And the Spirit Led Me: Walking with God Through a Church Disaster

Chapter One

At age thirty-eight — after many years of resenting organized religion —I went back to the church and took my two children with me. Although I did not believe in God, I had known for at least eighteen years that people of faith were better off than I was. They had a sense of peace and security I would never know. I spent my first twelve years of life in a Unitarian church, where it seemed we believed in everything and nothing. As a person of science, who became a veterinarian, I needed solid proof that God existed in order to be a believer. Since I felt certain that no such proof existed, I knew I would always be on the outside looking in. For years, I was angry at my inability to believe and would scoff, If You exist, why don’t You show Yourself? By the time I went back to church, I felt there was no hope for me, but at least my children would have an opportunity to have the faith that I craved for myself. As I stood on the stairs of the church that day, unable to believe God existed, I had no way of knowing that He had been patiently waiting, or that He had amazing plans for me.

I spent the next eleven years in that congregation, and it became a second family to me. After two and a half years, I came to believe that God existed, and in the tumultuous last two years there, I felt God’s presence and protection during some of the worst times of my life.

My journey from agnosticism to faith began in that church. First, I had sensed God working in the people’s lives as they prayed to Him. I also actually realized, using quantum chemistry, probability, biochemistry, and thermodynamics, that it takes more faith to believe that life happened by accident than that it was created. And a sermon given by the pastor had helped me believe in the reality of a loving Father, even though I could not see Him.

In my last year there, I had taken on the voluntary position of director of personnel in a church that was crumbling. The issue we faced, or failed to face, was how to deal with two young women, longtime members, who were now aggressively flaunting their homosexual relationship. The majority of the church did not want to affirm their relationship, and our pastor had assured the church’s search committee seven years earlier that he agreed with that position. But as many members walked away, a small group in the church managed to block any decision on how to handle the issue. To make things worse, the head of the board was in denial, since he thought that conflict was not Christ-like.

As the church came apart, the pastor became very angry with the members who disagreed with him. In my role as director of personnel, I had worked with the pastor and music director to resolve a seven-year dispute within four months. Although that seemed miraculous, it required me to be even-handed with both of them, which was not how personnel had been run in the past. Although the pastor was grateful for the better relationship with the music director, he was resentful that I sometimes had to stand up to him. He was also frustrated that the church was becoming sharply divided, and he did not know how to handle the situation.

At that time in my spiritual journey, I felt a calling to do lay ministry. I decided to speak to the pastor about this, which resulted in an ugly attack from a man I admired. When I later spoke to him with two elders present, he realized that he had misinterpreted things that I had done. But after my meeting with the pastor and the elders, the regional minister had assigned me to a pastor from another congregation for pastoral care. The elders felt they needed my help and that I would need pastoral support from another source to continue with my duties. When my new pastor, who later became my mentor, heard my story, he said Satan didn’t make that much noise without a good reason. I thought that Satan was wasting his time with me. I believed in God the Father. But I had not really encountered God the Son or God the Holy Spirit, although I knew about them. That fall, on my new pastor’s advice and as part of my faith journey, I started as a part-time special student at the Virginia Theological Seminary (VTS), a few miles from my home just outside Washington, DC.

Two months later, our church was in a crisis over whether to affirm homosexuality. The board chose to do nothing when faced with impending disaster, and for me, that was the last straw. Eventually, 75 percent of the church’s members walked away, including me. Six months later, those left behind said they had finally realized that no issue was worth destroying our community. But it was too late.

Even though I felt God had protected me during this time, I still struggled with the awful end to the community I had loved so much. My pain was compounded by a series of deaths that occurred as I left. On the night I left the church, I learned that a fifty-two-year-old man, a church member and friend, had died unexpectedly. About a month later, on December 21, my mother-in-law died. Our family buried her in Boston on Christmas Eve and returned home in a snowstorm. On Christmas Day, a seventeen-year-old boy I had taught in Sunday school for years was in a serious car accident. He clung to life for a week. I had been warned on New Year’s Eve that he would not live through the night, so I lay in bed on New Year’s morning, waiting for the call that came at 9:30 AM. Both members and former members of the church got together for another funeral. Despite feeling God’s protection during the dissension at my church, I now felt beaten down and sad. I wanted to be involved in ministry but felt that someone or something was trying to crush my spirit.

