A year ago tonight, I sat alone in our condo, watching a movie that was most likely not edifying to my soul. I think it was actually Scarface, which I had as of then never seen. I am still struggling to figure out what all the fuss is about. My wife and daughter (and my still-incubating son) had made their way to San Diego to get a jump on the Thanksgiving week festivities with her folks. I had all sorts of work to do and was planning on joining them on Wednesday. So, I enjoyed my red wine, my trashy movie, my brief bachelor moment, and I went to bed.
The following morning began like many others. I woke up, brushed my teeth, brewed a pot of coffee, and then engaged in an oh-so-luxurious bachelor treat: checking the morning news and my email on the internets whilst lounging alone in our king sized bed. No children clamoring for my attention, no chores to be done. Just headlines and weekend box office, post secret and fark.
My inbox was headlined by an email which would catch me completely off-guard, and would instantly change my life. It was entitled: crisis.
After reading the email, and confirming via telephone that it wasn’t some sort of cruel hoax, I posted here. I felt like the title was succinct, and to the point, so I copied it. I haven’t talked much about it since then. I would throw out a nebulous tidbit here or there. I would write about some of the collateral damage going on in my brain. But I haven’t talked about… it. I don’t really know why, I guess it just seemed disrespectful. I think I have also been reluctant to turn Addison into my personal diary.
.
My friend and mentor, boss and pastor, my teacher in life and in the Word, had an affair with a woman who wasn’t his wife. After a year of hiding it, the other husband found out and the aforementioned shit hit the aforementioned fan in a shat-tastic, poo-riffic spectacle of crap. Those of you who have issues with Christians who use colorful metaphors should seriously consider a change of venue. I’m venting, and shit’s gonna fly.
He was the best senior pastor I’d ever seen. His command of the Scripture rivaled anyone. Ever. He painted Scripture like Renior, and played it like Chopin. He had taken a church known for it’s infighting and legalism and shepherded it into a place where the Spirit had begun to flow like cool water. He beat the fundies at their own game, because He knew the Word better then they did, and they knew it. He trumped them, so they either left or remained silent.
Working with him was a worship leader’s dream. One Sunday, about five weeks into my tenure, He started riffing on the root Scripture of one of the songs we had just led. I cannot remember the song or the Scripture in question, but he just started going, and before you know it, 25 or 30 minutes had passed, and he was circling around again. He had us come up and sing it again, but no one could sing it the same way. The congregation poured the music back over us, washing us with great and mighty waves of sound. We did the same thing 2nd service. He just bailed his planned message. No big deal. The Spirit had moved, and so had we. It was like buttah.
.
The church was growing. It was growing in my favorite way: word of mouth. People were bringing friends, friends who were too smart for church. I watched as die-hard, Bush loving, MacArthurites started to mingle with intellectual liberals, and actually fellowship together. I watched a church begin to form where some of the tough topics were addressed with great love and care. I remember him talking about Islam, and managing to walk that tightrope between dismissal and disdain and ecumenical sentimentality. He spoke about homosexuality, politics, love, death, and taxes. He never misspoke. In fact, the only time I remember him getting in trouble was the time he burned incense in the sanctuary. From the reaction of the ex-Catholics in our congregation, you’d think we’d done a Deaconesses Gone Wild video.
But then… like getting hit by lightning on a cloudless day, it’s was all frizzy hair and what-the-hell-just-happened. No more mentor/friend/boss for you, thanks for playing. We’re gonna go ahead and amputate that arm, but please continue doing what you’re doing, just learn to do it without your arm, silly! Here, have a cookie, you’ll feel better.
No. I really, really won’t. I will feel better when I am good and damn ready to feel better, thank you very much.
.
I saw him on the campus that monday night, as we had an emergency meeting, and then he cleared out his office a few days later and that was that. They moved out of state to start over. You shag one chick and the whole thing gets rebooted, that’s how it works.
Oh sure… there’s a few coffees and a dinner or two. Words of encouragement are spoken and meant. Emails are sent and reports are given. But the relationship… just… ceases.
The devil is truly an asshole. That may be the only actually true statement in this whole post. The rest is just me having a bad anniversary.
