Rambling About Pastors, Temptation, and "What if..."

I found out recently that a fellow pastor has resigned from the ministry. We were classmates but not friends - not really. We moved in different circles with different friends and different groups. In fact, I doubt he would remember me. He was smart in school, quick to speak up and argue fine points of theology, sitting with a particular group of professors and students at lunch time and talking with them, soaking up their wisdom, theologizing at a higher plane than me. I was content to do my part, an average student, hanging out on the edge of the radar scope. I would participate in class, when necessary, engage professors if I had a question, but generally stay on my side of the road, so to speak. What do you call a man who graduates seminary with a B- average? “Pastor.”  

He wasn’t my friend, but he was someone whom I grew to respect for his intellect, his ability, and his pastoral heart. He was a good and faithful pastor, pointing people to Jesus, telling them – assuring them! – that Christ is truly enough and that in Him, by grace through faith, even the greatest sinner finds forgiveness by the greatest Savior. No skeleton in the closet can survive His death; no rattling bones of guilt and shame can overwhelm His own resurrection. He preached it, he taught it, he lived it. His parishes, his congregations, the people Christ entrusted to his care, the youth who listened and heard and believed – they were all blessed abundantly by his clear proclamation of Jesus. 

Depending on the source cited, the average pastorate lasts somewhere between three and seven years, and it’s not uncommon for pastors to completely resign the ministry before a decade of service is achieved. Resignations happen for lots of reasons, as in any other business – a change of heart, burn-out, financial needs, conflict within a parish, family needs, health issues. As pastors with two decades of service, we have beaten the odds by at least a factor of two, possibly three. We’ve both served in multiple parishes. We’re not green anymore. We’re veterans of the cross, under the cross, through the cross of Jesus, God willing, with decades more to serve. Hey…maybe we would even earn the title “pastor emeritus” someday.

But this wasn’t a resignation because he disagreed with a church member or someone didn’t like his preaching. He wasn’t running a Ponzi scheme selling indulgences or trying to get into the lucrative world of cat ranching. He had sinned. Before you say, “But we all sin,” yes – this is true. However, just as a lawyer who breaks confidentiality will be disbarred, a pastor who breaks our denomination’s clergy code of ethics will get into hot water. Apparently, his sin violated that code in such a way that he had to resign from the ministry. I don’t know what happened. What temptation overwhelmed him to the point that he was unable to resist? What did satan use to seduce him away from the desires of the Spirit to the desires of his old adam? Then again, I’m not sure I want to know. But, even if I did know, it’s not my place to tell you, dear reader. All I know is “There was cause.” Translation: he made a very poor choice. Whether he got caught or, in his guilt, he confessed his sin to his ecclesiastical supervisor and church leaders, the net result is the same: that something happened to cause his resignation.

Any time a pastor’s sins become public, the sin is made to be larger-than-life. If it were Joe Pewsitter or Joanna Parishioner, unless it’s a high crime, the gossip only lasts a few days. To borrow from the movie Sicario, it probably wouldn’t even make the papers in El Paso. But when it’s a pastor, a called and ordained servant of Christ, Satan cheers and the world erupts with schadenfreude – pleasure in someone’s pain. Remember the mockery at Jimmy Swaggart’s “I have sinned” confession on television? Or, what about Jerry Falwell, Jr., and his unceremonious firing after Liberty University accused him of impropriety? When the so-called “pastor to the stars,” Carl Lentz, was fired by his church after allegations surfaced of adultery and misappropriation of church funds, TV shows, blogs, talk radio, and old-school print media all had a field day: “Lo, how the mighty have fallen.”  Joe Rogan spoke of the danger of pastors becoming famous. I have no idea of Joe’s church affiliation, or even if there is one, but I found myself nodding in agreement at much of what he had to say, only to quickly think, “Careful there, hubris, settle down… There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man…” I was sad for the church-at-large at what happened to Lentz, because of the fall-out. The church was, again, branded as hypocritical and money-hungry. People were truly hurt by his behavior and his failures could cause people to doubt, to turn away from the church, from the Gospel, and from Jesus. (Some people might criticize just how much Jesus was ever preached and taught by Lentz, but that’s beside the point.)