My neighbor Linda had often invited me to her church. But I was leery, because I thought that her church operated under a congregational style of leadership, and I felt that this type of governance had contributed to my previous church’s downfall.

But on Palm Sunday, I finally decided to visit Linda’s church. I knew from the moment I walked in the door that there was something different there. Even though the congregation met in an elementary school cafeteria, the spirit was very reverent and worshipful — and their soft-spoken and kind pastor was clearly Christ centered. The strong faith of the people reminded me of those who had helped me find my way to God.

I learned from my neighbor, and then her pastor, that although people in the church disagreed on a number of issues, they agreed that God loves people with homosexual attractions but that transformation is possible, and homosexual behavior is not to be blessed. I knew I would not feel safe in any church that was divided on this issue, and I desperately needed to be with people of radical faith. I decided to stay, because I felt I could trust the church to stick together if the issue that had destroyed my former church arose. Besides, the conservatives in my former church had challenged me to look into the science that the media had so often claimed regarding homosexuality, because I had said that I believed it. When I looked into it, I discovered I was wrong. It was appalling to see the negative effect that a stereotype was having on our society, and particularly on our children.

I had also learned a lot from my mentor about living in community and dealing with conflict. That was the area I planned to study at the seminary. Still, I believed that the things I had learned regarding the fight over homosexuality in my former church would never be needed in my new one. I felt safe to love a church again.

Of course, God’s plans are not the same as our plans. It turned out that it was not God’s plan for me to hide any more than it was His plan for Jonah to run away on a ship to avoid speaking to Nineveh. I believe He merely steered me to the place He wanted me to be. Less than four months before the Episcopal Church elected a partnered homosexual bishop, I was at ground zero for the worst church fight over homosexuality ever. I was in Christ the Redeemer Episcopal Church in Northern Virginia, which was a mission of Truro Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Virginia in the Episcopal Church in the worldwide Anglican Communion. Further, I was in an orthodox Episcopal parish and attending a liberal Episcopal seminary. Clearly, running away to hide had been my idea, not the Lord’s. Although I had a feeling that I was there for a reason, fortunately, I had no idea what I would do or how long it would take.

Chapter Two

Spring, 2003

When I first started attending Christ the Redeemer, which called itself an evangelical Episcopal church, I believed the e in evangelical was capitalized and was part of the denomination’s proper name. I did not know that it was actually part of the Episcopal Church. My very first day, I felt as though I had come home.

After the service, my friend Linda introduced me to her pastor, Tom, and told him I was attending VTS. He was a graduate of VTS and was pleased to meet someone who was a student there. In the course of our conversation, Linda also told him that my former pastor had verbally assaulted me during a serious church conflict, so I had trust problems with clergy. He said he wanted to meet with me to hear about my past, but we could not meet until early June.

When we finally met, I felt at ease with him and told him what had happened in my previous ill-fated congregation. He stopped my story only once. I was telling him that my last duty as director of personnel was to recommend firing the interim minister who had replaced our pastor. The undisputed charges were that she had used the f word in front of the staff and church members, had told the staff and church members that she was sleeping with her fiancé, and had been violating confidentiality. Tom asked, Who are we talking about here? I said, The interim pastor. He was incredulous, and even more surprised to hear that some liberal members of the board were opposed to firing her because she aggressively supported their position on same-sex relationships.

When I finished talking, he said two things. The first was, I’m glad you’re still here. He felt the spiritual abuse I had suffered would have driven most people out of the church. Then he said, I believe God brought you here for a reason. I told him I knew God had brought me there, but I had not been able to figure out why. Tom also told me that he would not let the issue that destroyed my former church destroy Christ the Redeemer. He too had been in a church destroyed by the issue of homosexuality and recognized that fighting over this issue interfered with the church’s mission, and he would not allow us to lose sight of our mission. He said he would even leave the Episcopal Church, which he loved, if that turned out to be the only avenue left.

