Why Churches Aren't Growing: Transparency And The Fallen Church

So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. (Matthew 5:23-24 ESV)

I write a lot about reconciliation and forgiveness. There are several reasons for this.

First, I was horrible at it before I fell. I was an awful example to my family, my friends, and my congregation. I now know what it's like to be the one who desperately wants to be reconciled with people I have harmed.

Secondly, one of my reasons for blogging is that I want to see churches and fallen pastors reconcile. Some churches actually handle the process the right way. They approach the pastor when they discover his indiscretion, they help he and his family get help as they depart and stay in contact with him.

However, this is a rarity. Most churches harbor bitterness, anger, and never get over the event. I do not believe this is the will of Christ. As the verse above states (and many others), those who have been sinned against should be the initiators of reconciliation and forgiveness. As I have stated before, this does not mean letting the minister back to a place of authority necessarily, but it does mean love and forgiveness.

There are a lot of verses about forgiveness. Some put the onus on the one who sinned. But the verse above and others put the responsibility on the one who was sinned against. 

In the Southern Baptist Convention, there are literally hundreds of churches that have been hurt by fallen pastors. These churches have not made amends or reconciled with these pastors.

Do not hear me placing full blame on these churches. If you've read my previous posts on the matter, you will know that is not how I feel. These men fell and sinned. Sometimes, they get pompous after their fall and immediately try to return to ministry. They become recalcitrant and egotistical. I understand that.

However, there is a responsibility for churches to reconcile with fallen pastors.

The majority of our Southern Baptist churches are not growing. There are many reasons for this. Could I suggest that one of the many reasons for it is that we have a lot of junk in our souls that needs to be cleansed?

I know of one local church whose pastor left forty years ago on bad terms. He didn't even sin morally. It was just a bad situation where he got into an argument with a deacon and his family who "ran the church." Ever since that time, the church has replaced the pastor every three years like clockwork. The family who was "in charge" is still there running the show.

When you ask an outsider what is going on at that church they always point back at the event that happened forty years ago. That's a shame.

That makes me concerned about churches all across the nation. It makes me concerned about the church where I fell, and it is my fault. It makes me concerned about the churches where other pastors fell who haven't taken the time to heal or reconcile with the pastor.

Two things are happening in churches like that. First, a dynamic of distrust can set in where congregations will always have a weary eye of the pastor. And secondly, if the people never forgive, there is the constant sin of unforgiveness in the midst that will hinder worship, growth, and spiritual awareness.

I had a funny thought about evangelism as well. Would churches effected by a fall be less likely to evangelize? Would they be less likely to invite people in knowing that they might have potential sins to deal with?

Since I fell, I've been called a lot of things. Since I consider this a "family friendly" blog, I won't mention the not so nice ones.

However, the one thing I've been called most often on this blog is "transparent." I consider that a compliment, even though I'm hiding behind a pseudonym.

In our Southern Baptist churches, we do a superb job of putting on a "happy face" each Sunday. We sit up straight, sing when we're cued to, and shake hands.  

If you have kids though, you know that the ride to church is completely different. "Don't hit your sister! Be quiet back there! You'd better stop complaining about going to church! Don't act up during the sermon this week!"

And each Sunday during Sunday School a topic will come up and we'll shake our heads at the sinful topic brought up. Lust? "We shouldn't do that, but you know everyone struggles once in a while." Greed? "That's a terrible thing, we should store up our treasures in heaven." Anger? "Well, righteous anger is fine, but Jesus said love your neighbor."

What if we were transparent during Sunday School? Lust? "Yes, I fight it daily, friends. Each day I struggle. Will you please pray for me?" Greed? "I've run three credit cards past their limit and it's out of control." Anger? "Me and my wife are having problems. I need help from someone. Can anyone here help me?"

What about during the week? What if we acted at church like we did at work? What if the pastor walked in on us at our most sinful moment? What if people saw us worried about our finances, fighting with our spouses, angry with our co-workers, cussing at the mechanic who messed up our car, kicking the cat, etc.?

If we acted at church like we did during the week - now that would be transparent. To have people see us as we really are - broken, sinful, wrecked, miserable, depressed. Because under those Baptist smiles are broken, sinful people who really need help.

