Author’s Note: This story was not written to demean or belittle anyone. It is not intended to be gossip or to be an embarrassment for all parties involved. It does not exist to make myself seem better than anyone else involved. It was written to be a reminder as to the vulnerability of believers in Jesus Christ. No matter how devout we may be.

“Therefore let him who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall.”

-Paul to The Church at Corinth

It was early autumn when we darkened the door of the sanctuary. We, with a large family that we were hosting for the weekend, had come together to attend a conference by The Maxwell Family. Who? Christians in devout circles that hunger for holiness and modesty know who I am speaking of. This wasn’t a gathering to hear Osteen speak about dying to poverty and illness. This wasn’t Furtick trying to be the coolest middle aged man on stage whilst squeezing into his son’s Saturday night garments. No. This was a presentation about strengthening families and raising children to be warriors for The Way. Homeschooling. Khakis, long dresses and skirts. Courting. KJV Bibles. Hymns. Crockpots. You get it.

I was very impressed by what I had seen. Young children with manners. Congregants that treated strangers like family (even little ol’ us). People on their knees praying at the pews. This was all new to a small family that had grown “comfortable” with the cold Pentecostal Church that was experimenting with the Word of Faith Movement. Comfortable, though, in attendance. Not comfortable in theology. Such comfort wrestled with us for weeks on whether or not to leave and settle in at our new discovery. The cold Pentecostal Church had no life. Visitors were rarely acknowledged. The new Independent Fundamental Baptist Church was vibrant and alive with like minded believers. After I destroyed the Word of Faith lie in a Sunday School lesson, only to have another Brother go behind me and refute the Biblical truths that I laid out, I realized that The Pentecostal Church was no longer our home. The following Sunday we were welcomed into what would be our new church family.

In time I was comfortably pulled into my discomfort zone. The Pentecostal Church was essentially dead. “Let us go and worship thrice a week!” we would all say. “For that is enough!” However, now we were faced with new demands from The Spirit. Street preaching. Volunteering and preaching at the Rescue Mission. Door to door witnessing. Preaching at the nursing home. Shuttling drug addicts and broken men and women from the shelter to our Sunday services. And above all, our addiction ministry Reformers Unanimous. It was here that I was called to do more for The Christ. It was here that I stood in the pulpit to bring many messages. Where I preached of God’s care to the aging and ill at the nursing home. Where I preached The Gospel to a room full of broken addicts at The Mission. Where I became one of the leaders in our addiction ministry. Where another Brother and I discussed forming a prison ministry. Where I was voted by the congregation to be a Deacon. Where The Pastor and I played around with the concept of me pastoring a new church plant once I became Pastor. This was the closest that I had seen to a New Testament church in ministry and worship. Focused on Holiness and The Gospel. Not feelings, entertainment, and programs.

And then a chill set into the sanctuary. Frost adorned the light stain of the pews. He had arrived.

Quite by surprise the floor had fallen from beneath me as I was let go from my job of nearly 11 years. After several months of unemployment, time was running low and desperation was gaining a foothold. Hope was fading fast. I was finally offered a position as a driver for a major package delivery chain. This took place during the Christmas season. I had gone from devoting my all to the work of our church to working 72 hours a week and nearly every day. This took us away from our church for an entire month. Once the wrapping paper was discarded, gift cards were exhausted, and returns were made, we were finally able to return. Much to our surprise a new family had joined during our absence. Great! But someone else slipped in. Only you could not see him. Almost immediately I knew something was different. Something was not right. The foundation started cracking.

In hindsight I am uncertain as to what had taken place first. I was on the outside looking in. Trying to piece together the negative nature of the air around me. My Bride sensed immediate trouble within moments of our return. The preaching was different. Gone was the razor blade precision of words that lacerated The Enemy. Words had become a little more careful. Even the Pastor confessed that he would be changing how he preached. Evidently someone was offended. Someone got hurt. Our newest visitor, The Accuser, had begun to speak with certain congregants in the shadows.

