Pastor, I'm Offended - Christianity Today

I was shutting down my computer and heading to bed when the phone rang.

“I hate to tell you this.” I recognized the voice of our head elder. “Mary is not happy with our decision to deny her homeschoolers group time to give out awards during Sunday morning worship. She is offended.”

My stomach tightened. It was happening again: another person offended. I had nothing to say. “Oh well,” I mumbled.

I got little sleep that night, possible solutions tossing and turning in my head.

I hate offending anyone. It doesn’t fit my character. I long to see people happy. No one warned me that by becoming a pastor I would be a stone in others’ shoes. But after ten years in ministry, I am accepting the fact that my calling requires me to offend some people.

I’m a repeat offender

During my first year as a pastor, I called on a church member. A neighbor stopped in and joined our conversation. Soon the man was spicing his sentences with every swear word I had heard during four years in the Air Force.

Not wanting to embarrass him, I kept my objections to myself, but I noticed my host shifting in her seat.

“Oh, Ray,” she said, “I forgot to mention when I introduced you that Lanny is our pastor.”

Within seconds the man excused himself and left, slamming the door behind him. That day I discovered my very presence intimidates and offends some people.

That reaction I can understand. Pastors offend because we are perceived as good. Some people feel they must clean up their behavior in my presence. But I underestimated just how offensive I, as a representative of the gospel, can be—even to believers.

Our congregation contains many from Baptist backgrounds and others from charismatic traditions. Whenever I preach on the Holy Spirit, my sermons will offend someone. One such time a person told me I wasn’t letting the Spirit “have his way.” Another complained my interpretations were “too Pentecostal.”

Some I offend by the decisions my position requires me to make. (“Why don’t you ever pick the old hymns?” “You never let my son sing a solo!”) And some are offended by the authority inherent in the pastorate.

Not long ago a member came to see me. “Pastor, I want to know who you are accountable to. It appears to me that everyone around here rubber stamps your decisions.” The elders, church board, and I work as a team, but my explanation did not assuage his anger.

This man was offended by the authority that comes with my position. The cleric’s collar may be a symbol of meekness to some but others interpret it as a policeman’s badge. Many people have been hurt by authority figures—some by previous pastors—and I wear the same uniform.

Trading purple heart for a red badge

Perhaps the most offensive task of the pastor is confrontation.

A few years ago, it became evident that our keyboardist felt threatened by the other musicians. She was openly critical of their performance. She made no secret that she thought she was the best.

After gathering the facts and praying for courage, I confronted her. She burst into tears and admitted that she struggled with pride. I left the meeting with some optimism. Later, her husband asked to speak with me.

“How could you do that to my wife?” He insisted on an apology. No answer satisfied him. They left the church.

I don’t enjoy this part of my calling. I prefer to counsel rather than confront. My gift is more mercy than prophecy. But my aversion to confrontation also has roots in a lack of faith. I had to face my own sinful habit of controlling by keeping everyone happy. I admit I like to be liked. I am learning to concentrate on God’s view of me and be less concerned with the opinions of others. Jesus’ contemporaries weren’t pleased with him either—”they took offense at him” (Matt. 13:57).

Avoiding offense often causes more offense in the long run.

Several things have given me courage to offend—when necessary. First, there’s my support system at home and at church. My wife many times has prompted me to confront one of our sons or to stick to an unpleasant family policy. In church matters, she is often the first to notice when I am avoiding confrontation. My father, a retired pastor, also keeps me on course.

My elders play an important and supportive role. When sin has to be dealt with or an unpopular decision implemented, the elders gather around and pray. Sometimes I just need to hear them say, “You did the right thing.”

And I have been bolstered by the experiences of other pastors. It helped me tremendously to read Lynne and Bill Hybels’s book, Rediscovering Church, and learn that Bill had to face many difficulties along Willow Creek’s road to success. Leadership training from gifted men like John Maxwell has given me the confidence to risk offense. Avoiding offense often causes more offense in the long run. I am learning to take the necessary risk right away.

Second, learning to confront effectively has lessened the likelihood that I will flee sticky situations. While offense may not always be avoidable, it can be minimized if conflicts are handled properly. Strategies that help sweeten the bitterness of confrontation include affirming the person, stating the facts up front, expressing your feelings, and attacking the problem instead of the person.

Another tactic that has steeled me for confrontation is foreseeing the responses people may have to a decision and bringing them out in the open. The elders and I discovered this by accident when facing the possibility of a church split.

The best defense is a good …

After we asked some key people in our church to disband their potentially dangerous home group, rumors began to circulate about our church leadership.

Things worsened when a couple of the families chose to leave our fellowship but continued their negative communication with several church members. I had allowed their divisive meetings to continue too long without confrontation. Now we were forced to act.

The elders and I discussed strategy. If we remained silent, the rumors would grow. If we openly discussed the issue, what setting would we use? We certainly didn’t want to drag this into the morning worship service. And how could we help the congregation understand and accept our decision?

Then wisdom spoke. Mike, one of our elders, suggested that we put on paper all the criticisms we had heard and address them head on. We listed all the questions and accusations that we could think of, including the ones we deemed ridiculous. Had we asked people to leave the church? Was the leadership team power hungry? Was the pastor doing the thinking for the elder board? Were we against charismatics?

Since we were only days away from our annual congregational meeting, we decided to make time on the agenda for the list of questions—with answers.

I started the meeting with a nervous stomach. “Most of you know that some families have recently left our church. (I listed their names.) You have heard stories which have likely raised serious questions in your mind. You may have assumed that since we have made no public statement that everything is secret, but this is not the case. This evening I want to discuss openly concerns that may be on your hearts.”

There was dead silence in the room. As I proceeded down the list of concerns and criticisms, I could tell people were on board, although they were surprised at our candor. As I continued, people began to relax and sit deeper into their seats. Smiles broke out at some of the questions. When finished, I held my breath, prayed to myself, then asked if there were any additional questions. I wondered if a dam of accusations would break out. Again, there was silence. A peaceful silence.

At the end of the meeting, many people came forward to affirm the leaders for being forthright. I went to bed that evening knowing that a possible division in the congregation had been put to rest. Time has proven us right. And trust in our leadership team has increased.

A brave affront

A few times, I have witnessed blessing come out of offense. A young married man in our church had to be confronted when it was discovered that he was having an affair. He left the church.

Several years later he called and asked to see me. With tears in his eyes he apologized for the grief he had caused. Then he thanked me for my courage in confronting his sin and for taking the stand I did. Today he is a restored member of our worship team. Knowing that God can turn offense into gain is encouragement to be faithful to the truth.

A few days ago I had a discussion with my youngest son, Nathan, who is in the first year of college. He is thinking about becoming a pastor. I warned him to make sure he feels God’s calling on his life. “Pastoring is not easy,” I warned him. “And it’s probably not all you think it is.”

“Like what?” he said.

“Well, for one,” I began, “let’s talk about being an offense.”

Lanny Kilgore is pastor of New Covenant Community Church 264 McCalls Ferry Rd. Airville PA 17302 landkilgo@aol.com