The Day I Burned My Green Card - Christianity Today

PASTOR’S SOUL

One of my seminary professors was working as a missionary in Zimbabwe when civil war broke out. He and thousands of others fled the bloodshed.

They were stopped at the border. The neighboring country refused to absorb any more refugees.

Trapped between the border guard and encroaching rebel forces, not even the missionaries were allowed in. However, each missionary was given a green card. These cards would allow them entrance if the fighting reached the camp.

One day, while ministering to some refugees, my professor said that he understood their fears. He felt justified saying that—after all, he too had been displaced by the civil war, he too was frightened of the approaching rebels, he too feared a massacre. One older refugee looked at him and said, “You will not know how we feel until you burn your green card.”

Our professor’s voice grew quiet in the classroom and his head bowed in shame even years afterward. He prayed all night, he said, but he decided not to burn his card. As much as he loved the people and had become part of their community, he was not able to take the final step and commit to die with them.

The story touched me deeply, but I never thought I would face a similar issue in Argyle, Wisconsin.

Mis-matched

In a world where size counts, ministering in a rural setting can be disheartening. As pamphlets come across my desk describing how some pastor increased church attendance by 500 in six months, I think to myself that I would be happy with six new members in 500 months. Here attendance is cut in half if one family has a weekend reunion.

One Sunday while speeding from one church to the other (I pastor a two-point parish), I was angry—angry that I had just preached to more empty pews than people. Bursting through the doors at the second church, I knew that pews would out-populate people again.

During the time of silence for confession of our personal sins, I inwardly denounced the lack of commitment of our members.

Later, after I received the offering (from two fill-in acolytes because the ones scheduled didn’t show up), I turned toward our beautiful, old white altar. In the middle stands a life-size statue of the resurrected Jesus, magnificent in its detail and realism. Jesus is walking toward the congregation, his wounded hands stretched out toward us.

As I raised the offering, my eyes met his, and immediately I was convicted of my outburst. In my mind I could hear Jesus say, “And what about you, Dan? When are you going to commit yourself to my people here?”

What followed was a six-month struggle with my green card.

The confrontation

My prayer life was swallowed up with the challenge set before me: Can I stay for years in this community? Can I put down deep roots here? Is my dilemma from a lack of love for these people? Do I truly believe in the call of God to this parish? If so, how do I discern whether God is telling me to go or to dig in? The questions were endless, and alone I struggled with my future at these two churches.

Alone, I say, but in hindsight, I realize that congregations struggled too.

I am the type of pastor who feels lost if he doesn’t have a plan for the church. During this time everything was done that needed to be done; conversations continued, laughter and tears were shared. But my spiritual wandering caused the church to wander too. Although my parish didn’t know how deep my struggle was, they sensed this lack of commitment on my part.

No one ever addressed the problem outright. Perhaps the five previous pastors who each stayed no more than four years had conditioned them for this. They started to pull back. Council decisions became more difficult. Were they guarding themselves against starting a program only to have the program leader leave? Rumors of my departure surfaced monthly. And for my part, comments from members hit with great force. Good comments made me want to stay, bad comments made me think it was time to go. We were swinging on the pendulum of uncertainty.

My spiritual wandering caused the church to wander too.

Four months into my struggle, a confrontation at one council meeting made me realize that my wandering was harming the church. I had to make a decision soon on whether to burn my green card or use it.

We were discussing the problem of absentee members. Family ties are tight in our rural setting. Some members had dropped out of church, and their absence was causing tension. Their relatives wanted a plan to bring loved ones back to the church, but they saw nothing coming. One council member who I respect a great deal looked at me and with tears in her eyes said, “We have to do something!”

That plea cornered me, for there is no quick solution to this problem. It would take months, even years to accomplish. “Is this pastor willing to do what we need?” is what I heard that night.

No exit?

The next day I went to lunch with my wife, Ann. We left town and went to a restaurant where we would not be known or interrupted. She is always privy to my spiritual life, and I told her of my need to end the struggle. It was a decision I could not make alone, not only because of the need to have her spiritual wisdom, but also because Argyle was home to her and our two boys. Moving would affect us all.

My questions to her started out simply enough: Do you like living in here? Do you like your job? Do you like the community and the church? Then I turned to the most important question: “Ann, do you love these people?”

Her answer was honest and firm. “I do—and you do too. So why are you finding it so difficult to make this commitment?”

“Commitment is hard, Ann. Don’t you see?” I was getting irritated. She was making my deep emotional and professional issue sound too simple. “If we move forward on the project I’ve been thinking about, then I will be with them for the next three years. Our options won’t be reduced, they’ll be eliminated.”

“And that scares you?”

“It means I will be obligated to stay no matter what comes down the pike—no exit—no escape hatch. I look at our church and community and I wonder how we can ever grow. To be honest, it’s nice to think you have a way out.”

“A way out,” Ann replied, “but no way to grow personally, or for the church to grow spiritually. I wonder about some aspects of our relationship at times, but I’m still here.”

On our wedding night, Ann and I made a vow that we would never even mention the word “divorce.” We believe our commitment before God is a permanent one. We joke that we will either work through our problems, and have our relationship and love grow deeper, or we’ll have wait for the Lord to take one of us.

Our discussion brought me to the heart of the matter: God was asking me for that same commitment. Was I willing to love these people with all my heart, regardless of the risk? When I accepted the challenge, my relationship with the parish took on new meaning and new depth.

Sitting at the table with my wife that day, I burned my green card.

A phoenix in Argyle

When the annual meeting of the congregations came, I presented them with a long-term plan for the church. We would redevelop our council as spiritual leaders rather than administrators. I hoped they would infect the whole church with a renewed sense of purpose, with the desire to fulfill the Great Commission in Argyle.

“This plan,” I ended my presentation, “will take three years to accomplish. And if you adopt this plan, I promise you all that I will be here to see it through.”

The response was heartening. The congregation passed the plan unanimously and with great joy. The doubt that hovered over our relationship dissolved and a union was born. I became one of them, one with them.

The meeting ended as we usually only dream, with everyone believing that the next year would really be better than the last.

The rumors of my leaving ended.

A great compliment was paid to me about four months later. I explained to the church that I wanted to try a worship service occasionally that would be different from our usual one to see if it would work. One older member came through the line following worship that day and said, “I think that’s one of the craziest ideas I’ve ever heard at this church, but we trust you.”

Three and a half years have passed since I burned my green card. We started another three-year project at our last annual meeting. Statistically we are growing, although at a snail’s pace, but statistics don’t tell the whole story. In this parish, a relationship is growing, because of the commitment between the pastor and the church. We laugh, we cry, we lean on each other.

Word got out a month ago that I had been contacted by a growing suburban church. While I was speaking with a member of the congregation, another woman approached us and asked if the rumor was true. My dear church member smiled and said, “Could be, but he’s not going any place.”

The questioner turned to me. I nodded. “She’s right. I’m not going any place.”

Daniel L. Bohlman pastors Apple Grove and Yellowstone Lutheran churches P. O. Box 217 Argyle WI 53504