The Antidote for Darkness

by Sally Morgenthaler

July 6, 2007 |

darkness.jpgShe sat in the second row. Long brown hair. A high-school look to her, and yet, her eyes belied way too many journeys to fit into a 16-year-old time frame.

I was teaching a class about ministry and dark places. Not so much about ministry in dark places, but about the darkness we and/or our spouses bring with us into ministry. I started the hour by saying, “Unfortunately, I’m qualified to teach this class.” (For more about that, see my Leadership Journal article.)

Her tears came slowly. They’d been held close under the lids, but 20 minutes into the hour, they could no longer contain what had collected there. I showed a clip from Seabiscuit…the part where an injured racehorse was about to be put down, and a stable hand yells, “Stop. I’ll save you the bullet. I’ll take him.” Cut to the scene when a horse buyer (played by Jeff Bridges) asks the stable hand if the horse will ever race again. “No, not that one.” The horse buyer is silent, unable to take in the meaning. Then he asks the obvious. “Why? Why are you bothering with him then?” The stable hand responds, “Because I can. Just because someone’s banged up a bit doesn’t mean he isn’t worth anything.”

Banged up leaders. Banged up Christian leaders. The tawdry details of leaders’ indiscretion and moral failure have filled a lot of newspapers and talk shows of late. We scratch our heads and wonder how these things can happen. Some of us retreat into denial. It didn’t really happen. The charges were trumped up. Others of us get sick to the stomach. One more example of hypocrisy. No wonder Christianity is a bad word in America. Some of us take the opportunity to reflect on our own leadership. We think about our own failings, our own destructive, secret habits. And we have no idea what we’d do if anyone ever found out. And if we're honest, more than a few of us reach for the shotgun.

I wondered about this young woman, and the pain she was carrying. Were her tears about herself – her own dark places? Or was she married to someone with a secret, a leader with a double life? I didn’t know. But I do know that her entire countenance changed at one point. It was toward the end of the hour, and the class had been discussing strategies for dealing with fallen leaders. They’d all been wrestling with specific situations in their various congregations, situations where no one confronted their leaders’ destructive patterns until it was too late. Until much damage had been done. We had been affirming to each other how important truth-telling is, more important than saving a “career” or saving a congregation’s squeaky-clean image. But, then I said truth must always come in the context of grace extended in tangible ways (read, an intentional healing process that usually requires much time and sacrifice). I explained that truth and mercy were the two inseparable antidotes to darkness. Then, the light of hope dawned on her face.

She came up after the class. Looking into my eyes, she asked through her tears, “What do you do when you find out your father is a predator? It happened six months ago, and my mom just told me.” More tears. “He was my hero. It’s like I don’t know who I am now. He’s a pillar in the community. I don’t want to face the truth, but I have to. We weren’t the family I thought we were. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. What do I do now?"

Somehow bullets don’t work so well on family members. And though truth must be the first thing that is told, outside the context of lived mercy, it is like a bullet. We may want to put a leader down. It may feel good. It might even make our day. But just because someone’s banged up doesn’t mean he or she isn’t worth anything. The hope in this young woman’s eyes came when she suddenly realized, “My dad may have done this, but God is not done with him. And, he’s still my dad.” She answered her own question about what she does now: Face the truth—all of it—and walk alongside him on the long and arduous journey toward emotional and spiritual wholeness.

Maybe we need to remember the two antidotes to darkness the next time we hear about a fallen leader. Or the next time we fall. Tell the truth. Offer real healing—to ourselves, to others. That means, like this young woman, we commit for the long haul. We don’t pull out of the process like one well-known leader did in the face of his colleague’s devastation. Now, that’s hypocrisy.

The horse may have to get out of the race, but it’s still good for something. No, it’s good for incredible things. That’s called redemption.


Comments

I liked this article. Its so true that we give up on ourselves and others so easily. We cling to this illusion of perfection for Christians. My friend likes to say that we "shoot our own wounded."

Praise God for his amazing ability to redeem what is seemingly impossible to redeem! I'm constantly amazed to see how his grace has managed to create something good out of the big messes I've made in my own life.

King David was a man after God's own heart, but he screwed things up pretty badly. Can you imagine a Christian leader today committing adultery and murder and then being restored to ministry at some point?? We like to read the Bible about how God's grace is so amazing--isn't it nice how God was so merciful to King David or to the woman caught in adultery. Yet, we fail to make the translation into our own lives. How do we treat people in the church who have committed adultery?

I find that often people who have failed miserably and worked through that process end up becoming some of the most humble, transparent and compassionate people.

Posted by: Karen on July 7, 2007

I liked the article.

Certainly, it's true that genuine Christian leaders who fall need God's love and mercy. However, to expect that they will not suffer consequences, nor to have deeply wounded and caused those whom they led or ministered to (or who were, in some way, associated with them), to suffer, seems unrealistic to me. As a Christian teacher I heard once said, "If a Christian leader who blesses people through his [or her] ministry falls, it's doubtful whether they will have more blessed or hurt those people." How true! The truth is that our sin has consequences--for the person who has sinned, surely; but, if one is a leader, it can surely have consequences also for those whom we lead, God's forgiveness notwithstanding. Witness the suffering caused by the fall of noted Christian leaders within the past 20 years; or the scandal of pedophile priests, about which we have heard so much in recent years. Ask those who were molested, or their families, or their parishes, whether these were victimless crimes.

One other thing: We need to make a clear distinction between forgiveness and mercy, on the one hand, and restoration to a position of leadership, on the other. 1 Timothy 3 and Titus 1, for instance, tell us that those who aspire to be elders (which today might translate to "pastor") must be "above reproach." A leader who falls may certainly receive God's forgiveness and mercy; however, in my opinion, according to Scripture, he forfeits the condition of blamelessness needed to again be an elder.

Posted by: Greg Sheryl on July 10, 2007

I agree wholeheartedly with the twin needs for both truth and mercy. I've seen them achieve great success in restoring Christian leaders who have fallen.

However, it is essential that the fallen one truly acknowledges their sin and wishes to be restored. When that is lacking or insincere, the attempts of others to walk alongside them can contribute to further harm, both to the original victim(s) and to those who are too naive about the restoration process.

Unfortunately, ministry leadership sometimes attracts narcissistic people who are quite skilled at manipulating even those who are attempting to hold them accountable. I've seen that happen too.

I would encourage anyone dealing with this situation who does not have significant personal experience in restoration to obtain counsel from someone who has a track record in it.

Posted by: Kathy Nesper on July 10, 2007

This relates to something that I've been noticing in my Bible reading for some time: Jesus calls us to radical love.

Sometimes the darkness means that the person involved must be removed from that ministry - for the protection of those who might get hurt otherwise. Love isn't always an easy thing. It isn't a matter of saying "Oh, that's all right, what you did doesn't matter." What we do DOES matter - the Bible makes that clear.

Radical love may call us to take hard steps, even to do things that seem harsh; but whatever needs to be done, must be done in love. And we must aim always to follow Jesus - Who died for us while we were sinners.

He didn't wait for us to be good first; He loved us first, and our response to His love works in us to bring us to the good.

Hate the sin. Love the sinner. It's a radical call. We can't do it by ourselves; but we don't have to. What we have to do is turn always to Jesus, Whose strength is made perfect in weakness - even in OUR weakness.