When I was a pastor and would go to my bi-vocational job, people would cuss in front of me without knowing I was a pastor. When they found out, they'd say, "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were a preacher."

I'd say, "Why are you sorry to me? You didn't do anything to me. Be yourself."

Why don't we act around our church friends like we do around our weekday friends? Because we're hypocrites. We're not transparent.

But guess what? God sees right through us. And yet, He loves us still. He shows us grace and mercy.

But, if one of us sees a church member sin or a church leader fall, we judge them harshly. And quickly. And we gossip. No grace. No mercy. Only judgment.

Know why we're in decline? Because most of us (and I'm including myself in this) don't look a thing like Christ and His grace when it comes to dealing with one another, much less non-Christians.

We haven't forgiven those who have sinned against us. We harbor anger, bitterness and rage when long ago we should have reached out and shown mercy as Christ has shown to us.

But strangely enough, each of us will pile into our cars on Sunday, looking our best, put on our Baptist smiles and push down our troubles.

It doesn't have to be that way. If we were all transparent, if we left our Baptist smiles at the door, shared our hurts with one another, reconciled our pasts, then looked out into our community and realized that we're just like everyone else, we might just be fueled for evangelism.

“Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.
(Matthew 6:1 ESV)

God's Answer For The Adulterer

For the past year and a half I have been beating my head against the wall over a theological point.

I love my wife, Cynthia. I have an astonishing love for her. I would lay down my life for her. I wouldn't change a thing about my love for her. What we have is real, amazing and I have always wanted a marriage like this.

At the same time, to get her, I broke God's law - the seventh commandment - to have her.

My previous marriage to Angelica ended in divorce after she and I found no reconciliation, I alienated and did horrible damage to my former congregation, I did disastrous harm to relationships within my own family, I hurt friendships with other pastors and those I have known for years, and tarnished my name within the community.

And above all else, my sin - the sin of adultery - was one among many of my sins - that sent Christ to His death on the cross at Calvary.  God's only Son died for that sin.

I will be horribly and terribly honest with you. And I'll even phrase it in the way that my current pastor said it. I sinned willingly and boldly in the face of God and stuck my middle finger in His face and said, "I don't care what you think, I don't care what your Word says, I'm doing this anyway."

And I'll even go a step further. I love Cynthia. I'm happier now than I've ever been.

Don't get me wrong. I still suffer from the pain I caused my God and the people I hurt. But I have the love a husband should have for His wife.

Under the watchcare of my current pastor, I feel I have repented and asked for forgiveness. I have gone to those who I have hurt and asked for forgiveness and received some of it.

Many of you who read this blog over the past year have called me out on some things. I've been accused of justifying my sin. At times, I have. And early on, I was attempting to.  

I'm sad to say it, but in a post on Bathsheba, that's exactly what I was doing. 

Now, as God has humbled me, as time has moved on since my fall, I have been overwhelmed by His grace and have found some solace.

However, as a theologian, I have always been troubled by one question. A question that has kept me up at night. A question that bothers me and Cynthia. A question that has rattled around in my mind and will not go away and finally came to the surface as I prayed on the way home from work the other night.

I prayed, "Lord, thank you for Cynthia and her wonderful love. Thank you for the gift of her. I wouldn't trade her for anything."

But then I prayed, "Lord, what do I do about the sin I committed to get her? I've already confessed it? It is a slap in your holy face. Your Son died for the sin that I committed. I don't feel like I deserve to be happy since my blatant, outright, stubborn, filthy sin led me to this point."

It is a difficult problem. It is seemingly impossible. I finally had to tackle it to find peace.

How can I dare be happy with her while knowing I committed a vile sin to be in her arms? A sin that sent Christ to the cross to bear the wrath of God? A sin I committed while pastoring a church?

I shared this with Cynthia. She said, "What about people who have children out of wedlock? They sin and get to go on. It's a sin yet they are happy to have the child."

She made a good point. But in a lot of adulterous affairs, many end up reconciling. Angelica and I did not.

In my own mind and in my seminary trained brain, I have, for lack of a better term, been trying to reconcile or justify my happiness with Cynthia versus my transgressions of God's law. It has not worked. It has failed miserably.

Then, I was struck with a thought.

