“Now when the people saw that Moses delayed coming down from the mountain, the people gathered together to Aaron, and said to him, ‘Come, make us gods that shall go before us; for as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.’”

-Exodus 32:1

Imagine for a moment if God went silent. Imagine if we could no longer set our eyes upon Him.

A church has lost their pastor. Somewhere. At the penning of these words one has resigned. By the time this is published so will another. Or maybe one is wrestling with the notion. Somewhere. It happens often, does it not? Maybe he feels called to travel a different road. Maybe he feels crushed by the weight of his calling and is on the brink of self destruction. Maybe it is scandal. Or maybe Time has dictated that he must step down from the pulpit. In most cases his departure is abrupt. Either he surprises the congregation with a “This sermon is my last. I am stepping down immediately”, or he treats it as a job and submits a two week n-otice. This sudden change leaves the congregation to pick up the shattered pieces. To try to sort out Confusion. To try to make it all fit back into making sense, all the while carrying the load in the shadow of an empty pulpit. It is at this moment that Pride steps in. With it comes many voices. One on top of and over another. “This is how it should be moving forward!”, “This is who we should get to be our pastor!”, “I have disagreed with this church policy for far too long. I will no longer be silent!”. Enter the inward fighting.

I experienced it twice. Two times too many. But I suppose that God desired for me to have the experience. Perhaps. The first church that we belonged to was a Church of God. It was not part of the organization with said namesake. It was “independent”. Named appropriately because it was a church… of God. So we were told. The pastor was a good man. Great preacher. Not a great pastor. My wife and myself had bore witness to many alarming things during our time here. Cliques of the “popular” young adults that were also family of the pastor. They had “honorary members” that they would allow to hang out with them. With approval, of course. Exclusivity. Some of these young adults had much judgment upon the poor family. The mother that wore the same faded dress to church every Sunday, because that was all she had. Drove her away from the church, I suppose. But they wouldn’t know considering that The Clique did not dine at Poverty’s table. Many were well off. Then there were the Seniors. Many would offer a better cold glance than a “hello”. The years had dealt them a silver platter of Pride. Judgemental gossip abound. Upon the announcement of our expected second child, we made the decision to leave. I did not want my growing family growing into cliques and judgemental glances.

No one from the church ever contacted us. Not once in the three and a half years since we went into the sunset. No one came to inquire as to what happened. Not even Pastor. Did we succumb to the wiles of The Accuser? Did we become as the Prodigal? Did we die? Evidence spoke. No one bothered to care enough. I believe that someone did ask a relative of ours what became of us. The answer was along the lines of “They stopped being Christians”. In reality God was doing a great work in our lives. He guided us into Holiness, where we learned of modest dress and sacred music. He guided us into home Worship where we were in The Word daily and sang hymns. It was here that I felt the need to speak through blogging. It was during this time away that He called me into ministry. But Pastor never would have known that, seeing that he never contacted us and relied on hearsay. Although we did run into him at the supermarket once. He gave a concerned look and said that he’s “praying for us”. I guess to return back to the God that had drawn us closer while we no longer “had a relationship with Him”?

Then there was the crack. He announced his departure. One by one they fell. Loyal congregants. Family. Friends. Cliques. Ice cold Seniors. Poverty’s dinner guests. It was told to me that he would not physically leave. A never-ending two week notice. So the board of the church forced him out. This caused fighting between them and those that did not want to see Pastor leave. The stones and pillars collapsed. In time the church became a shell of its former self. No leader and a handful of the dedicated is what remained. A fraction of what once was. Another stepped in some time later to claim the pulpit. Out of desperation. He made many changes that no one agreed with. Made the piano player be his backup singer, and hired a professional piano player. And what on earth was that heretical translation that he was preaching from? Needless to say, if you haven’t guessed by now, we made a surprise visit to check him out. I was told that the board requested his personal information for tax purposes. He refused. He abruptly left. After the shadow of the empty pulpit had returned (and the dust from the inward fighting had settled), we returned. The church was hanging on by the skin of its teeth and, being that this was the church that my Bride’s family worshiped at every Sunday and Wednesday, I wanted to help. Sure there was inward fighting over the selection of pastors in the coming months. It can be as expected as Dusk and Dawn. One pastor that auditioned was much desired. Young. Energetic. Had a cool guitar. However, he needed a home for him and his family if he were to keep the cobwebs from the pulpit. One member of the board said that the church could not afford him. Another one disagreed. They used paper and calculators. Ink too I reckon. The former won the argument. The latter walked out and took his family with him. Wife, kids, and grandkids. Then there were two pastors that auditioned. This showdown was legendary. The studious man that proclaimed to be a prophet. Then the comical Word of Faith preacher that screamed and yelled his messages as he threw his microphone across the sanctuary. The vote was split 50/50. Inward fighting. We spared them both the drama.

In time the lack of direction and leadership began to show. Traditional doctrine began to slowly fade into oblivion. Certain members of the congregation had taken charge where there was none. They introduced the Word of Faith heresy and The Charismatic Movement to the pews. Things that you would have heard coming from the mouths of Rogers and Graham were replaced by Copeland, Meyers, Osteen, and Wommack. Faith healing and tongues. Name it and claim it. Yeah. In time “Independent” became “Pentecostal”. Truth began to look more like a circus.

I was tasked with leading a Sunday school lesson. Cringe was an understatement as the subject matter dealt with faith healing. The power of the tongue to make God bend to us. I wholeheartedly disagreed with what I was about to teach. The work that God had done within me had prepared me for this moment. I thoroughly enjoyed the puzzled looks of confusion on their faces. The speechlessness! “You mean to tell me…?” many of The Seniors would ask as the looks on their faces showed that they were struggling with trying to make sense of me tearing apart their theological comforts. The tension could have been cut with surgical precision. To them I had performed the Abomination of Desolation. Pig’s blood flooded the altar on that day. I was a pastor in training. I needed the experience. Bring the hate!