So what’s the fallout from a friend who implodes and then withdraws? I can’t quantify it yet. I’m still pissed off at everyone a year later. I’m pissed off at him for bailing on us. I’m pissed off at the church (ours and The Church at large) for being unable to deal with actual real live gee-whiz sin and restoration. I’m pissed off at every other preacher in California for sucking so badly compared to him. I’m just pissed.
The good news is that I’ve channelled the hell out of that angst. Pain is more economically stimulating then comfort, that I’ve learned. I lost 80 pounds. We made a record, and it’s good, and people are responding to it. I have had a critical role to play in the life of our church, and I have to tell you can really bring some heat when you feel like you have nothing left to lose. Sometimes it’s the best way to do this job.
.
But dammit, am I still pissed off. The real bitch about being a soft male who’s genuinely pissed off is that you know there’s no real boogie-man for you to shoot at.
So here’s to you, Black Monday, my harsh tutor. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for what you’ve taught me. Thank you for changing my life. You took my inocennce, but I can forgive you for that. You changed my church, but I can forgive you for that, too. You ripped my from my little womb, but no one said being born again was easy, did they?
I wish you could have taught me your lessons without killing off my frienship with this man. I’ll never forgive you for that, November 21, 2005. Whatever gifts you have given me, and continue to give me in the years to come, that price was too high.
I remember those posts. That sucks. I’m sorry. You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I prayed for you this morning.
Peace be upon this house.
What a year. And by that I mean “What an effed up year.”
I still have a sliver of hope that someday the Church will get the sin thing right — that we’ll make it neither The Worst Thing Ever, For Which There Is No Remedy, nor make it Not A Big Deal, Go About Your Business. It’d be nice if we could be a little more Jesus-y on sin: grieved, but not particularly alarmed. If we could get there, I don’t think communities and friendships would be allowed to end so easily.
Thanks for this window into your soul, Chad. I’m truly sorry for what you have lost, and thankful for what you’ve gained. Perhaps the scales will balance, perhaps they won’t. But even if the good never outweighs the bad, it still counts.
I’m not sure if it’s an appropriate response to rekindle the Here’s-How-We-Oughtta-Fix-This tirade (which is what I’d love to do, because I genuinely feel this struggle with you, as we’ve discussed in the past. Just know that 1) I love your writing and 2) I’m glad you’re still around these parts 3) it’s the meal of grace that changes a man’s faith, not the pictures in the menu that get shown on Sundays
Chad, I appreciate your honesty and soul baring. I truly feel as though I learn from you each time you write, no matter what the topic.
“Be Good” is a song that ministers to me and I know countless others, and with that song you have been able to continue your friend and mentor’s ministry at least in part.
Chad, I’m pissed too. I think a lot of us are. We don’t know how to get past it. We want to trust again, but are afraid. We want to extend love and forgiveness, but know that there are those who only want retribution. So we show up with smiles and small talk and busy-ness… and broken hearts.
Don’t get me wrong, I also have hope for our church and its future.
Jeremiah 29:11 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.
I also know that if I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it is that no matter the magnitude of the bad thing that happens, God will use it for his own good purpose. Romans 8:28 And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.
Like you, I wish it hadn’t happened. And like you and countless others in our small church family, we will come out changed, and God willing, better followers of Christ for the experience.
Thanks guys. It’s been a hard year, the kind of year that feels like only ugly things come out of my mouth… or off my fingers.
Chad,
I am so sorry for your loss. To the tiny extent that I can, I mourn with you.
Cliff
Chad,
I’ve been there. Shoot… I’ve probably been the cause of someone else being there.
There are days (more than not, really) when I think the entire notion of the professional clergy, dependent on their sustenance from the organized church, is a deeply flawed enterprise from scratch, not New Testament biblical, and bound to produce personal grief like this, precisely because professional ethics (you screw up, you’re fired, you seek employment elsewhere) trump personal ones (you screw up, you confess, you let someone else take the lead, you stick around as part of the community that still loves you, you clean up your act, you try again, because you’re a part of the body, not dependent on it for your livelihood).
Obviously, better not to screw up… and I wish we had some really specific personal examples in the N.T. of leaders who failed in some important way, but weren’t PROFESSIONALS, just Christian leaders… so that we had some better models for dealing with it… not just sort of prescriptive advice from Paul, but actual narrative STORIES to help us understand the prescriptions a little better. There’s precious little on that front. We do have OT stories of repentant leaders…
Are there any paid pros in the N.T.?
