In the summer of 2009, I found myself staring professional death in the face. I was done with ministry—out! I'd spent the previous year getting hammered by the other leaders in the church. Church planting is hard enough without having to fight the very people you thought had your back. When I confronted a member of the board who had spent six months sabotaging my relationship with the rest of the board, he threatened me physically. That's how bad things had gotten. I was exhausted. My wife was depressed. My children were confused. It was the lowest point in my life.
Sometimes it is only when everything you hold dear is put at risk that you discover the faithfulness of God.
I remember going home and telling my wife about the incident with the board member. We just sat silently, staring at each other across the kitchen table. The next two weeks were brutal. I was scheduled to leave for Atlanta to do some doctoral work, so I was able to escape. My poor wife was left to deal with the fallout. People called asking about what had happened. Some who had been supportive turned cold and distant. My wife literally drew the curtains of our home and spent the next two weeks leaving only to go to work or pick up the kids. When I returned we talked every night and I could hear the weariness and despair in her voice. "How long do we have to keep doing this?" she would ask between sobs. I had no answer. "It's all I can do just to get up in the morning," I confessed. "I feel like I am just going through the motions of life, barely hanging on."
During this time I railed at God. "Why have you let this happen to me? Have I not been faithful? Have I not given you everything? Are you enjoying the train wreck my life has become?"
Three months earlier, my wife had uttered the words no pastor wants to hear. "I am miserable being married to you. It's either me or the ministry. You need to decide which is more important to you."
I had gotten so wrapped up in planting a church that I neglected my wife and children. And even though I'd devoted all my time and attention to the church plant, it was failing miserably. I couldn't even claim success as an excuse! I was irritable, angry. The most precious relationships in my life were withering. Ever since my wife and I first started dating, we had been deeply in love. We communicate well. We are confidants, best friends. She is the greatest gift God has ever given me. We have also always had great relationships with our children. But my obsession with planting a church and my desperate fear of failure was now putting my most important relationships at risk.
Warning Signs
Looking back, I should have seen the warning signs. When I first interviewed with the board, I shared with them the vision God had laid on my heart. I dreamed of a church completely sold out to the mission of God. I never wanted to own a church building. I didn't want much overhead. I wanted to pour resources into the community, and I was willing to go bi-vocational to make that happen. I dreamt of a network of small groups that would meet in neighborhoods, seeking to bless their communities.
God takes us through darkness and silence so we'll strain to see his face and hear his voice.
The board seemed to embrace this vision, even though they had spent almost 10 years planning and fundraising for a traditional church with a large building. For them to scrap that plan seemed a bit strange to me, but I guess I was arrogant enough to believe I had sold them on the new vision.
Big mistake. Within weeks of arriving at the church, the board and I were in conflict. It started with a negative comment here or there. Questions surfaced about the viability of the vision. The board members were unwilling to read the materials I gave them on how such a church would get started. Instead, they asked questions about how quickly we would grow and how we could measure success. Important topics, but the emphasis should have been a warning sign. Conflict continued to grow and after five months, they began pressuring me to abandon my original vision.
It was during this time I began meeting one-on-one with the board member who would later threaten me. For six months I met with him almost weekly. I confessed my sin. I shared my fears and my failures. I made myself completely vulnerable … and he used it against me. He would contact other members of our church and question my integrity. He used what I was sharing with him in private to undermine my character and erode the trust of the board. Every time I tried to confront him, he accused me of being prideful and arrogant. He beat me up emotionally in a way I had never experienced before and hope never to experience again.
At the end of six months, when I met to confront him, I was in tremendous pain. I was broken. But I wasn't quite done.
Over the next two months, I tried to acknowledge any mistakes I had made. I owned up to my fears and failures while confronting the board on its dysfunctional behavior. They promised to change. They promised they would stop having meetings and email exchanges that didn't include me. They committed themselves to being more transparent. But those were just words. Things never changed. I met with them one final time. I had two envelopes in my hand. The first was a printed copy of yet another email string that did not include me. "Why do we keep circling the same drain?" I asked. Silence. I slid the second envelope across the table. It contained my resignation. "I'm done."
