Failure is the path to success, but only if we learn from mistakes and press on.
— Stuart Briscoe
Before I came to Elmbrook Church, a good friend said he didn’t think I would last twelve months (I had no previous experience as a pastor, and I was new to America). To survive, he said, I had to avoid two things: a building program and a constitutional revision.
The first week after I assumed pastoral responsibilities, the deacons reported that the constitution was outdated and needed a revision; they had waited for my arrival to begin the process.
Bearing in mind my friend’s “prophecy,” I stalled for twelve months, but then we got into it. After several committee meetings without incident, one night, at a congregational meeting, I went through a cheese grater.
We were discussing the mode of baptism when some disagreements surfaced. The meeting quickly turned into a debate between me and one person after another who jumped up in the congregation. At first they addressed the issue, but as tempers frayed, they began to attack me. Someone suggested, “If you don’t like it in America, it might be a good idea if you went back to England.”
My wife, Jill, felt people were beating up on me, so she stood to speak in my defense. But before she could finish a sentence, she burst into tears and ran from the auditorium. A half dozen others walked out of the meeting. It was quite unpleasant.
That night I drove home with a deep sense of failure and disbelief. I had done what they asked: suggested ways to bring the constitution in line with our actual church practice. But the result had been open conflict and anger. I had gone into the meeting with somewhat naive assumptions, and when tempers began to flare, I didn’t manage the conflict well.
I had previously worked as a bank examiner and, before that, had served in the Marines, but I had never been shredded as I experienced that night.
Grave concerns filled my mind. I realized I didn’t know my people as I thought. Their emotional intensity shocked me. My wife felt she could never show her face again at church. I wondered if we hadn’t blundered coming from Britain to America.
Slip-ups haunt every pastor: a sermon that folds to the ground like a shot mallard, annual goals that aren’t reached, a meeting that runs amuck for lack of preparation. And some “slip-ups” are much more than that: shouting at a member, inattention to the budget, talking publicly about something mentioned in a pastoral conversation. These can cause long-term problems.
After twenty-two years at the same church, however, I’ve learned that mistakes needn’t be final nor fatal.
In the Wake of a Mistake
At the time, mistakes never feel like “the kiss of Jesus,” as Mother Teresa described some failures, meaning that they drive us to God and away from dependence on ourselves. Rather, our hearts churn with painful emotions and impulses. If we don’t understand these emotions, we’re likely to make things worse.
• Regret: Those who marry at our church undergo premarital counseling and take personality inventories. Sometimes, even though these precautions signal that the couple should have a successful marriage, I have nagging reservations. I can’t always put my finger on what bothers me, and I wonder whether it is my place to ask the couple to wait longer.
And sometimes, three years later they’re separated or divorced. Then I wonder, Is this partly my fault? Should I have taken stronger leadership in their lives? Should I have refused to marry them?
Second-guessing myself is easy. On occasion I find myself thinking things like, I should have been more sensitive with her, or I should have guessed what was happening with him. Usually my failings in dealing with others aren’t major in themselves, but at the time they feel that way.
• Frustration: At one stage when we were experiencing significant growth, we realized a considerable number of people stood on the sidelines; they were not getting integrated into the church’s life.
I came up with what I considered to be a marvelous plan for providing pastoral care for individuals on the fringe. The idea was to recruit leaders who would (a) commit to praying daily for designated individuals who weren’t in a small group, (b) call them once a week on the phone, and (c) visit them in their homes once every quarter.
On paper, the structure looked impressive, and the more I discussed it with others in the church, the more enthusiastic they became. So we began implementing the plan.
Immediately we heard complaints. “Couldn’t we just pray for these people when they come to mind?” leaders objected. Concerning the weekly phone call, “It seems a bit much,” they said candidly. Visiting everyone once a quarter drew even less enthusiasm: “Do we actually have to meet with them in their homes? What if we just seek them out after church?”
The so-called “periphery people” didn’t like the scheme either. They were loathe to divulge personal, specific prayer requests. They stayed on the periphery because they felt comfortable there, content to remain believers rather than belongers.
In theory, the whole plan had sounded marvelous. In reality, no one wanted to have anything to do with it. I did my best to talk people into it but grew only more frustrated with them. Eventually I realized that the idea was faulty given the mindset of our culture. The whole enterprise finally died a quiet death and was laid to rest in a private ceremony with few mourners.