Chapter Three

Summer, 2003

In late July of 2003 the Episcopal Church held its triennial General Convention. The church as a whole was deciding whether to confirm the election of a partnered homosexual bishop, Gene Robinson, and whether to allow same-sex blessings. News reports indicated that someone must have cut a political deal regarding these two issues. At first it was repeatedly reported that the church was planning to have both a homosexual bishop and official same-sex rites. Then, suddenly, the news reports changed without one vote having been cast. There would be no official same-sex rites, but there would be a gay bishop. I was well aware that a vote to confirm Gene Robinson would put the Episcopal Church on the same downward spiral that had trapped my former congregation. I debated whether I could stay. I really did not want to be in any church that spent its time fighting over homosexuality. I had no tolerance left for the chronic stress and anxiety I had experienced for almost three years.

But on the first Sunday after General Convention, while our pastor was on a mission trip to Bolivia, our senior warden (head of the church board) assured us that the values of our parish had not changed. Tom had written a letter to us, which assured me that Christ the Redeemer (CtR) would be a safe place in this storm. He had also written a letter to Bishop Peter Lee, our diocesan bishop, clearly stating our position. I knew that the people in my parish would not be fighting with each other over this issue. In his letter, Tom called the election of Bishop Robinson a clear act of defiance of the Scriptures and the historic teachings of the church. He also described concrete steps our parish had taken to counter our unfortunate circumstances, affirmed our mission and ministry, and said that God was with us and that His Holy Spirit would guide us. In addition, he made it clear that we would not just walk away from the Episcopal Church, because councils sometimes err and change their decisions.

Since Bishop Lee, who had voted for Robinson to be consecrated, did not ordain homosexuals in his diocese, the letter to him from our church leaders said, In reference to your letter to the diocese on August 3, Bishop Lee, we struggle to understand how your vote of confirmation will not ultimately affect the policy of our diocese and that of the entire church. After repudiating the bishop’s decision, they spoke of the prior warm and mutually respectful relationship they had enjoyed with him, which they now had to reexamine, due to their deep feelings of betrayal and sorrow.

When Tom came back from Bolivia, he spoke to us about how Scripture says that Christians are to submit one to another (Ephesians 5:21). He said that what he had loved about the Episcopal Church in the past was that it had been willing to do just that, leaving a place for everyone to stand before God inside the church until God made His will clear. Tom said that he did not know how we got to this precipice. Then he said that we had actually gone off the precipice, and the cliff was behind us. He also had another more private grief to deal with. The letter he and the vestry sent to Bishop Lee was never answered, and he was upset that the bishop, who had been his shepherd, was not speaking to him. Tom said it was strongly worded but not disrespectful of the bishop. He had worked hard planting new churches for the diocese and had been very successful, so he felt betrayed by the bishop’s vote and hurt by his silence.

Chapter Four

In spite of the pain Tom was experiencing, our leaders kept the church calm and focused on its mission in the crisis. It seemed to me that CtR was doing well. At the time, I thought it would probably only take a few weeks to work things out. It was clear to me that the Lord had led me to CtR, and running again would be useless. Where could I go that was safe? I felt that I was where God intended me to be, but I still wondered why.

Then two weeks after General Convention (GC), our parish began a fund-raising campaign to erect a building on property we owned. I was deeply impressed by the story of a struggling young couple who paid their pledge even though they had suffered serious financial setbacks that made this very hard to do. They cried while writing the check to the church, but from that moment on their circumstances improved, and they were able to pay their bills. As a person who had always felt insecure about finances, this story had a profound effect on me. I had already sensed the deep faith of the people in the church for the last four months, but I admired these two young people so much. I doubted I could have done what they did.

I started praying about how I might come up with the money I wanted to give for the new building. I had an old horse named Candy I no longer was able to visit very often. Boarding her near my house was expensive, and I wondered how I might better use some of that money to help build the new church. But I knew I couldn’t just move her. She was twenty-eight and had just recovered from an ulcer. Removing her from her herd and the person who managed her feeding and medications for so long would probably kill her. I couldn’t sell her or give her away, and euthanasia was unthinkable.

I could not find a way out of my dilemma. Then I did something I had never been able to do before. I was actually riding Candy through the woods, trying to decide her fate, when I finally bended my knee and trusted God to take care of things as He desired. I said, Lord, there is no good way for me to do this. I will trust that if this is what You want, You will find a way. I know that I can’t. That was a turning point in my life. In His grace, God would use that simple request to show me what He could do when I was helpless.

About two weeks later, Candy’s caretaker, Millie, called to say that the land she was leasing for the horses was about to be sold. She was planning to move quite a distance away