I am unaware as to what had taken place in the dark corridors. I can only follow vague clues with assumptions because I know nothing of the words that were spoken. Only the actions after the fact. This young couple over here denied pastoral counseling and input for their upcoming wedding and only wanted him to officiate. Even though he pastored them for many years. He was obviously hurt. This family over there had begun to live like the world and turned their backs on the church and, ultimately, God altogether. Something must’ve been said because they promptly divorced themselves from the church. Many other families that were pursuing the world sided with them and followed suit. The division had begun.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was not necessarily the departure of these families. It was when the two deacons sided with these families and attacked The Pastor as well. There were no other pastors or elders. These two men were it. “Second in command” if you will. No one was on his side. Only a remnant in the pews that begged the question “Why can’t Pastor stay?”. He had made his decision despite protest. A select few of the church turned on him and set on course the consuming fire. The deacons and “men of renown” that remained added the fuel. There was nothing more for him. He planted this church with his vision and passion. All of this died when his shadow faded into obscurity.

I had been within the walls of pastorless churches before. This seemed like second nature… again. People leave because they want nothing to do with a church without leadership. People leave because of the inward fighting that arises. Fighting that results from the disagreements between a pastor’s resignation and his replacement. What was once a vibrant church crumbles from within and what remains are the dedicated. Those that hold on to the thread of hope that the next one will make everything better. Fellowship with Church Family and Familiarity become their guide. Because of this experience, I was selected to be the fifth man in the newly developed Leadership Team. These other four men were good friends with The Pastor. All of them served with him, the two deacons included. All of them had known him for many years. The renown men of our church. “The Men”. And then there was… me. Just a punk new kid on the block that didn’t know anything. At least that is how their eyes must have perceived me. What transpired after the formation of this team had forever seared itself into my mind. Maybe these other men have forgotten. But I have not. Not because it is an obsession that I cannot let go of. No. But because I bore witness to what The Enemy is capable of. No matter how sacred the hymn. No matter how long the dress. No matter how stained the knees of the khakis from fervent prayer. 

Our now former pastor placed an offer on the table. An offer to work with the Leadership Team in finding a replacement. Reasonable enough. After all, he started the church and all of its ministerial structures. With a profound passion this was his “baby”, for the lack of a better term. Who else should help with the transition? He even mentioned that he knew of some pastors that he could suggest. However, the response of The Men left me speechless and drowning in disbelief. Not just did they reject his offer for any assistance, but they even told him that he was no longer allowed back at the church. Not even to worship. His family could come. Just not him. “Let us not allow the man that has built this and has given reason for our coming together to darken the doorstep of our sanctuary! Let us even separate him from his family for worship! Maybe they can share notes!”

I was perplexed by their reasoning. The excuse was something along the lines that it would have been a distraction for the church to have him there when he wasn’t supposed to be there as a pastor. Nevermind the fact that many pastors have resigned or retired and yet remained at their church as a layman. I was yet even more disturbed by the actions of The Men. They intentionally set up a secret “email ring” among us for communication purposes that was to be kept hidden from our wives. Some even had to use their work email as a work around. After the line was drawn that The Pastor could not cross, it was time to get busy searching for his replacement. Nevermind the fact that they had given The Pastor his Ides of March treatment and left him and his family by the roadside to bleed. Good Samaritan parable? They had treated him as an anathema. As a vile sinner excommunicated by the church. How quickly they had forgotten that just weeks prior these men stood before the congregation and praised him for his hard work and dedication to this ministry. For all the things that he had done for them and their families. One even called him his “best friend”. 

In time the degradation behind closed doors became more prominent. The Men were constantly annoyed by The Pastor for trying to reach out to them. For seeking answers. And The Pastor was definitely being persistent. They did their best to ignore him so that they could move on. A deep chasm opened between these once former ministry partners. Once former friends. And yet I was born with a curse upon my head. This burden that I wear as a crown- a disdain for injustice. I would not stand for it. I would not sit idly by as they walked away from the wounds inflicted. So I stood in that chasm as the voice of reason for both parties. Unfortunately and fortunately it became a blessing to see my potential for my future ministry as a Pastor. It was also my other curse as I stood as a David in a room full of Goliaths. It was a fire that I questioned if I should have ever messed with. Maybe I should have stood? Maybe I should have sat down and shut my mouth? Do I bear the burden of regret as well?