It's not really about how I see it. It's not about how others view it. It's about how God sees it. I have to go to the Word.

But even then I still have to be careful, lest I bastardize God's Word to justify my sin. Too often, pastors (myself included), use God's Word as a tool for justification instead of allowing it to speak for what it says.

So where do I begin? With my sin. Yes, without a doubt, I broke God's law. There is no getting around it. I took into my arms a woman who was not my wife. I have no excuses. Regardless of the problems within my marriage, this was unacceptable to God.  Brad, my pastor, told me how he explains this to other pastors with whom he speaks about me.

He said, "Arthur committed a vile sin. He sinned knowingly and often. He and Angelica could not reconcile with one another. He did not decide to live a life of celibacy. Instead, he kept piling on sin upon sin in the face of God. He was wrong to do so. They married and found a church home. Arthur repented, began to humble himself and continues to do so."

Friends, I'm no saint, that's for sure.  I am a sinner to the core. I am a wretch who willingly broke God's law, and as Brad says, I attempted to push God off His throne and make my own law on my own terms.

How do I begin to reconcile what my life looks like right now? How can I even begin to enjoy my happiness with Cynthia knowing that I am a vile law-breaker?

There is a simple answer. God has given me more grace than I deserve.

Let me quickly state what Paul told us. That does not give us the right to sin more so that grace may abound more. I get ill when people come to me (and it happens) and ask me if they should leave their spouse and commit adultery. My answer? NO! They say, "Well you did it." My answer? "That doesn't make it right."

In spite of my sin, God gave me and Cynthia grace. Abounding, free and unfettered grace. Grace I didn't deserve. When I sinned, I deserved the Ananias and Sapphira treatment. I deserved to be struck dead on the spot the second I began to think about adultery. But God didn't do that. He was long-suffering and patient with me.

Did I suffer consequence? Yes. Did others suffer pain because of my sin? Unfortunately, yes. And I will think of that every day for the rest of my life.

But still, the question is not answered. How do I reconcile the two? My happiness with Cynthia and my breaking of God's law and Christ's suffering to be with her? The sovereigntist in me has been longing to reconcile these two!

Again, I was struck because of God's Word.

I am a forgiven child of God. There is no reason for me to attempt to reconcile the two. God has already reconciled these two things for me. And all praise to Him for that.

He is the God who when I begged Him for forgiveness, He "forgave all my iniquity" and He "redeemed my life from the pit." He is the God who "does not deal with us according to our sins nor repay us according to our iniquities." Not only that, but He took my sin and removed it from me as far as the east is from the west.

He basically looked at me when He forgave me and said, "Arthur, I have forgiven and forgotten." And each day when I remember it, agonize over it, and replay it in my mind and feel guilt, He reminds me, "You're the only one bringing it up, I've forgotten it. It's been covered by my Son."

What a wonderful thing grace is. Undeserved. But so freely received by me.

Others may cast stones or try to label me, but Christ never will. God will not hold my adultery against me ever again. Even if I try to bring it up or drag myself down because of it, He never will. Know why? Because I am His child.

I was once an adulterer, but I have been washed, sanctified, and justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of God.

Friends, this grace is ours to have. It is ours to receive and worship Christ for. It is not there for us to engorge ourselves with sin so that we may have it. But it is there so that we may be cleansed from unrighteousness and live a holy life pleasing to God.

No one in this world, including myself, has a right to condemn me. I have been justified - not because of anything I have done - but because of what Christ did.

How do I theologically reconcile my current happiness with my sin against God? I don't have to. I throw my theological musings out the dang door. My ivory tower theology has no room here. Only the love of Christ operates here.

There is no need to reconcile it theologically. Christ has reconciled the situation with His sacrifice - once and for all. That is my hope. That is my rock. That is my everything. 

I do not boast in my strength to get to this point. I do not boast in my cleverness, my education, my perseverance or my swagger. I boast in the grace of Christ which has completely covered my transgression and has said to me, "Your sin has been removed, now move on and live a life pleasing to me from this point forward."

What now? I know exactly what the adulterous woman felt like in John 8:10-11. A woman who had been caught red handed in the act of adultery. A woman, who by Old Testament standards, deserved to be stoned. A woman who was shamed and didn't have a friend in the world - except Jesus.  