• Self-pity: We can adopt a victim mentality. We can feel sorry for ourselves. That’s as natural as holding our hand after burning it on a hot griddle. But if it lasts very long, the wound never heals; the pain never leaves, and we are crippled. There is no doubt that some churches abuse their pastors, and I know not a few young men — some in our congregation — who have been so hurt in other churches that they feel they can never face the ministry again.
• Paralysis: After a failure a pastor sometimes can’t snap out of it, can’t move on with confidence to the next challenge. When we dwell on the past — wishing over and over that we had handled a situation differently, sliding into depression, questioning our abilities — we suffer a paralysis that only compounds our mistakes. In some ways, failure is the path to success, but only if we learn from mistakes and press on.
• Flight reflex: One young man in our church started a daughter church that grew rapidly. After a few years his church’s leaders decided they needed a constitution. While trying to hammer out the details, the church split.
Completely discouraged, he came to see me. “Stuart, you taught us that when instituting change, we have to drop the pebble in the pool and then wait. I did that, but it didn’t work.” (I had told him that analogy to show that we should never try to make changes until we have dropped an idea in people’s minds, given them time to think it over, get accustomed to it, and then give feedback.)
“Tell me what you did,” I said. The divisive issue was the role of women. He had pressed for consensus too fast, not allowing the “ripples” enough time to work their way to the bank and back before he called for a decision. I said, “You didn’t drop a pebble in the pool; you heaved a boulder into a bathtub, and it went right through the floor!”
Now he and his wife were discouraged and sure they should leave the church. “Failure isn’t final,” I told him. “I don’t question your integrity, and neither should anyone else. Let the dust settle for a while. Admit to the people, “I made an error in judgment. Let’s put this behind us.”
He stayed at the church, and now they’re doing extremely well. And in recent months, we have seen major reconciliations taking place after years of estrangement.
Whose Ears Will Hear?
Years back I traveled to England to preach for several weeks. I was greatly refreshed by the fellowship with other church leaders and the ministry that occurred. By the end of my trip, I felt like a new man, and I realized how tired I had been. I thought, The last few months, I haven’t been giving my best to the congregation.
My first Sunday home I said to the church, “Before I preach today, I want you to know I had a wonderful and refreshing time in England. It helped me see that I haven’t been all that you could reasonably expect. Recently I’ve been resting on my oars a bit. I apologize for that.”
People responded in two ways.
Some said, “Stuart, that was the greatest thing you’ve ever done. Now we know you’re human.”
Others said, “Don’t ever do that again. That’s totally unnerving.” They didn’t want their pastor taken off the pedestal.
When we make mistakes, it can be another mistake to tell others about it. Telling eager listeners may backfire. They go home and relate a slightly different version of the story to their friends. Their friends tell other friends a different version still. In the end, it sounds like I’ve been sleeping in my office all day!
Since many can’t handle such information, I admit mistakes on a need-to-know basis. What is the group’s role? How will my admission help the hearers? How would the church be hurt if they didn’t know?
As I look back on my “resting on the oars” admission, I realize the congregation didn’t need to know. It made me feel better, but all the people needed was my renewed energies.
The Comeback
“Nothing is easy in war,” said Dwight Eisenhower. “Mistakes are always paid for in casualties, and troops are quick to sense any blunder made by their commanders.”
That accurately describes pastoral blunders, as well. Though the price of failure is steep, it is not necessarily terminal.
David’s recovery from his sin with Bathsheba, referred to in Psalm 51, is a model for recovery from any serious mistake.
1. Admit the failure to yourself. “I know my transgression, and my sin is always before me” (v. 3). People try many things to avoid repairing the gushing hole in the hull that results from a grave failure: they blame others, rationalize, deny, make excuses. But if they refuse to admit their failing, they will eventually founder and sink.
2. Admit the failure to the Lord. “Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight” (v. 4).
3. Claim God’s faithfulness and forgiveness. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions” (v. 1).
4. Come to terms with your sinful humanity. “Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me” (v. 5). Errors can overwhelm and destroy those who have never faced up to their sinful nature.
A pastor friend told how an elderly woman in his church lay in the hospital near death. She had been seriously ill for some time, and he had seen her regularly. When one early morning he heard that her condition had become critical, he knew an immediate visit was in order. He planned to see her first thing after breakfast.