I didn’t know Lentz, his family, or any of the people at his church. It wasn’t personal - just a general sadness. But this…this is different. This guy was my classmate. I sat next to him in class. We chatted at conferences. He was a good pastor, a faithful pastor. I heard him preach. I knew him personally. He had a measure of fame in our denomination, was well-known and widely respected, having preached and spoken at conferences across the country and produced simple videos for families to learn about Jesus. But I don’t think Joe Rogan would have been concerned about him, that the modicum of notoriety went to his head.  He just kept pointing people to Jesus.

Have you seen the videos of icebergs breaking apart and a boatload of unprepared and unsuspecting spectators are suddenly rocked by a wave of water blasting their boat? That’s how I feel. I imagine his family, his parish, his friends feel an emotional tsunami. There is no schadenfreude – I have no pleasure in hearing of this. I am sad, truly, gut-wrenching sad that this happened to a man of God and a Godly man. I can only imagine how many times he has thought and said, “If only…I should have…why didn’t I...” I feel sad for him, and the shame and guilt that must be terrible, weighing him down, down, down. I’m sad for his church that must be terribly hurt and confused. My guts hurt for him and his family. I’m sad for the people whose faith has been shaken and are left wondering, “If it can happen to him, what about me?”

“If it can happen to him…” If I’m honest, that’s my question, too. Frankly, I’m a little scared. If it could happen to him, it could happen to me. I’m guilty of so much. How many of the Big Ten have I shattered? Let’s just say, there’s the letter of the law and there is the spirit of the Law; being perceived as “clean” under one doesn’t mean clean under the other. Perception might be what people assume to be true, but God knows the heart. If you have as much as called your brother “raca,” you are guilty of murder. Ouch…thank goodness the TDCJ doesn’t know what I said to that guy on the highway last Tuesday. When I read St. Paul’s list of qualifications for a pastor in 1 Timothy 3, I don’t check every box. And I know myself: I’m not immune to temptation. Who’s to say in the future that in a moment of weakness, or stupidity, or a combination of the two, my eyes might wander, my mind wonder, my fingers get sticky, my verbal filters fail and in the heat of the moment, I say something that can’t be undone. What if the old Adam makes an unwanted and uninvited guest appearance and, like the Emperor, I’m caught in my unholy shame. What’s the old adage? “There but for the grace of God go I.” If it can happen to him…

This summer will mark the 21^st anniversary of my ordination into the office of the ministry. For the first few years, my daily prayer was that when (not if!) I made a mistake, caused offense, and/or sinned against brothers and sisters in Christ, that my failing would not cause anyone to fall into despair, doubt Jesus, or leave the church. It’s no longer my daily prayer, but it is a regular prayer.  Perhaps I should increase that, both in quantity and quality.

That’s rather selfish, isn’t it? Poor, pitiful me. Boo hoo… Perhaps instead of worrying quite as much about myself, I should rather be praying for my brother pastors in office, that they are strengthened against temptation lest they fall. Or, I can do both.

I don’t know what will happen to this now-former pastor. I pray that he is repentant – not just for getting caught, but for sinning. I also pray that he remembers the other part of repentance –faith that trusts in Jesus’ death and resurrection. I pray that he receives the grace He so faithfully preached. I pray he finds a Christ-centered pastor who points him to the cross, proclaims absolution, and reminds him over and over and over again that he is a child of God, dearly and deeply beloved in Jesus. I pray for his family, that they are given courage in the face of uncertainty, and that their own faith in Jesus isn’t shaken. For relationships that have been bruised or broken, I pray they may be strengthened and healed. I pray other pastors do not shun him – I hate to say it, but clergy are rather notorious for “eating their own” when these things happen – but also speak compassionately to this hurting soul.

I thought about calling him, but that seems so trite right now, to reach out after twenty-one years of near silence. So, instead, I’ll pray for him. I’ll defend his name and reputation if I hear others whispering about him. I’ll remember him for His faithful service and thank God for his ministry. Maybe that’s the best I can do, for now. And, if I’m ever given the chance, I’ll buy him dinner and treat him as a brother and friend in Christ. And, if he needs to hear it, I’ll remind him that he is sitting across from one of the greatest sinners of all time who joins him in trusting that Jesus, the perfect Savior of all, who loves even the likes of us.