Seminary, Being Judgmental, Self-Righteousness, and Other Thoughts, Part I

My new friend from the Work In Progress blog who comments here frequently asked me an honest question recently, which reminded me of something I've been wanting to blog about for a while.

I think I've mentioned before that I was somewhat judgmental as a pastor before my fall. I also discovered that I was self-righteous. I think those two things go hand in hand. After talking to several other fallen pastors from across the country, I've discovered that these qualities are very common. Let me give you some back story before I explain that.

When I got the call to ministry, the logical step for me was to attend seminary. I attended a very conservative Southern Baptist seminary. I didn't have a strong religious educational background except for what I had learned in Sunday School and a few undergraduate religious classes.

I went to seminary with the expectation it would prepare me for a pastoral career. I hoped it would get me ready to minister as I learned practically how to care for people. That a Master of Divinity would transform me into the man of God who magically knew how to pastor a congregation.

Uh huh.

Let me give you a quick disclaimer. I don't have a problem with seminary. I loved my seminary and I'd do it all over again. I'll get to what went wrong in a minute.

I got a seminary education bereft of spiritual formation. Now, listen to what I'm saying first. It was ultimately my fault that I didn't get the spiritual benefit. There were about four to six practical classes in the whole mix. They urged us on several occasions to make sure we were part of a good church where we were getting fed. They told us that seminary education was no replacement for spiritual growth. They told us that sermon preparation was not the same as edification for our soul.

Got that part.

But during an 18 hour class schedule, most students don't take the time to do the spiritual work.

There were professors who made you do the spiritual work. I had several professors who forced us to do written quiet times and reflect on certain passages and hand them in on a daily basis. I'm still not sure what to think of that, but their hearts were in the right place.

Here was where I failed. And this is tough for me to write, but I write it hoping it will help someone else out there, because I know there are some out there who will benefit from it. So here goes.

The first day of seminary, they herded us into a room to do some preliminary testing to see if we needed some extra classes. One of the PhD students addressed all of us newbies: "50% of you will not graduate. Of those of you who do, 50% of you will not make it past the first two years of ministry."

Fantastic.

I pondered why 50% of seminary students didn't make it through. I found out in a hurry. Most of them said they couldn't afford it anymore. That wasn't the truth, though. I found out for myself.

Seminary is made up of a lot of factual information. Theology. History. Ecclesiology. Hermeneutics. So forth. A lot of stuff that I had never heard. It was stuff that challenged my own beliefs. My own system of thought. It challenged my faith.

Can you believe that? That in seminary they would challenge your beliefs? (That was sarcasm.)

In my early second year, it got so bad for me that I was questioning the existence of God. Honestly. We were learning so much, so fast that our heads were swimming. It was more than a lot of people could take. More than I could almost take.

When I talked to students who were leaving, I'd ask them, "Why are you really leaving?" When I got past the first five minutes of, "I can't afford this anymore," they'd finally say, "I just miss the old time religion. When things were simple."

Their faith had been challenged too severely.

I'd encourage them to stay and work it out. But they'd leave. It was tough. It was tough for me.

Obviously, I finally worked it out. But my faith had been shaken to the core. But I probably didn't work it out the way I should have. From the moment I "worked it out," I began to "study" God. No longer did I have the same reverence for God, but I looked at God like a thing to be studied and not a God to be worshipped.

It was an easy thing to do, too. Especially in an environment when all you do is study. When all you do is break down the atonement, theories of the fall, whether you're a trichotomist or dichotomist, argue over open membership vs. closed membership, study the history of church thought, examine document sources, read the Puritans, study and debate ethics, and fade away to sleep every night with a 20 pound book on your chest due for discussion the next day.

What's even worse is that hardly anyone at seminary is immune from "studying" God. There were super seminary students who kept it all together. They did. They kept their spiritual level high while grinding out the papers. I don't know how.

You know what happens when you study God like that? Even if you don't mean to? A horrible thing begins to happen to your soul. You begin to think you're a little better than people who aren't seminary trained. That's called self-righteousness.

Some of you who read this who went to seminary may disagree. That's fine. You may not have had the same experience. God love you. I'm glad you didn't. Seminary doesn't have the same effect on everyone. But it has this effect on a lot of people. And again, seminary doesn't necessarily do this to people. But if self-discipline isn't enacted, it'll happen.

Case in point, seminary students had a reputation at local churches. Especially in Sunday School classes. People from the town had the feeling and generalization that seminary students were arrogant know-it-alls. Now where would they get that idea?

From the handful of students who felt that a seminary education made them better than the general public. They showed up at these churches, sat in their Sunday School classes, told the layman teacher why they were wrong every Sunday and got cocky about it. A rotten apple spoils the whole bunch. That's why a lot of the churches had "Seminary Classes." Not to cater to the seminary students, but to get them out of general population.

Heck, I was the same way. I had a first-class Southern Baptist education and I let it be known. I wasn't flaunting it, but sometimes, I had the need to be arrogant about it.

