My journal records one of those pressurized times in a church I served some years back.
Consider that the church was still recovering from a split five years earlier, leaving us with a diminished congregation but an all-consuming debt. Consider that some of our people still carried guilt over their actions during the fight, while others nursed hurts and anger from the same tragic event. I’d not been around during that catastrophe, I’m happy to report, but the Father had sent me in to help the congregation pick up the pieces and return to health and usefulness.
It was hard.
I was weak personally, having just emerged from a brutal three-plus years trying to shepherd another congregation that was divided. So, I came in gun-shy, hoping to avoid conflicts with church leadership and the demoralizing griping from church membership.
Naïve, huh? Probably so. People are going to look and act like who they are.
Daily I was being undermined by the angry, criticized by the hurting, ostracized by the pious, and scrutinized to the nth degree by leaders, self-appointed and otherwise. When I tried to do a few things I considered normal and healthy, these also were thrown back in my face.
The journal records my efforts to bring in community leaders for a forum during which the guest would speak and be questioned. Our people could not understand why in the world I would want to bring a congressman, for example, to our church.
I was stunned. They don’t see the need? Aren’t they citizens who vote and who are affected by the actions of political leaders? Do they not care? Where have these people been?