Nothing like a bottle of wine to bring back memories.

It’s over a month ago now, since I wrote about returning to “the scene of the crime”, the place where we got crushed in ministry. I said then that I planned to blog about it all, but I suppose the delay indicates a certain reluctance to get into the whole thing. It’s painful and complicated. I don’t want to cause pain to the many innocent people who suffered with us at the time, or even to the folks I blame for the mess. And yet it’s all part of what I’ve learned in ministry.

God taught me, and others, some things about the church. These were valuable lessons, but the tuition was very high. It cost me and Suzanne our church and community, disrupted our livelihoods, forced a relocation, and shattered many precious friendships. And, much of what it did to us, it did to others too. It would be a shame to just let it all slip away without trying to share what I have learned. So, here are some reflections, for what they’re worth. My recollections and interpretations may differ from those of others who were there, but so be it. Everyone is welcome to comment.

In 1998, when we were called to our church in Victoria, we could see that there would be significant challenges. The congregation was deeply divided over the calling of a pastor. A significant number wanted the associate pastor to take over, others wanted to call a new senior, and most just wanted whatever was good for the church. So they set up a search committee composed of representatives of all the competing factions to try to find a solution that would suit everyone. Predictably, it didn’t work. The committee thrashed about for a couple of years, and a long and painful process finally turned up me.

Now, I’d had over twenty years experience in ministry and, though I’d been a little bumped and bruised along the way, most of those years had been happy and productive. This church had a great reputation as a loving and forgiving fellowship, so I believed that we could overcome whatever difficulties should arise.

In retrospect, there were many danger signals we should have heeded. Divisions had deepened, the search process had produced a lot of distrust and resentment, and the congregation was fatigued. – Several people confessed to me years later that they had voted to call me out of sheer frustration with the process. – And I inherited an “us and them” congregation; people who supported me because they were opposed to those who supported the associate, and others who supported the associate because they were opposed to those who supported me.

Well, after a year we still weren’t having much fun, so I went to the Board and offered to resign, suggesting that they also let the associate go and see if the church could call one pastor they all supported. The Board, however, prevailed upon me to stay for another year and, against my better judgement, I agreed. – I still think this would have been the best course for all involved, but that’s water under the bridge. It’s always easier to see what we should have done, partly because it’s so much safer than deciding what to do.

In another year the divisions had deepened beyond repair, and it had become clear that the best way forward would be to commission the associate to go off and start a new church. On the surface this may sound like a bitter split, but it really wasn’t that for me or most others in the church. I was disappointed, because I’d enjoyed the associate, and I’m still convinced we could have worked well together for many years. But there were two factions who insisted on seeing us a competitors, and they were unwilling and/or unable to work together. Our situation was rather like that of Abraham and Lot who separated, not because they were divided, but because their herdsmen were quarrelling. (Genesis 13:7)

So, what’s the lesson here?

Times of leadership transition are dangerous for any institution, and the church is no exception. At these times it’s often the most contentious people who offer themselves for leadership; the warriors, not the shepherds. These people fight to win, and leave ruins in their wake. There’s a reason why they’re called “the spoils of war”.