But I should have exercised humility. Especially in public. Especially in my ministry later. Especially in life.

Next time I'll talk about the long-term effects of the self-righteous behavior I learned and really where it all started for me.

Reflection: When The Good Is Forgotten

I want to take a quick break and write about something that has been on my mind since the day of my fall. It's not an easy thing to write about.

It's a consequence of my sin and a painful one that only pastors know. I've talked to other fallen pastors about it and they understand it.

I spent almost a decade at Angel Falls Baptist Church shepherding the people there. I was called there, I believe, by God. I was called to ministry - which was a powerful experience for me. I have no doubt whatsoever that I was where I was supposed to be.

I spent years there doing what a pastor should do - loving, praying, preaching and shepherding. But with one horrible sin, all of it was quickly forgotten. A consequence of my sin.

I know that not all of the church members probably feel that way. I get that. But sin is a terrible thing. It quickly wipes away so much of the good that has been built up.

Pastors do a lot that people see. The most obvious are the sermons we preach every Sunday.

I remember a friend saying once, "You sure get paid a lot for only working one hour a week." Funny.

I had a seminary professor tell our preaching class once that for every minute we were in the pulpit, we should spend an hour in preparation. Well . . . I didn't go that far. But I worked hard on my sermons. I put time, thought, and prayer into each one. They weren't perfect, by any means, but most of them were out of love for God's people.

I'd have the occasional sermon that was out of anger for the way I thought the people were acting. Pastors, you'll know what I'm talking about. Those sermons almost always backfire. For the most part, I did good expositional sermons. The word "good" is used loosely.

Of course, my heart was hurt once when the music director accused me of stealing my sermons off the internet. That hurt. A lot. But I ignored it and moved on.

But pastors have a way of taking that stuff very personally. Because everything we do for the church is personal. We spend all week thinking about and praying for the church. We obsess about the church on a personal level. And we take the simplest comment and obsess about it for a long time.

At my small, rural church, I was in charge of just about everything. I ran VBS, the outreach program, half of the committees, and so forth. That was the stuff that was expected of me. I didn't mind too much. I wished that the people had gotten more involved. But I guess it was part of leadership. I pushed myself way too hard at times. Part of it was that I have always been an overachiever. I'll push myself until I'm exhausted.

I'll never forget any of the kids I got to baptize. I'm so glad I got to baptize both of my kids while I was there. Two memories that will be etched in my memory for the rest of my life. I'll always remember the others who came that wanted to talk about salvation, those who I witnessed to, those whom I baptized.

The kids who were ready for salvation - those were the ones I'll always remember. I always cried. I was always so careful with them. I never wanted a "false conversion". I wanted it to be apparent that it was the work of God and no one else for them.

Then there were the moments that no one else ever saw or ever heard of. The moments where I found myself asking, "Do pastors of megachurches have to go through this?"

Once, on New Year's Eve, I was sitting in the living room. Angelica was in bed watching the New Year's Eve countdown or something and someone pounded on the door. It was five minutes until midnight for crying out loud. I went to the door and it was a woman who had been to the church twice. She only came during VBS commencement. She was standing there shivering with her little five year old.

I brought them inside. Angelica wouldn't come near the door, she stood in the living room and listened. The woman told me that she had a fight with her boyfriend and he was drunk and had gotten abusive. They ran from him and had to wade through a pond in the dark. They were soaked and freezing. I got them a blanket. They wanted a ride to a nearby town.

I told Angelica to call the police while I gave them a ride. I turned the heat up in the van all the way and talked to her and prayed with her the entire way as I dropped her off at her mom's house. Her little girl wept for the first five minutes but I was able to calm her down.

Another time, about three weeks before Angelica found out about my sin, I got a call from the wife of a church member. He was distraught. He had wandered off into the woods and was going to hang himself.

I said, "What? Have you called the police?"

She said rather calmly, "I guess."

I said, "You guess? Get on the phone right now and call them if you haven't!"

I hung up and drove over to get Phillip Townsend. Fast. We went over to see if we could find the man. He and his wife had two years of serious marital issues. She was very unforgiving of his past. He had done some minor things about twenty years ago, but she wouldn't let it go. She hounded and hounded him about his sin that he had committed two decades ago and he had snapped.

Phillip and I talked to his wife before going into the woods. The police hadn't arrived. She said he might have a gun and that he was very upset. Great. We dashed off into the woods to find him. We finally did and he was very upset. Long story short, we talked him out of killing himself.

God gets all the credit for both of those stories.

The world is full of hurting, broken people whose lives are a breath away from disaster.

But now, I'm not in a position to minister to those people anymore. My sin disqualified me from taking care of that flock. And within me, as a former pastor, it hurts. It hurts that maybe, just maybe, there are those who will only remember that one sin instead of any glory that belongs only to God.

Don't read this thinking I'm trying to get anyone to feel sorry for me. I'm not. Read this as a warning - all sin has dire consequence. It never leaves us unmarked. It leaves heavy scars upon the soul.

Christ heals those scars - all of them. But as humans, we remember them all.

