Like most pastors leaving ministry, I experienced loads of pain, disappointment and heartbreak. Part of me longed to get back into ministry and part of me became nauseated by the thought. But over the last three and a half years, I have learned to find peace with myself, with God, and with His Church. This is my story.
Broken, worthless, used-up, and tossed aside would be some of the adjectives that would describe how I felt. Feeling like a hammer with a broken handle, or maybe more like a screwdriver that was used as a chisel, its handle cracked and the tip flattened, maybe I was mistaken on who and what I was made for. Maybe I was never meant for ministry at all. Some mornings I would wake up and look in the mirror and think myself a failure. Other mornings I would avoid the mirror altogether.
I never wavered in my faith toward God, at least in the fact that he loved me and saved me, that Christ’s blood was sufficient to cover my sins. My theology was strong and I knew all the right answers. But I couldn’t escape the feeling that God had his foot on my throat, I was defeated. I went to church but could hardly stand it. All the programming errors, weak worship and missteps in sermon delivery made me sick. Maybe it wasn’t so bad … but it just felt that way to me. It was like being invited to watch a peanut butter and jelly eating contest when you’re allergic to peanuts. Everyone else is having fun, but if I get too close, I might die.
So what changed?
I guess this is the million dollar question. I have to say that it wasn’t an overnight change, it was a slow process. It started with a wife who at times probably wanted to give up on me. But she never did. Having two beautiful little children who love God and found joy in life despite all the pain around them, despite having a dad that was full of depression and regret, they loved me. It wasn’t enough that the wolves that surrounded me when I left ministry did a good job of tearing me down, amongst the many I’d given my life to. I felt so useless that I pushed away those that wanted to stand by my side (I loved them and wanted them close but it reminded me too much of the pain. Besides I didn’t feel worthy of their respect). But there were a small handful that didn’t give up. They pursued me or, at least, let me know they were there. Oddly enough, the world pushed me back to ministry as well. I worked at a car dealership and saw how badly the world needed not only Jesus, but the Church; even with all the church brokenness and dysfunction (sometimes I felt like Jonah when he ran from what God called him to, he found himself surrounded by a tragedy that pushed him back to his calling).
And then there was God. The words that I taught for so many years haunted me. How he loves us, restores us, redeems us and gives us purpose. How God chooses the foolish things. How he wants to shake up religion and bring victory to His children. Was I living as a blood bought child of the King? Not so much. I found myself at a mental crossroad. I either had to admit that I was a false teacher, a hypocrite, or I had to at least try to live as a co-heir with Christ.
I guess toward the end as I was wrestling with my thoughts, a friend and fellow pastor, Brian, came and hunted me down. We had a real conversation where he lovingly rebuked me. It wasn’t so much the words he said but the heart from which they came. I had to be willing to take some steps of faith. He pointed me to Dave Browning (author of Deliberate Simplicity and Pastor at Christ the King). Dave graciously met with me and pointed me to the life of Sampson, how at the climax and end of his life, his final wish would be: use me one last time. I was pierced to the soul and knew if I was going to move forward I would have to be like Jacob: willing to wrestle with God in this desert darkness.