He said to her something that I now understand when the people all dropped their stones and walked away.

Jesus said to her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"

She said, "No one, Lord."

Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on, sin no more." (ESV)

Christ's love and grace are overwhelming. Without them, I would still be trying to reconcile God's wrath and breaking His law with my current happiness. Instead, I now understand His love toward me.

He didn't give His son so I could commit adultery. He did give His son so that I could be set free from sin.

And now that He has forgotten and forgiven, now that He has humbled me, I can be free to be happy with Cynthia.

More importantly, I am happy to have a God who doesn't give up on me and loves me for who I am.

Fallenpastors.com: Help For Fallen Pastors, Part One

I've made a new friend and found a new hero. His name is Danny Williams.

Danny is a fallen pastor like me, but unlike me, he has taken his pain and fallenness to a completely different level. He has turned it into a ministry for fallen pastors.

At fallenpastors.com, there are many resources available. Behind it all is a humble, yet energetic pastor who loves His Savior and wants fallen pastors to be restored to their Savior.

Danny went through his own fall while serving in the Assembly of God church. His story is unique and follows the same path that other fallen pastor's stories take. Danny made many mistakes after his fall, but soon found that the only way to find peace was through repentance and restoration to Christ.

"My pain is now my power," he told me.  "My mess is now my message." Lord, I want to hear this man preach.

We had an hour long talk on the phone and it was very uplifting.  Danny gets many emails every month and counsels many men who are considering adultery and many pastors who have already fallen. He told me that a lot of fallen pastors aren't ready to hear what he has to say.

He's very direct with them. They need to hear what he has to say, however. Right off the bat, fallen pastors apparently aren't ready to repent. They have a need to justify, he told me. But he warns them of what is to come, but he also gives them hope. He tells them of his story and offers them counseling, love, and many resources. He encourages fallen pastors to get their sin out in the open.

"After I got restored, I wasn’t going to live under the shame of it anymore. Once [the sin is] in the light the enemy can’t use it against you anymore," he told me. I heard his wife give a hearty "Amen" in the background when he said this.

Danny's ministry is located in Austin, Texas. He doesn't consider himself to be the full circle resource for the fallen pastor, but just a link in a chain. Quoting 1 Corinthians 3, he said, "We’re only a step in the process but we’re a hope in the process. One plows, one plants, and one gives the increase."

After Danny's ministry talks to a fallen pastor, gives resources, teleconferences or helps in whatever way is necessary, they find a resource for that pastor in his area. "We give them resources and direction to find someone to help. To get someone to watch you just be in the room. To find acceptance to give you hope to be restored."

On his website, you will find information regarding reconciliation between a pastor and his spouse, ideas about false intimacy, true repentance, and some excellent resources.  I'm still not sure that Bro. Danny really isn't a closet Southern Baptist. 

Danny has built an excellent ministry and I am very glad he is out there. There are very few men like him who are actually helping fallen pastors. He has been doing this ministry for a little over two years and has helped about 25 ministers.

I thank God for my new friend and hope you will pray for him and his wife and ministry and the men he helps as well as the church he serves. If you know of any fallen pastors or hear of men who fall, please recommend Bro. Danny's ministry to them.

The Hypocrisy of the Sunday School Lesson

I've been thinking too much lately. Blame the medication. Blame my never ending search for a church to join. Or just blame the cynicism that is inherent within me.

I've been thinking about the faulty way we read Scripture. It's worse than I thought. I'm just as guilty as anyone. Maybe worse. Even worse than when I pastored. I think I've/we've been reading Scripture wrong our entire lives. We've missed the point.

Now, don't take me for one of those Jesus seminar people. Please.

But here's the deal. We read the stories of those hideous Pharisees and we condemn them. We tell them to the kids in Sunday School and we say, "You don't want to be like them, do you?" Of course they don't. Those guys were jerks, right?

None of us would ever identify ourselves with Pharisees, would we? Not for a second.

Think about some of the stories. Christ heals a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath. The Pharisees get bent out of shape. We tell our Sunday School classes that those jerky Pharisees were out of line. We know the story, right? We know how it ends! Those guys should have known better. How dare they! They should have known that Christ was in their midst and shouldn't have been so darn picky. Sabbath made for man, etc.

