Warning: This is a long read and reveals my weaknesses and shortcomings. I pray it blesses others with feet of clay like myself.
I was sixteen years old when I walked the aisle at Bethel Baptist Church (Amherst, VA) to surrender to the call of vocational ministry, namely the pastorate. I was eighteen when a first traversed the halls of [what was then] Liberty Baptist College. I should have matriculated in 1983, but I wouldn’t receive the sheepskin and move the tassel until 1992. I ascended the pulpit as the newly called pastor of Tabernacle Baptist Church, Monroe, Virginia, without so much as a bachelor’s degree. That was Sunday, October 1, 1989, just weeks short of my twenty-ninth birthday. I’ve never looked back.
TABERNACLE BAPTIST CHURCH
Beginning with seventeen people, counting my pregnant wife and myself, it was a slow start in my first ministry. A worn out building, dingy walls, and frayed carpet didn’t reflect the hopes of that small congregation, which had had a dozen pastors in twenty-five years. Pastors stayed so briefly that it was suggested my name be attached to the church sign with velcro.
However, around 1991 things started to pick up. Having grown to only forty people in my first year and a half, we were suddenly running eighty attendees. The church was doing so well that I was able to quit my job and “go full time.” We also remodeled the building and eventually added on to it.
But the most exciting thing was all the kids and teens that populated that place. Young families flocked to our church, forcing us to go to two services, and by the time I left there in 1996 we approached 150 members. During my tenure there we had our two children, I was ordained, received my bachelor’s (finally), master’s, and doctorate degrees, purchased our first home, and made some lifelong friends. But God called me away.
EVANGEL BAPTIST CHURCH
In March of 1996 my family arrived in Lewistown, Pennsylvania to a group of thirty folks waiting to unload our U-Haul and welcome us to our new temporary home, a three-story stone mansion built around 1900. We lived there for six months until we bought our own home. We have some unforgettable memories living in that place!
We had to adjust in so many ways. The town of 10,000 made Lynchburg seem like a metropolis, and switching from “y’all” to “you-uns” never took. Living near the Amish in a once-prosperous steel town was a bit of a culture shock.
It was during those years that churches were transitioning from traditional music to contemporary, and ours was no exception. It took all the leadership skill and wisdom I could muster as a man in his mid-thirties, and making many but necessary changes took its toll. But we saw consistent and positive growth, building a new facility and expanding parking.
We also had some great events, such as having Dallas Holm in concert twice and Jerry Falwell, Sr. preach from our pulpit. It was during the Evangel years that I grew the most personally, and I even became a leader in our denomination. However, I made many mistakes, among them having a too-authoritarian attitude. I hope in spite of that that congregation knew how much I loved them and how privileged I felt to be their pastor. We would pull out of the driveway of our West Fifth Street home for the last time in October of 2000. Evangel thrives today.
BROOKDALE BAPTIST CHURCH
If moving from Hog Town, Virginia to central Pennsylvania was a culture shock, moving to northern New Jersey was a different planet. But we loved it!
Brookdale was a historic church, having been founded in the late nineteenth century and experiencing its heyday in the mid-twentieth century. Boasting a campus which took up the lion’s share of a city block, a Christian school, and a multiracial, multicultural congregation, it had once been home of a thriving Bible college and was a bastion of evangelicalism.
By the time I arrived on the Eve of my fortieth birthday, the church had fallen to severe infighting and had dwindled to a fraction of its previous membership, which had peaked at around 1,000. My assignment by our denominational executive was to “turn the church around.”
To an extent, we did see a turnaround. The church began to grow numerically, and finances greatly improved. More importantly, we witnessed amazing spiritual growth and increased involvement. Souls were being saved, people were being baptized, and all-in-all, we experienced a sweet time of ministry there. But all was not a bed of roses.
The politics and posturing often associated with a Christian school can create great stress for a healthy church, but it can wreak havoc on a dysfunctional church; and it did. Added to the mix were my frequent absences as I became more involved in our denomination, even on a national level.
Long story short, I developed a couple of blind spots as I failed to properly balance the many tasks on my plate. My pastoral staff felt like I was dumping responsibilities on them when I saw it as delegating. I was also harsh with people who challenged my decisions or questioned my authority. Unfortunately, I lost the trust of a couple of key elders who confronted me with a litany of failures and shortcomings, even accusations. I was devastated.
That confrontation resulted in what can be called nothing but a forced resignation, putting my family and me into a tailspin we barely survived. Ministry colleagues abandoned me, some church members ostracized us, and we were told to get out of the parsonage.
The fallout from that awful experience affected us for years, almost killing our marriage and irrevocably impacted our kids. But we survived. And so did Brookdale. And as I eventually emerged from the ashes of despair, I was able to see my own weaknesses and sin, and forgive others for theirs. As much of a hell as it was, I’m glad God shaped me into a better person from it. I regret, however, what it did to my family.
GRACEPOINTE BAPTIST CHURCH
During the summer of 2005 and in the aftermath of the Brookdale fiasco, a couple of potential ministry opportunities vanished as quickly as they appeared. I had accepted the fact that I was without a ministry and began to look for and eventually find gainful employment. A friend lent me a car and my retirement plan carried us through for a while. I thought I might not pastor again. I was almost okay with that.
God had other plans. A half dozen couples and their children began meeting on Sunday evenings on the back porch of our rented Amherst home, eventually becoming a new church. Our first public service was in October of 2005, and our first meeting place was Whitten’s Monelison Funeral Chapel. We chartered the church on the first Sunday of December with about thirty-five charter members.
Since that fateful day we’ve met in that funeral home, a warehouse, Coolwell Recreation Center, an old Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall, and our current location on Winesap Road (since 2008). But GracePointe is far more than a building or location. It’s one of the sweetest church families on God’s green earth, and I’ve been privileged to be their pastor for eighteen years.
I used to dream of it becoming larger, and fully supporting my family financially. But God, in His infinite wisdom, has a different purpose for this unique and amazing group of Jesus followers. I came to terms with being a small-church bi-vocational pastor years ago, and even embrace it as my best and most rewarding ministry. I’ve never been more content.
WHAT’S NEXT?
I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I trust God each step of the way. I will cherish each day He allows me to lead my wonderful, messy, amazing, struggling, and beautiful congregation, and I long to stand before Him one day and hear the words, “Well done, My good and faithful servant.”
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