If you're engaged in any sin - gossip, pornography, self-righteousness, lying, deceitfulness, theft, anger, unforgiveness - they will all have their price upon your soul. No sin is free.

Sovereignty and Adultery: The Bathsheba Factor

In the midst of the unfolding of my story, I feel I need to pause and consider this topic: God's sovereignty.

I am a believer in God's sovereignty. I'm not sure where I stand now, as I am confused theologically, but when I was a pastor, I was a strong five-point Calvinist.

After my fall, I had lunch with another Calvinist who told me that our every movement, our every word is preordained by God. However, like a good Calvinist, he also held that all of us are depraved and responsible for our misdeeds.

Agreed. I am responsible for my sin. But since my fall from the lofty height of the pulpit, I must admit that my theology has suffered. Theology has become practical. Some of it can be discarded, I think. Because some of it is extremely impractical.

Here's where the rubber meets the road for me: I violated the seventh commandment. It was my fault, all the way. But if I'm a good Calvinist, a good sovereigntist, I believe that God had it in His plan from the beginning to glorify Him for His glory. I have suffered great pain and horror in my fall because of it.

My fall, my sin, my fault. But His glory, His plan.

I don't really matter. I'm just a former Virginia Southern Baptist pastor.

How about David? Would he have ever been the leader God wanted if he had not sinned with Bathsheba?

Never mind that for a moment, Christians. We call what he did "adultery." Really? Really?

The man had 8 wives. And several concubines. And it was adultery? Come on. How does that fit into God's sovereign plan.

You see, being a seminary trained individual, I know the answer. David's actions were not prescribed. God "frowned" on David's polygamy. The Bible doesn't "prescribe" David's actions, it merely "describes" David's actions.

But we call David's actions, "adultery".8 + 1 .

We stand in the pulpit when we preach about David's horror and we talk about morality and sin. You know who we never think of? Bathsheba. What did David do after his sin? He took Bathsheba for his own. He married her. He loved her as his own. He made her his wife.

How many sermons have you ever heard on Bathsheba?

Few ever consider that there was a real woman involved with real feelings. When stories break of unfaithful pastors, what do you ever hear of the woman they were involved with?

Bathsheba was the mother of Solomon. How do you think Solomon felt about his mother? How do you feel about your mother?

Better yet, what was God's sovereign plan for Solomon to come into this world? It was through Bathsheba.

I'm not saying that God condones adultery. He doesn't. He hates it. But you'd better know that He has a plan for all things since before time began. And we are not the judge of all things - He is.

Post edited 2/11/11 - thanks to a heads up from a Twitter friend . . .

Online Info About Fallen Pastors

There's just not a lot of help out there for fallen pastors.

There's some interesting stories. Like this Christianity Today article where one church's struggle with an adulterous pastor is mentioned. However, it deals with how a church is supposed to handle the consequences. It really paints the fallen pastor as someone who gets left by the wayside. I suppose that's fine since it's about how the church needs to move on.

Interestingly, it does note how unwilling some churches are to forgive pastors who have fallen. One church was still lashing out at a former pastor 25 years after the fact by taking it out on every pastor who had been called since. Ouch.

Then, one of my former heroes, John MacArthur (more about that later), has this article about whether fallen pastors should be restored to the pastorate. That's a blog for later. I appreciate MacArthur's strong biblical stand on his issues. He gives this interesting insight:

Where did we get the idea that a year’s leave of absence and some counseling can restore integrity to someone who has squandered his reputation and destroyed people’s trust? Certainly not from the Bible. Trust forfeited is not so easily regained. Once purity is sacrificed, the ability to lead by example is lost forever. As my friend Chuck Swindoll once commented when referring to this issue—it takes only one pin to burst a balloon.

There are a few ministries online apparently for fallen pastors. One that caught my eye had the heading, "Fallen Pastors." It's run out of Springfield, Missouri and had the following statistics on the front page:

· Fifteen hundred pastors leave the ministry each month due to moral failure, spiritual burnout, or contention in their churches.

· Fifty percent of pastors’ marriages will end in divorce.

· Eighty percent of pastors and eighty-four percent of their spouses feel unqualified and discouraged in their role as pastors.

· Fifty percent of pastors are so discouraged that they would leave the ministry if they could, but have no other way of making a living.

· Eighty percent of seminary and Bible school graduates who enter the ministry will leave the ministry within the first five years.

· Seventy percent of pastors constantly fight depression.

· Almost forty percent polled said they have had an extra-marital affair since beginning their ministry.

I emailed them when I first fell, but never got a response. I tried again, but never heard a word. Good idea, but they might want to check their email.

I do want to mention an extraordinary blog post I read on the topic. It's from "The World From Our Window" a blog post titled, "What Shall We Do With the Fallen Pastor?"

There is some interesting information out there, but I would encourage anyone dealing with this issue personally to take time to remember that there are real people involved. That the pastor and his family are suffering. The person the pastor was involved with is suffering. The church members are suffering. All of them need love, forgiveness and attention.