What about the woman caught in adultery? Those guys set that woman up. We know how that story ends as well. We're supposed to forgive that woman and know that it was unfair for those Pharisees/Scribes/crowd to be so angry with her. Christ took her side and forgave her. How dare they! Listen, Sunday School class, we need to be like Christ. Be forgiving, be loving. Don't be like those Pharisees. Love the sinner, hate the sin.

In Sunday School, we do so well for an hour. We paint our picket signs that read, "Love Christ! Love the Sinner! Don't be self-righteous!" And we feel so good about our Christianity for two hours on Sunday.

Then we go out to lunch to Ryan's Steakhouse and we forget it all.

On Monday, someone commits adultery against us. Or one of our friends. Someone commits a great sin against us. Or, like the man with a withered hand, someone violates one of our "sacred rules." And we get bent out of shape.

We forget the Sunday School lesson. It was forgotten the second we walked out the doors of the church, wasn't it?

Know why? Because it was okay for Christ to forgive those people. We knew how those stories ended. We're supposed to love the man with a withered hand. We're supposed to forgive the adulterous woman in John 8. Know why? Because we'll never see those people. They're text. They're black and white. They're not real. We'll never see them.

But to heck with the sinners we meet Monday through Saturday. They're in big trouble. Especially when they cross our path or when they violate our rules.

But heck. We're not Pharisees. We're just practicing righteous anger - the sinner must be punished. I used to think that way. Christ used anger when he was in the temple, so why can't I?

And when I get to church Sunday, I'll tell my friends about what happened to me this week (it's not gossip, of course when I'm telling church people) and they'll tell me I did the right thing. Instead of forgiving the sin that was done to me, I got angry and reciprocated. I won't see the disconnect with what I heard in church last week or this week, but it won't matter.

Know why? Because church is just something I do. Those stories are just stories. It's all good and well for Jesus to do those things.

I'll sit in the pew and sing my songs about the love of Christ and maybe even listen to a sermon on loving my neighbor.

But don't cross me. And don't expect me to act any different than a Pharis... What I mean is, I'll act just like a disciple of Christ.

When To Confront From The Pulpit

Just a disclaimer - I've done what I'm about to complain about. And I was wrong to do it. In fact, it grieves me that I did it. I learned from it when I did it and hope that others won't make the same mistake.

So what exactly am I going on about?

In the past two weeks, I've heard about pastors who have heard there was adultery occurring in their church; instead of dealing with it in biblical fashion, or talking to those involved, they addressed the individuals from the pulpit. Once, it was done directly, and once it was done in a roundabout way so that everyone in the congregation knew who the pastor was talking about, but he didn't mention any names.

Before I start making points, I'll tell you about the 50 or so times I did it. I was arrogant. I thought I had the black and white truth and biblical authority to lash out against people. I thought the pulpit was my right to say what I wanted, when I wanted. Uh uh. Doesn't work that way.

I'd hear about someone living together, having an argument with another church member, being stupid inside a committee meeting, or whatever, and I'd make a whole sermon point about it. I wouldn't mention a name, of course, but I'd make sure they'd hear my point.

On one occasion, after the music director left after the deacon controversy, I preached a whole sermon out of anger. It was basically a "don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you" sermon. It wasn't right and it wasn't well received.

You know why it wasn't right? First, because I was angry. Secondly, because if I had a problem, I needed to deal with it in private with the people I had a problem with. I used a bully pulpit to make a point to people and stirred the pot. I was airing dirty laundry that was personal business and I had no right to do it.

Does the pastor have the right to preach on adultery, anger, gambling, etc.? Absolutely. But in the course of normal preaching. Not when we're using another person to make a point. Not when we're showering down the Word of God on someone to lash out on them instead of going to them first.

It's the misappropriation of the pastoral office, plain and simple. It's the abuse of the Word and the pulpit. And it does harm to the congregation and those who have sinned. It doesn't make the situation better, it makes it much worse.

You know what to confront from the pulpit? The enemy. Other church members are not our enemy. If a church member sins, we seek them out and restore them, plain and simple. If they don't want restoration, we grieve the loss and pray for them wholeheartedly. We tell the church to pray for them.