The following Sunday we were late for Sunday school. Three kids will do that to you. As we walked in to take our children downstairs, I had overheard the regular teacher doing damage control. Turning every truth that I had spoken back into the lie that they had grown to love. Offering them comfort and easing their fears. I’m sure that they didn’t sleep well for seven nights. My words tossed them too and fro under their knit quilts. It was at this moment that I knew that we needed to cut ties for good.

The following Sunday we walked into the Independent Baptist church that I had spoken of in my previous post, ”Don’t Look Now”. I had already spoken of this church and what had transpired between The Pastor, The Men, and myself. I will not get into that again. However, as you can imagine, there was the typical collapse after Pastor had left. Many immediately departed as they wanted nothing to do with a church with no leader. Some because Pastor was their friend. Some because of the storm that had transpired between Pastor and those that eventually turned their backs on God and caused the storm to begin with. I do recall that we, the Leadership Team, had a meeting with the congregation. In this meeting there was a questionnaire. Questions asked about their thoughts on the church and the direction moving forward. Truth be told. The humble family did not agree with Pastor’s military background and his love of guns. They also extended these feelings towards the other men with similar backgrounds and passions. When this issue was ignored, they turned Mennonite and promptly left to join a community in another state. A daughter of one of The Men had an issue with the sacred hymns that we sang. Without a leader now was the time to introduce the idea of singing contemporary Christian music. The Leadership Team crushed her hopes. She made her disdain known on that Sunday. Very well known. She departed and took her mother and brother with her. Her father, knowing that he could not be part of a divided house in worship, recused himself from the church as well. Sadly, he helped plant the church. The rest of the story is told in my previous aforementioned post. Get a glass of water. It’s a long one.

These are the tales of two churches that went through the crumbling of their foundations because their pastor chose to leave before the congregation was ready. To leave them hanging. Much like sheep that watch their shepherd walk away. To leave them vulnerable to the wolf of false doctrines and worldly desires. Wolves that creep out of once silent congregants. Unable to be restrained any longer. Inward wars as there is no longer direction. Eventually the train derails. The cars go over the cliff.

The Church of God lived to see another day. They almost hired a pastor that claimed to resurrect dead people. Eventually they settled on one that threatened to curse the board with cancer for asking for his information for tax purposes. I guess they got tired of the circus, though. Because the not so great pastor returned to reclaim his pulpit. Hopefully he knows how to pick up the phone and call somebody now. The Independent Baptist church, however, did not. Boarded windows made way for a liberal playhouse that made way for boarded doors that made way for a bar. Just this evening I was in traffic and looked over through the window. The bartender was frantically pacing where our sound man once stood. There was a TV on the wall where I got my start preaching. My boring sermons replaced by touchdowns and slamdunks.

This is what becomes of a church when there is no longer a voice to stand in the pulpit. When leadership has dissolved and the desires and opinions of the congregation take over. Closet pastors. Aspiring leaders that see their chance to finally make their church the way that they see fit. I hear stories quite often. Once the pulpit becomes uncertain, everything unravels. Brethren set aside their love for one another and go to war. They forget that they are one body as The Bride of The Christ, and become like individual members. One finger. One eye. One arm. A divided body warring against itself. Such a shameful travesty.

We are reminded of Israel. Uncertainty set in as Moses had taken too long on Sinai. Did he wander off? Walking away from the constant complaining of the people? Did the God that parted the sea abandon them? Did He die in the midst of the fire and smoke? What became of them that were leading? Israel got restless. Aaron even had his doubts as he refined gold into a false god. A humiliating incarnation that cast a shadow upon wayward souls as debauchery set its course. Because for a moment they set their eyes upon the flesh. Because for a moment they lost leadership.

Hundreds of years later a yoke was placed upon their shoulders. An unyielding weight to bear. In the absence of prophecy for four hundred years, men fashioned a new god. One that was merciless and born from Pride. Pharisees and Saducees. Scribes. High Priests. Breaking the backs of The Jews with laws that stretched men beyond that which he could maintain. The slightest deviation and he would be excommunicated by the hypocrites that could not uphold the weight themselves. No Mercy. Because for a moment they set their eyes upon the flesh. Because for a moment they lost leadership. No one had stepped forth to say “Thus saith The Lord…” Not until John The Baptist had foretold of the Final Prophet. The One that was to lead all of mankind in Truth. Whether or not there was a leader standing in the pulpit.

Sadly this is all too common. I have sat in pews of two churches that had been abandoned by Pastor. I have known countless others that have fallen to the same fate. Some survived. Some did not. The inward fighting tears at The Body. As The Body we need to realize that we are one. The Bride sees the opportunity to seize control and become as the head. As The Bride we need to realize that we are Christ’s. When we turn our eyes inward to behold Self, it is then that the doors begin to open to the fatal trap set by The Enemy.

During a time that we volunteered to become pastorless and without leadership, we turned our eyes upon Jesus. And it was He that held us together.

Imagine for a moment if God went silent. Imagine if we could no longer set our eyes upon Him. However, He is there. In the midst of our abandoned church. He stands in the shadows of the abandoned pulpits. Yet we turn our gaze from Him and unto our leaders. We forget Who is truly our Shepherd. And when these men of flesh fail, then it is inevitable that we too will fail.

Then it is inevitable that we fall.

“Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counselors there is safety.”

-Proverbs 11:14