unhurried time together as a couple—walks in the forest, following meandering streams or mountain ridges, refreshed their spirits. Barbara, in fact, received her most healing moment during one of their trips into Aspen.

She and Peter went to see The Horse Whisperer one evening. She was sobbing by the end. In the movie, the horse, Pilgrim, gets hit by an 18-wheeler, is severely injured and becomes extremely skittish. The rider, an adolescent named Grace, has to have a leg amputated. Grace's mother drags them both to Montana to see if a master horse trainer can bring healing to Pilgrim and, the mother hopes, to an embittered and hopeless Grace.

In a final scene, the trainer forces Pilgrim to its knees so that Grace can once more touch him. Barbara wrote in her diary that night, "Finally, the horse had to lie down and let Grace come over and love him and stroke him again. They were healed together. Both had to receive healing for it to work."

To Barbara, Grace was Peter; she saw herself as the horse, and the ranch was like Marble Retreat. She shared all this with the group as a powerful means of her own healing.

Snapshots of renewal

Two weeks of intense exploration into one's life cannot be summarized, in one brief article. A highlight reel will have to do:

Barbara saw for the first time her tendency to want to fix things. As Peter put it, "If people are broken, she wants to fix them. And sometimes they're not actually broken. And if they are, they may not want her to fix them."
Peter learned the need to be frank with people: "I discovered I need to be more assertive, straightforward. Not mean or pushy, but I do have an obligation to tell people who I am and what I believe are priorities. They don't have to agree, but they need to know where I'm coming from."
Peter was able to explore freely the possibility of not returning to the pastorate. In his private sessions with Louis, he talked of his interest in real estate. In fact, when Peter was invited to a new church a few months after his Marble experience, having the psychological space to consider other options gave him more freedom to accept the call. He didn't do it because he was trapped but because he really wanted to.
Peter made immediate progress on his anxiety attacks. "While we were still in Colorado, I drove along the Crystal River and down to Carbondale at the other end of the valley. On those mountain roads you don't always have a place to pull off and regroup. I knew that part of the therapy was to begin confronting that apprehension."

Both Peter and Barbara had to learn that Marble was not going to solve all their problems. There was, and is, healing yet to come. In one journal entry, written a month after Marble, Barbara admits: "Our immediate future is a big question mark, but I must trust the Lord when he promises to have a plan for us not to harm us but to prosper us. My heart hurts. I still want to withdraw."

Peter continues to work on complete forgiveness. Recently he returned to Indiana for a funeral. He stopped in at a clothing store to buy a new belt. Inside he recognized one of the principal players in his last church.

"I said to myself, 'I don't need the belt that badly,' and I just walked back out."

They now live in a situation that is producing plenty of stress—getting to know a new church and community, building a new home, plenty of frustrations.

But as Peter puts it, "As a result of Marble, I have a fresh perspective about anger—that anger is pretty much a part of life. Anger itself is not so bad; it's how you channel it, how you resolve that anger."

Barbara says, "It was an enormously strategic opportunity to start a process that does bring about resolution—not in total, not in two weeks, but some significant progress."

Mark Galli is editor-at-large for LEADERSHIP and editor of CHRISTIAN HISTORY