But we never, ever air their dirty laundry. Because we might just find ourselves in their position one day. God help us all when we do.

Forgiveness And Frustration

I had an interesting conversation today with someone who had visited Angel Falls Baptist Church before once or twice and knows a lot of people there. She also knows Cynthia and I well.

We had a great talk about what "could have happened".

It was all hypothetical. By the way, I hate hypothetical. I could toss hypothetical out the door the second it gets birthed. But we talked about it anyway.

Know why I hate hypothetical? Because it didn't happen. It's not reality. Sure, it could have happened, but it didn't. Deal with reality. Sure, I could have stayed with Angelica, but I didn't. Sure, I could have resisted temptation, but I didn't. I could have seen a real marriage counselor, but I didn't. Sure, I could have healed the eight years of marriage problems that we had, but I didn't. Hypothetical issues and problems are stupid. That's why I can't watch the History Channel. That's why I can't watch programs where they ask, "What if this would have happened." Who cares? It didn't happen. Deal with it. We live with reality.

Anyway, I did deal with hypotheticals tonight. And I did so with grace.

This person who visited Angel Falls asked me several questions had some real points that made some sense to me.

Cynthia could have run off with a plumber or an electrician or a lawyer after she kicked Barry out of the house after he had been unfaithful to her. You know what? The people of Angel Falls probably would have welcomed her back with opened arms after that. They would have understood her plight and seen that he was unfaithful and was being an idiot. They would have seen that he was a moron and was a terrible husband.

But no.

She slept with the pastor.

She was unfaithful with Angelica's husband. The pastor's wife. That was inexcusable. That, to Southern Baptist folk, is the unforgivable sin.

After she did that, she was shunned.

I received the worst of it and I planned it that way. I received their hatred. I wanted it that way. I didn't want her to get it. I wanted all the anger and hatred of the church to be pointed toward me and not toward her. They texted me, Facebooked me, emailed me and Lord knows what else they did to me. I got it all.

She got a bit. What she got was a few texts that asked her to repent of her adultery. That was it.

Where was the forgiveness? If she had committed adultery with the local plumber she would have been welcomed back into the congregation. But no, she had committed adultery with the pastor, she was shunned.

The problem this person I was talking with came to a head because we were talking about Cythia's daugher, Lydia. She had been invited to a local Vacation Bible School - not at Angel Falls Baptist, but somewhere else. She had already been told by the head deacon, Phillip Townsend, that she wasn't welcome back there.

If Cynthia had committed adultery with the local architect, then Lydia would have been fine to come back to VBS at AFBC. But since she had been with me, then she was shunned. All bets were off.

Does this not seem like a double standard? Forgiveness only seems to go so far. It only reaches so far for most people. It reaches out for the average Joe but not for the pastor in the pulpit or for the Hester Prynne who he consummates with.

Should I have been held to a higher standard than the local plumber? Yes. But does that mean that the local church member should forgive me any less? No. Does that mean that the local church member should treat Lydia different? No.

Guest Blog: After The Fall

I've been asking a few people to write guest blogs. My wife Cynthia wrote one the other day. I'm hoping to get Reforming Baptist, Geekpreacher, Carl and others to do the same for me if they'd be willing.

Today's blog is from a very dear friend, David, who writes a blog of his own, Surviving 2 Thriving. I'll let him talk about himself in his guest blog post. He's become a very dear friend to me. Despite the fact that we've not yet met face to face, I know he'd do anything for me and I would do anything for him. I thank God for putting him in my path and love him dearly.

The lot of the fallen pastor is different.

A moral failure by a pastor has little in common with similar offences by others, including those in the world’s highest office. For example, when President Bill Clinton was discovered, he suffered some big time problems and embarrassment to be sure. But, he was re-elected to another term and is now paid well as an in-demand public speaker.

Or, I can only imagine the fall of Tiger Woods has been phenomenally hard. The public scrutiny of his affairs has been nothing short of extraordinary. How many of us could bear it? Although his marriage is in ruins and he will probably never regain his pre-discovery stature, he apologized and stepped back on the first tee at the Masters to the applause and well wishes of the media and his fans.

