Excerpt from Breakthrough Courage: 9 Habits to Conquer Fear and Build a Brave Heart
In November 2013, I finished a seminar at the church I was pastoring at the time—one I had planted with my wife and children in our basement twenty years earlier. Despite many sleepless nights and spiritual obstacles, through the power of the Holy Spirit, the congregation had grown into the thousands.
At the time, I was filled with joy. My newly married daughter and her husband would soon be visiting us for Thanksgiving. It was going to be a wonderful reunion. As I walked into the lobby, a grim-looking church elder met me and asked me to follow him without explanation. All kinds of thoughts ran wildly through my mind: Has something happened to my Liz? Are the children okay? A car accident? I was filled with a foreboding feeling. I asked what was going on, but there was no reply.
In my office, I was met by more church elders. Over the next hour, they explained that I was being placed on a six-month forced “sabbatical.” As they laid out their reasons—mainly my autocratic leadership style, I was filled with a combination of anger, frustration, and loneliness. I had not seen this coming. I was shocked to the core of my being!
What have I done to deserve such measures? Who is behind this? All kinds of conspiracy theories went through my head. I was flooded with shame and confusion. Everything I had given my life to in ministry was now under the scrutiny of a few men who had never led or built a church.
Above all else, I was enveloped by fear. Frightened of losing the ministry, losing friendships, and losing the finances to support my large family. At the time, I felt betrayed by men I thought I could trust.
No number of questions about the elders’ conclusions would suffice. I still had Liz and my family in my corner, but a deep sense of betrayal and abandonment erupted within my heart. When I explained to Liz what had transpired, she was fired up. One thing about my wife: You better have a good explanation for your conclusions, or you’ll be in big trouble! (You don’t raise seven children who are all strong entrepreneurial leaders without a mom who doesn’t take a lot of BS.) I repeated what the elders had said, but she wasn’t buying it.
The situation created an existential crisis in our life.
For No Particular Reason
If you have ever seen the movie Forrest Gump, you may recall the scene in which Forrest wakes up one morning to find that his beloved Jenny has left him. Just the night before, everything had seemed so idyllic. Their love for each other had been rekindled. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, a taxi drove up and Jenny left.
Do you recall how Forrest dealt with his grief? The next scene shows him sitting in the rocker on the porch of his house, wearing his Nike shoes; then he puts on his red “Bubba Gump” cap and starts running. The film’s narration captures it: “That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run…” Forrest ran and ran and ran, from one coast to the other … five times.
Well, one morning during the sabbatical, I got up early, before the sun had risen, and for no particular reason, I put on my boots and a ball cap and just took a walk. And every day for almost three years straight, I walked and walked and walked. For hours at a time, I walked. I walked and I prayed. I walked and I thought. I walked and I wept. I would walk for miles as I pondered the confusion and frustration of my predicament. I walked and thought about the mistakes and poor decisions I had made. I thought about people I had hurt and the pride in my heart. I was overwhelmed with a sense of humiliation and shame.
I asked God for forgiveness. On many a sunrise, I wondered how the church was doing in my absence. Since I was not allowed to even visit, I felt disconnected from the people I loved. When God prompted me, I sought out staff I might have offended and repented to them face-to-face. On many a day, I knelt in the woods and surrendered afresh my heart and ministry to the Lord.
Fire Pit Time
And then one day, I returned from another long walk to see a couple of men sitting by my fire pit. We greeted each other, and they told me of their prayers for my family and me. They asked how I was doing. Then we just sat by the fire in silence. As we stared at the dancing flames, the presence of God showed up. Like a fog rolling in off the Rockies, the power of God flooded us. I began to weep. They began to weep.
They provided no counsel or advice. Just companionship. They had come to love my family and me. They came to enter my shame and pain and accept me in my broken state. There was no judgment, only love.
As the months passed, it became common to find men sitting out by my fire pit, waiting for me to come home from my long walks. The “fire-pit time” expanded as more men came. Slowly and guardedly, I began to open my heart to them. None of these men had been close friends before the crisis, yet they cared for me. We talked, we laughed, and we wept together. Over time, our bond grew, and our hearts melted together in mutual respect and friendship.
Jesus saved my soul, but those men rescued my heart. This experience was different from salvation; this was sanctification of my heart through friendship and trust. I found what I had never known I was missing—a covenant of companionship.
Pastor Steve