I became a thorn in their flesh. I would not agree to move on to any business until the damage and it’s collateral partner was addressed. Granted I’m sure that The Pastor wore some guilt somewhere. In many cases either he would take someone by surprise with a response and they did not know how to respond, or they just simply did not like his point of view. He was skilled in arguments like Our Savior, turning accusations against him into reflective questions for his accusers. This irritated many as they accused him of changing the subject. Of not acknowledging his own faults. I must confess that he could be a bit stern at times with people in certain situations. According to some maybe too stern. He and I had many meetings and phone calls discussing what was going on during this time (honestly at times I questioned whether or not he was using me as a bridge to reconnect). This happened many times, much to the chagrin of The Men. They could not successfully sever ties as long as I was engaged with Pastor like this. They accused me of defending The Pastor and his actions. Of stirring his pot of strife. This I vehemently denied. Anytime an accusation would arise, I would call him and ask if it was true. What is his story? What is his excuse? I would hold his feet to the fire if necessary. In my eyes we all were bearing guilt somewhere. I just wanted Justice. None came. I wanted answers. I was denied answers. Maybe because in their eyes I was too naïve. Maybe, like Nicholson said, I “couldn’t handle the truth”. In time my concern for what he was accused of faded into a concern for the division between these men. For the hurt that was digging the grave.

I laid before them a prophecy. That God would not further bless the church until all parties came to a mutual and forgiving resolution. Until peace took my place in the chasm. It is not much of a prophetic message. It should be common sense. We even had an evening meeting with a pastoral mediator that lasted well into the early morning hours. Unfortunately it proved to be more of an attack meeting on The Pastor. Nothing was resolved as Pride did most of the talking. In time one deacon would not stop accusing The Pastor of his “crimes”. It became an obsession for him. As if his life’s work suddenly was to destroy this pastor. Even to the point that he was concerned about stopping him from being a pastor ever again. The Men shared his concerns. Should we give good references if he seeks the pulpit again? Or should we condemn? 

In time Frustration tossed and turned me though my nights. Depression ruled my days. I made the decision to leave the The Leadership Team. For the rope that upheld Hope had frayed and then eventually… snapped. Upon my resignation I questioned whether my family and I would even return to church. Ironically, just days after my announcement, the church dissolved for good. No goodbyes. No final sermon. Locked doors. Memories.

So what was behind this murderous blow? What created this downfall of a great church? Of a once great pastor that had passion and vision? That created the closest thing that one would see to an early New Testament church. Where families worshiped together and prayed on their knees. Where they did devotions at home and memorized Bible verses. Where they practiced modesty and courtship and raised their children to be warriors for Christ. Where the redeemed and the broken were ministered to under the same roof. Where these renown men stood on the front lines with Pastor to contend for The Faith. Allow me to tell you what led to the cobwebs that overtook our once occupied pews. 

The Pastor once told me that, for the families that left the church, the children were leading the parents. More particularly the young adults. I did not comprehend at the time. However, eventually the days had passed by. The winds of change had blown the sands of time from the big picture, revealing what he had spoken of.

I had noted to The Men the irony that all of the families that had turned on The Pastor were turning against the teachings of our church. They said that I was ridiculous. What do I know of the situation, considering that I had access to these families on social media and they did not?  Naïve and foolish I must have been. These young adults started to pursue dating as they mocked courtship. They started to pursue unholy music and worldly entertainment as they mocked sacred hymns. One of them was rebuked for sharing with some of the devout young men the violent details of the first Deadpool movie. In time they went further down the spiral after they departed. Chasing money. Tattoos and alcohol. Nude selfies and immodest attire. Fornication and cohabitation. Divorces and children born out of wedlock. Remarriages and yet more divorces. Many pursued a watered down faith elsewhere. Many others simply turned their back on God altogether. Because of their hunger. Because of their desire. Prodigals they were as they sought what was on the other side. As they allowed The Accuser to drag them away, they took the church with them. As they shut the door of their hearts to God, they shut the doors to the church as well. It is a sad tale indeed. Not just did these families fall from Grace, but The Men, jaded by what The Accuser had told them about Pastor, sided with them as everyone was in the downward spiral. Innocent victims they were!

