Waking up with Leah: Learning to Love a Disappointing Church

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Guest post written by Chad Bird. Click here and check out his blog.

In the tiny Texas town where I grew up, sleeping in on Sunday morning was as inconceivable as rooting for someone besides the Dallas Cowboys on Sunday afternoon. Going to church made the list with apple pie and Chevrolet. My dad was a deacon; my mom a Sunday School teacher; and I was the typical daydreaming boy fidgeting in the pew. Fast-forward a couple of decades, and I found myself in a job where sleeping in on Sunday was highly frowned upon since the pulpit would’ve been quite empty without me. There I was: seminary trained, armed to the teeth with confessions and creeds, zealous to convert a world—or, at least, our Oklahoma town—to the faith once for all delivered to the saints.

Looking back at myself as that twenty-something pastor, I have to admit that I was almost as steeped in naïveté then as I was as a twelve year old boy. Sure, I knew plenty about the church, but it was heavily freighted with the good stuff. The good stuff of the ladies’ guild cooking casseroles for grieving families, youth groups pounding hammers in Mexico to build homes for the poor, a rancher showing up on the pastor’s doorstep with half a beef from his own herd to stock the freezer. But as good and giving and beautiful as the church can be, there’s a dark side, too, that at times can be dog ugly. The day I stumbled upon a secret meeting of the church leadership and one of the elders stood up and slammed the door in my face—that comes to mind. Over the years, there were the not-so-veiled threats of violence, pastors who broke the seal of confession, bishops issuing warnings about me, and occasional rumors about me so outrageous they could have been ripped from the cover of the National Enquirer. I learned plenty through those years, the most obvious lesson being that the church can be a place that’s just as mean and nasty and royally screwed up as the world.

Like the patriarch, Jacob, who after his wedding night, awoke to the wrong wife in his bed, I too one day opened my eyes to find that the Rachel with whom I had fallen in love, for whom I’d labored long years, was not the one beside me as the sun rose. I rolled over and came face-to-face with the uncomely, undesirable, older sister. And then I had a decision to make: leave the church, or learn to love Leah.

Have you been there? Maybe you too grew up with a congregation as your second home, perhaps even served in the ministry, but later encountered within its walls abuse or neglect or a whole host of other ills. While going through a divorce, or struggling with a sexually charged issue, you found not clasping hands of support but wagging fingers of accusation. As the shards of your broken life fell about you, when simply having a Christian show you they cared, when that alone would have meant the world to you, all you saw was the church’s back, turned away, walking the other direction. Or maybe you just slowly slipped away, skipping a Sunday here, a whole month there, and eventually never darkened the doors again, but not a single believer took the time to call or visit to reveal they missed you. You have your story, and I have mine, but all such accounts shoulder a common burden: the fellowship that is supposed to be a hospital for sinners can seem more like a religious country club, a xenophobic clique, or a horde of hypocrites. Call it what you may, it’s not been a church to you and for you. So what do you do? Do you leave or learn to love Leah, walk away from the church or stay?

I could’ve washed my hands of the whole affair and walked away. In fact, I gave serious thought to just that, and for several years, rarely planted my butt in a pew for, when I did, I could taste the bile rising up my throat. But over time, and through a whole lot of healing, re-wounding, and re-healing, I finally came to the point where I see and love Leah for what she is: a beautifully ugly church in whose arms I encounter the God who loves beautifully ugly sinners like me.

A beautifully ugly sinner like me—that’s where healing has to start, with an honest acknowledgement that there may be a slew of unattractive things about the church, but I’m no supermodel of holiness myself. Part of the way we humans deal with our grief or anger or guilt is to deflect any culpability from ourselves by blaming others for almost everything that goes wrong. And though there are important exceptions—such as the victims of sexual predators—most of us who’ve had a rocky relationship with the church must fess up to our own failings. There’s a good chance Leah finds me just as ugly as I find her. I see hypocrites in the church, but I see in my own soul times galore when I wore a mask of piety in public and a face of shame in private. I deplore how the church’s tongue can destroy a person’s reputation, but my own tongue loves the desserts of lies and rumors and gossip more than it loves the bread of honesty. In our society, where it seems everyone claims to be a victim, it needs to be said that we are all perpetrators ourselves. We struggle with the same faults with which we fault the church.