After my fall, not only was my marriage in ruins, and not only did I forever lose my pre-discovery stature, I went to work in a retail store for three years. With one colossal poor decision, I threw away my ministry and all the years I spent in higher education preparing for it. (Outside of work in the ministry, an M. Div. isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.)

Please know that except for other fallen pastors like Arthur, no one could possibly understand what I’ve been through. No one. So I don’t even try to explain it to people. This post and the blog I’ve recently started (surviving2thriving.net) are the closest I’ve come to trying to get a handle on it and put some of it into words for others to read—and it took several years for me to get to this point.

Unlike Arthur, I don’t offer the details of those last days (which makes for fascinating reading, I admit). Instead, my blog is about the aftermath, my struggle to regain a sense of hope and purpose. My desire is that it will be a ministry to others who are trying to survive painful experiences.

I found Arthur’s blog by accident. I identified with him immediately and completely. His story and mine are remarkably similar. But I think the stories of most fallen pastors are probably similar.

Most pastors are not prone to spur-of-the-moment adulterous behavior, so there is usually a very complex combination of personal and professional issues that trigger the events leading to a fall. Perhaps that’s true in most affairs, but it is certainly true for pastors.

The months following the crash of my ministry were times of anger for me. I was angry at myself, angry at God, angry at the church, and pretty much angry at everything. True, the event that led to the fall was of my own doing to be sure, but my behavior didn’t happen in a vacuum.

I felt that somehow God had let me down. Let me explain. I had poured much of my adult life into sacrificially serving him, and I felt that I was being “rewarded” with pain. He could have, after all, delivered me by giving me just a little more strength. Just a little. Just get me over the hill one more time. I can do all things through Christ… But instead, he watched me fall.

When I drove away on that fateful day, not only were the town and church in my rear view mirror, so was my wife, virtually all of my friends, fifteen years of ministry, seven years of higher education, and virtually everything that made me who I was.

At that point, there was no hope and no future. Life became all about survival.

In my anger (and guilt), I went on an extended period of rebellion. I got divorced and distanced myself from anything having to do with the life I had known. The idea of any kind of ministry, present or future, was dismissed outright.

But through it all, I never stopped believing. I even believed that somehow God wasn’t through with me, but for a long time I didn’t much care. That’s one of the incredible things we need to grasp in our pain. God is there. He is always there. He doesn’t get angry or pout. That’s what we do. And when we have worn ourselves out kicking everything around us, he is still there waiting for us.

In time things began to turn.

The hard survival instincts of my senses started to soften and my desire to have hope and purpose was rekindled. There were many factors to this, but mostly I met a woman. I met her in church.

On that day we met, she requested prayer, telling the group that she had been diagnosed with cancer.

My connection with her was instantaneous, which I later attributed directly to God. At first, it wasn’t a romantic thing. But instead, I actually felt compassion. I hurt for her.

Would I have been so moved in any other context? If I had met her at the grocery store or in some pool hall would I have been touched? I’ll never know. But of this I am sure, it was part of God’s plan, his new hope for me, and I was certainly in the right place to be open to it.

She and I almost immediately sensed that our relationship was a gift from God. We were both pretty beaten up by life, and like two shipwrecked survivors clinging to a life raft, we were holding on to what God had sent us.

As we encouraged one another, this verse of Scripture came to mind for both of us: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

On any given day, that verse might not have moved either one of us in any extraordinary way. But for a divorced woman with a serious form of cancer and a divorced down-and-out preacher it seemed to be God telling us why we were together. We got married.

I’ve never known my wife without cancer. Not one single day. She had it the day I met her. She was going into her first cancer surgery the day I proposed to her. She had surgery the week we returned from our honeymoon. She had brain surgery the Monday before our first Christmas. And she has had multiple surgeries and treatments ever since.

Even though our lives to a great extent have been about surviving cancer, she encourages me and supports me. She believes God isn’t through with me. We hope that together we will one day have a ministry of some kind.

Yet, we all know it can never be the same. I won’t get re-elected or tee it up again like nothing ever happened.

Something did happen—something that transcends even the mistakes of presidents and sports superstars… because it touches eternity. And that is something a fallen pastor carries around inside the rest of his life.

And so here is the lot of the fallen pastor: though life goes on and we can find faith, hope, love and happiness after The Fall… we never stop paying the price. Not in this life.