Who was the enemy here? The Pastor was The Enemy! For confronting these families that he too started to see falling away. For reaching out to them as a pastor should. “Contentious” was the title bestowed upon him by The Men. His aforementioned “crimes”? Being accused of being too harsh with people. Not being loving. The remnant that stayed would certainly disagree. Those that accused him, that had already rejected his church, that had already ran into the midnight shadows of The Accuser, probably deserved a harsh rebuke. However, The Pastor’s pursuit of the wayward only proved his love. Many pastors would not give a second thought to the departed.

The Men were The Enemy. For barring The Pastor from the church. For attacking him. For ignoring reasoning other than their own. For attacking me for being the voice of reason. For leaving Pastor and his family to bleed into the ditch.

I was The Enemy. Guilty by association. For not ignoring a wounded man on the roadside. For not taking sides. For being the thorn. For not knowing something about nothing. For asking questions. For not knowing the answers. For assuming by vague clues.

The Pastor. The Men. The families that left. Myself. We were all The Enemy. At least that is what The Accuser would have us believe. All it took was a few young adults to turn away. And then the dominoes fell. One by one. From lifting each other up, to tearing each other down. Grace, Mercy, Forgiveness, and Love. They all took to the back pew. They had the perfect seat then, as they could see everything and everyone involved. Including our unwanted visitor. Sliding from pew to pew, whispering his sweet lies into unsuspecting ears. “Accusations” became the new definition of brotherly love. Handshakes into finger pointing. The Accuser played his cards well. The church in The Valley that was the biggest threat to his kingdom. Now in ruins. His crooked smile.

Why do I share this story? Is it to judge those involved? Is it to humiliate the young adults that have turned their back on God? Is it to rub salt into the wounds of their grieving parents? Is it to make me look better than anyone else? No. It is a warning. We know what The Accuser, The One True Enemy, is capable of. Denominations have twisted their theological doctrines to become more accepting of Sin, as well as becoming more acceptable to sinners. Modern Churchianity has laid down their spiritual weapons to accept The Worldly, as well as becoming more acceptable to the world. Modern Christianity has forsaken their First Love for the sake of the children. For the sake of those that are bored with traditional spiritual feasts. It has replaced equipping Warriors to take to the streets and nations with programs to keep us spiritually idle. We know that they, to varying degrees, have fallen victim to the deception of The Enemy. But here was a church full of devout Christians that did not settle for a weak Faith. Of people that closely examined on a daily basis their walk with The Christ, and bent their knee in humility when they came up short. Of people that fasted when the battle was hot. Of people that sought with a deep hunger Holiness and Sanctification. Of people that strived to be Life in a dying world. Of people that trained their families in the shadow of The Father. “Junior Church” and “Youth Pastor” were foreign terms. The only “programs” that were of concern was reaching the lost, broken men strewn about by the roadside. Of people that referred to each other as Brother… and Sister. Of a true example of a biblical Church Family. What you would expect to find in the book of Acts.

Yet The Accuser, slipped into the pews. He whispered his sweet nothings. He played his harp with dissonant chords as he sowed seeds of discord. In just a few months The Brethren divided. One by one they left. Some because their friend, The Pastor, had resigned. And they wanted no one else. Some because they wanted no part of a church that had no leadership. Some because they wanted the church to change into a more worldly state now that the gatekeeper was no longer standing guard. Uncertainty and Fear had overtaken their hearts. Diluted became the worship. Spiritual weapons either laid down, or redirected to one another. Hope was replaced by sleepless nights. All because The Enemy wore the mask of The Accuser. He sat among us in the pews. He searched for those that harnessed doubt in their hearts. For those that looked at the door during service. For those yearning for what was on the outside. For those that wanted out. And… HE SPOKE. For this moment in our spiritual lives we had fallen asleep. The Enemy came in while we slumbered and murdered like the ravenous wolf that he is. Like the hungry lion with the weakest prey. I have forgiven all those involved. I have moved forward from this chapter in my life. I cannot fault all those involved for falling with eyes wide shut before The Accuser. I knew that he was there when the first tear fell. I knew that he was there all along. I knew his game was played. And he is a skilled expert. 

Grace, Mercy, Forgiveness, and Love. They all took to the back pew. They eventually succumbed to Forgotten.

He comes for the devoid and devout. No one is immune.

You have been warned.

Stay awake!

“To eliminate your enemy, hit them in their sleep. And when all is won and lost, the spoils of wars are yours to keep.”

-Dave Mustaine, Architecture of Aggression