In addition to personal accountability, we’ve got to kill and bury any utopian daydreams we have about the church hitting the gym to tighten her glutes and getting a boob job so we have a hotter, sexier Leah. There has never been, nor will there ever be, a time when the church was flawless. Barely had Jesus ascended before the church descended into trouble. Squabbles arose, heresies spread, pastors played favorites, sexual immorality mushroomed, and hearts grew cold. In the last book of the Bible, there are letters from God to seven different churches. Although he commends those congregations for many good things, he also complains of them leaving their first love, holding to false teachers and teachings, spiritual death, and lukewarmness. And this while the church was still basking in the afterglow of the earthly ministry of Jesus! As long as there are people in the church, there will be problems, for if humanity is anything, it is problematic.

Therein is the reason I found my way (or rather, like a lost sheep, was carried) back to the church: because it’s a place pregnant with problems. Because of those imperfections, I fit in perfectly. If you’ve got it all together, have no struggles, live a full and happy life, free of sin, then the church is not for you. But if you struggle with selfishness, greed, lust, addiction, problem children, a cheating spouse, fear, loneliness, or anything else that plagues our race, then the church is the ideal place for you. For Leah struggles with all that crap, too. Don’t let the pretty stained glass and padded pews and vested clergy fool you; all around the church are wounded sinners wheeled about on gurneys, doctors sewing up stab victims, nurses checking IVs, and double amputees carried by the blind who are led by the mute while the deaf sing prayers for healing. The church is messy place for messed up people who are in dire need of a God who cares.

In uncomely, undesirable, older Leah, that’s just what you’ll find: a God who cares. You’ll find a God who was born of an unwed teen whose neighbors likely whispered was a slut. You’ll find a God who hung out with outcasts, welcomed whores as followers, touched untouchables, called bullshit on the holier-than-thous of his day, and walked eyes wide open into the clutches of those who would torture him to death so as to save a world that really didn’t think it needed saving. In the church you’ll encounter the God who takes all his beautiful and exchanges it for your ugly.

And so, after a few years of growing up, maturing in a some areas, and realizing a bit more clearly what life is all about, I can now honestly say, “Leah, just as you are—not who I want you to be, not who others say you should be—but just as you are: I love you.”

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I Was A Burned Out Pastor

Today I’m so thankful for a wonderful writer and brother who shares his story of ministy with us – Darrell Vesterfelt.

I Was A Burned Out Pastor

One of the hardest conversations I have ever had in my life came the week after my birthday this year. I sat down my pastor and told him that I could no longer be a healthy individual and be a staff pastor at the church where I was serving.

I was burnt out, and I couldn’t do it anymore.

This was not the first time I had experienced “burn out” but it was different this time for one important reason. I was married — newly married — and the mistake I had made half a dozen times before, the subsequent “burn-out” I was experiencing, wasn’t just effecting me anymore. It was taking a toll on my wife.

When I agreed to join the staff team of this church, I told myself it was going to be different. I was going to finally “mature” and not leave angry, hurt and unfulfilled. So you can understand why I was so disappointed when circumstances led me to the same place of burn-out again.

I could feel it rising up in me, slowly. A familiar feeling.  Anger toward my church, my pastor, and an overwhelming hatred of my circumstances. I felt the urge to run from ministry — again.

But as angry as I was, it was becoming clear: I could no longer blame my circumstances for the way I felt. Several different churches. Several different leaders. Several different circumstances. Same resentment. Same burn-out.

The common denominator was me.

It was all my fault and I felt so ashamed.

As a single guy in ministry, it was really easy to take on 70 hours a week. I was the only one to suffer the consequences, and it felt good to work hard. I received constant praise for being the “hardest worker” which fueled me to work even harder. But as a newly-married person I was beginning to see the consequences of my actions.