Your earlier post on the “double life” problem, the screens and pretenses we all put up, was just dead on target…. for absolutely every human being on the planet. I’m just clueless what to do about it. As an individual in an organization, when you drop the screen and reveal your real struggles and humanity, you’re labeled, fast…. But humans make organizations and institutions… it’s what we DO, and we can’t accomplish much (good or bad, really) without them. How to get around that so we can be “real”? I just have no idea at all.
This is where the emerging folks are really on to something… but somehow it has to be done in a way that upholds standards, and still upholds redemption. I wish, I truly wish, that I could believe it could be different if we just did things better some way…. but I’m afraid I’m not too hopeful that a bunch of people won’t just organize into another hierarchy, and do it all again.
I think we’d be better off if the church was organized more like the A.A. than like Dupont or a small business.
Phil, you might be on to something with the 12-Steps church idea.
Whew. Ouch. Damn. What he said…yeah.
I should note… for the record… that the last phrase “Killing off my friendship with this man…” implies perhaps a mortal death knell for our friendship, which is not the case. I think fondly and often of my friend, I just have not made the time or space to really be in fellowship, via email or telephone, save a few exceptions.
Dunno from 12 step plans. Too many jokes there.
But…. AA is organized in such a way that it de-emphasizes leadership roles, has very little in the way of structure nationally/regionally, and would not survive a year if alcoholics stopped feeling served (an unfortunate choice of term).
It gets most of its money from the people it helps. A certain anonymity of participation is part of the tradition, as opposed to a giant dose of SEE ALL THE PEOPLE WHO LIONIZE ME FOR BEING COOL AND SPIRITUAL.
THE WIKI on one of its founders, known for many years just as Bill W., actual name Bill Wilson:
“Wilson refused numerous honors during his life, including an honorary degree from Yale University, and refused to allow himself to be on the covers of magazines. Before the twelve traditions were in place, Wilson was not shy about personal publicity. He later became an anonymous member and would later state that the principle of “public anonymity” was the greatest “spiritual principle” advanced by A.A.”
The “twelve traditions” came into place a bit after AA was founded, and were intended to keep the AA personal and not fundamentally institutional.
The refusal of notoriety and personal media exposure is so rare among leaders of churches and movements as to be laughable. Sure, some give much of their royalties to charity… but how do you give your fame away?
Maybe the “housechurch” people have it right.
Thanks for sharing all of this Chad. It is good for us who don’t get to see you to know what is happening.
dude
Yup. So, it turns out my friend still reads this blog. Hello friend.
Chad, sometimes there is just nothing to say, so I didn’t originally post. We had infidelity in our family. I, too, have experienced this pain. It sucks.
Today a friend was telling me about Sandi Patty’s autobiography, and relayed a story that gave me chills. I am doing an intense study of John, so feeling particularly close to that gospel. I found the passage from a book review online, and thought it might illustrate Aly’s point.
http://joyinthemorning.clubmom.com/joy_in_the_morning/2006/06/book_review_san.html
Chad, I’m only just now reading stuff I missed while I was busy getting ready for my new neffy’s birth. I wish I had been here when you wrote this, but I guess it’s never too late for support of the distant-friend-ish type.
I’m so sorry, all over again, that this was your birth-into-leadership experience. I’m sorry that most of the many ills of the church were made flesh for you in this way. Your heart was hurt, many times over and I’m guessing by many people, in the process of living through this experience. For that reason I hurt for you.
I wanted to specifically address your remark that it feels like, to you, that all that’s come out of your mouth (or fingers) for the last year has been ugly, and as a reader of your words I have to tell you that I’ve observed the exact opposite. Please let go of the notion that Angry, Hurt Chad is Ugly Chad. I’ve found so much beauty, however sorrowful, in your expressions of frustration, betrayal, and anger. You’ve become such a real person that I admire tremendously because of what you’ve shared - and you think that you’ve shared so little, and that little has been so un-beautiful. In my opinion that’s a million miles from the truth.
You are loved by this Seattle hippy.
Cerise