Having just faced two or three intense days, my friend was in no mood to jump into another hectic day. He dawdled over breakfast, sipping an extra cup or two of coffee while browsing the paper. When he finally arrived at the hospital ward, the woman’s son was just walking out: his mother had died ten minutes earlier.
Naturally, my friend was crushed; he knew he should have been there at least for the son (the women had been unconscious the whole night). Still, my friend recognized it wasn’t the first time he’d failed as a pastor, nor would it be the last. He sought God’s forgiveness, vowed to be more responsive the next time, and went on with his pastoral duties, albeit sorely chastened.
5. Ask God to put you together again. “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me” (v. 10). David turns the corner and takes hold of God’s pleasure in restoring the broken.
6. Turn to the task at hand. “Then I will teach transgressors your ways” (v. 13). David has dealt with his failing and restored his relationship with God; now he gets on with it. He deals with the new realities and makes the most of them.
I was listening to a football game recently and Dan Marino of the Miami Dolphins threw an interception. The commentator said, “One great strength of Marino is, like all great quarterbacks, he has a short memory.” In other words, he doesn’t dwell on interceptions. He knows what he did wrong. Instead of being paralyzed by an interception, he thinks, What’s the next play?
As a fallible person, I assume I will make mistakes. But I don’t spend a lot of time analyzing and regurgitating them. I learn from them and then move on.
In Case of a Moral Failure
A friend from another country called me after his moral failure came into the open. He had carried on a longstanding adulterous relationship with a woman in the congregation. The woman finally couldn’t bear the guilt any longer, and she told a friend, who leaked the news to others.
My friend apologized to the congregation. He expected them to forgive, take a vote of confidence, and carry on as before. Instead they told him to leave, and now he was bitter.
He had no sense that what he had done would call for more than the mere restoring of a fallen brother. A leader had grossly abused his trust and had done so for an extended period. He didn’t realize it would take an equally intense repentance and period of restoration to regain his pastoral credibility.
Spurgeon, in his Lectures to My Students, quoted another minister. “When a preacher of righteousness has stood in the way of sinners, he should never again open his lips in the great congregation until his repentance is as notorious as his sin.” I would paraphrase that to say, he belongs on the back pew until he is as well-known for his works of grace as for the notoriety of his failure.
A minister friend of mine sinned sexually, resigned his church, and underwent denominational discipline. He complained to me, “I’m an outcast. Other pastors with whom I used to talk regularly won’t have anything to do with me. I’ve cried all the tears I can cry. I’ve apologized to everyone I can. I’ve undergone discipline. It’s as if people want to keep on punishing me. I don’t think we understand grace.”
I feel for this man’s pain, but I would suggest that he needs to be willing not only to weep and apologize but also to do what it takes to establish credibility again. That takes time. He must accept less responsibility, less visibility, perhaps even go back to square one.
Many years ago in England, a parliamentary minister was charged with having an affair with a call girl who at the same time was having an affair with a high member of the Russian embassy. He stood in the House of Commons and denied it.
The next day, he was exposed as a liar. He immediately stood in Parliament and resigned. He left the public eye and began to work quietly for charity. Years later the queen honored him for his charitable work.
A like response to failure is fitting for any fallen pastor.
Staying the Course
In the constitutional debate that turned ugly, some older and wiser heads helped me out of hot water by coming to my side and whispering, “Why don’t we adjourn the meeting and continue tomorrow night?”
I agreed. Afterward they sat down with me and advised, “Stuart, we aren’t tackling this right. Instead of your standing up there taking all the shots, let’s put a table up front and have a panel.” They explained where the people were coming from and what kind of leadership I needed to exert in the situation.
An older woman in the congregation came to Jill, who had decided she would never set foot in church again, and said, “Jill, you will simply dry your face and come back and face the congregation tomorrow night. They love you, and they’ll forgive you. In fact, your stock has probably gone up considerably because you stood up for your husband; we see that you feel deeply.”
We followed their counsel. The issues weren’t easily resolved in one night, but over the ensuing weeks and months, the constitution was rewritten, and the church moved forward. Twenty-two years later, I am still the pastor of Elmbrook Church, living proof that mistakes aren’t final.
Copyright © 1993 by Christianity Today