My wife was stressed. I was stressed. Our marriage was stressed. We were tired, overwhelmed and it was creating an unhealthy foundation for our marriage.

Why had I done this to myself again?

This time I had to do something different. And because I wasn’t sure what else to do, I resolved to at least talk about it. I started conversations with my wife, my family and my pastor. I wanted to get to the root of the issue instead of running from these circumstances into yet another situation that would end just as tragically.

What I found, as I talked, was that I was insecure.

I was using my work (which happened to be for the church) as a validation for my wounded understanding of myself. I didn’t think I was worth much, so I was trying to prove my worth to God, to myself, and to others by contributing something of value to the church community.

I would have never admitted this out loud, since I knew that I was saved by grace not by my work in the church, but the story I was living wasn’t in line with what I believed.

My insecurity was causing me to be really arrogant.

It hurt me, and it hurt other people, and the only way to fix it was to start being honest with myself.

There are two really important lessons I’ve learned about burn-out in this season.

First, I’m less likely to burn out if I’m doing what I was made to do, what I love to do, instead of what other people expect me to do, or what I perceive as “valuable” for one reason or another. For me, this meant admitting I wasn’t gifted as a pastor.

For you, it will mean something different.

The second thing I learned is that no matter what work I’m doing for work, I have to make sure that my identity doesn’t get wrapped up in it. When that happens, I’ll burn out no matter what I’m doing. And my burn-out doesn’t just affect me. It affects everyone else around me, and it impacts my ability to love people and be myself.

Have you ever been burned out? Tell me your story.

bio — Darrell Vesterfelt is the CEO of the Prodigal Media Group, a storytelling firm based in Minneapolis where he lives with his wife Ally. Darrell is the original #unblogger. You can connect with him on Twitter or call him at (612)802-5227.

call me Jethro

so tired.  so sad.  so angry.  put on the face and put one foot in front of the other.  left.  right.  left.  right.  breathe.

how long have i been doing this?  why am i doing this?  where is God?  dear GOD, what do they want from me NOW?

“The next day Moses sat to judge the people, and the people stood around Moses from morning till evening. When Moses’ father-in-law saw all that he was doing for the people, he said, “What is this that you are doing for the people? Why do you sit alone, and all the people stand around you from morning till evening?” And Moses said to his father-in-law, “Because the people come to me to inquire of God; when they have a dispute, they come to me and I decide between one person and another, and I make them know the statutes of God and his laws.” Moses’ father-in-law said to him, “What you are doing is not good. You and the people with you will certainly wear yourselves out, for the thing is too heavy for you. You are not able to do it alone.”

yeah, right.  just stop, huh?  like that’s gonna work.

“Now obey my voice; I will give you advice, and God be with you! You shall represent the people before God and bring their cases to God, and you shall warn them about the statutes and the laws, and make them know the way in which they must walk and what they must do. Moreover, look for able men from all the people, men who fear God, who are trustworthy and hate a bribe, and place such men over the people as chiefs of thousands, of hundreds, of fifties, and of tens. And let them judge the people at all times. Every great matter they shall bring to you, but any small matter they shall decide themselves. So it will be easier for you, and they will bear the burden with you.”

where have THEY been up to this time?  why didn’t THEY step up before now?

Do you trust me or don’t you?

well, yes, but…

Do you trust me or don’t you?

you know i do, Lord

Do you trust me or don’t you?

let me be your Jethro today.  you’re doing too much.  you’re doing things God has not called you do.  He will give you the grace and strength to do what He’s called you to do.  He WILL NOT enable you to do things He’s told you to lay down.  there’s a reason you feel the way you do.  these are the caution signs telling you the bridge is out ahead.  you can’t will the bridge into existence.  you can’t suck it up and make the bridge appear.  if you keep ignoring the signs there will be a crash ahead.  not may be a crash.  WILL BE.   hear me.  hear Him.

“If you do this, God will direct you, you will be able to endure, and all this people also will go to their place in peace.”

(Exodus 18:13-23)