Not only was I done with that church plant; I was done with ministry altogether. I was aware I was stepping out into thin air. I had no plans. No job prospects. No idea of how I would provide for my family. My wife and I had significant financial obligations we were carrying at the time and no way to meet them. I did have a severance package that would carry us for two months, but that was it. And yet, when I pushed that resignation letter across the table, all I felt was freedom. God was releasing me. All of the fear and pain and suffering I had gone through was finally coming to an end. And even though I didn't know what was next, I was at peace for the first time in a long time.
Lessons Learned
Painful though the experience was, I learned some valuable lessons. First, sometimes God wants us to go through pain. I know that sounds bad. It cuts against the grain of the prevailing theology that states, "God will not give you more than you can handle." I found the opposite to be true. God often gives us more than we can handle so we will learn to rely on him. God takes us through seasons of darkness and silence so we'll strain to see his face and hear his voice.
My marriage, family, and vocation were all at risk. I was failing in every area of my life.
I spent countless nights in prayer during my ordeal. I must have worn a path in the carpet of our living room with my pacing. Often I wondered if my prayers were just bouncing off the ceiling. I couldn't sense God. I couldn't see God. I couldn't hear God. I felt so alone and yet over that time, I found myself trusting in something deeper than my feelings. I began to understand the promises of God are not dependent on what I think or feel at a given moment. The more I leaned on God, the more I found him faithful.
Second, God used this time to expose sin in my life. I've always known I was sinner. I have readily acknowledged and confessed my sin. However, I learned more about the depth of my sin during this time than I ever imagined possible. I began to see how truly prideful and arrogant I was. I realized how desperately I feared failure. I harbored bitterness and anger. I grew selfish and reveled in my victimhood—all in an effort to justify my own feelings and actions.
After I resigned, the Holy Spirit began confronting me with the truth of who I had become. I found myself weeping frequently. One of the hardest things I learned was that everything the board member accused me of was truer than he realized. I was arrogant and prideful! My ego was wrapped up in what I was doing. I was being selfish. The intentions behind his accusations were not right, but what he said was true nonetheless. It reminded of something Charles Spurgeon once said: "If any man thinks ill of you, do not be angry with him; for you are worse than he thinks you to be."
Third, I learned God is faithful. You would think a pastor would know this already. But I found sometimes it is only when everything you hold dear is put at risk that you discover the faithfulness of God. It is only in those moments when you gain a trust that transcends circumstances and a "peace that passes all understanding."
During that season my marriage, family, and vocation were all at risk. I was failing in every area of my life. The ground on which I walked trembled.
Even my faith in God was shaken. But God proved faithful. He gave me just enough wisdom and just enough strength to take the next step in the journey. He never showed me the end. He never promised the next chapter would be any better. He simply revealed his will one step at a time. And he called me to trust. Trust not in a new call to ministry, not in a new church family, not in a paycheck or a change in scenery, but in the faithfulness of the One who promised to never leave me or forsake me.
New Beginnings
It turns out that though I'd sworn off ministry, God had different plans. He sent incredible friends and mentors into my life. They sat in the ruins of my life with me. They encouraged me to keep talking to God, even if what I had to say was angry and raw.
One of the friends who helped me in the wake of my resignation suggested I contact a church in Parker, Colorado, that had just gone through a very difficult time itself. Perhaps we could help each other heal. I contacted the church and sent them my resume not thinking much would come of it. Amazingly they responded, and it led to my accepting a position as their new pastor.
Four years later, I can see how far I have come. Our God is in the business of redemption and he has redeemed so much of my own pain. I've worked hard with God's grace to reconnect with my wife and children. Coming back to Colorado where my wife and I grew up and have family was a huge blessing. When we left 10 years ago to start this ministry journey, we never believed God would bring us back home.
Having our family support system around us has helped us reconnect and our marriage is stronger than ever. My relationships with my children are better as well as I have learned to maintain a healthy work-life balance.
Furthermore, God has used the church we serve to renew and restore me spiritually. I remember the last question the search committee asked me in the interview process. "What is your greatest fear if we offer you this position?"
"Well, let's be honest," I replied. "I am coming off a season of tremendous pain. The church is coming out of a season of tremendous pain. We are both on the rebound so to speak and that could be a total disaster!"
We all chuckled. I went on, "Or it could be that God is bringing us together for our mutual healing." There were tears in our eyes. Thankfully, by God's grace, the latter has happened.
Doug Resler is senior pastor of Parker Evangelical Presbyterian Church in Parker, Colorado.
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