When Your Church Is Taken Away from You

Photo by John Cafazza on Unsplash

By Scott Yi

Ministry is hard. Harder, perhaps, than it was ever designed to be. God’s calling is meant to imbue us with a fresh sense of purpose, a redirection of priorities that urges us forward deeper into the mysteries of God’s divine will. The calling is sacred. And yet, the reality of church work in the western world falls far short of our rose-tinted expectations. You hear of godly men and women leaving ministry all the time, whether it’s the burned-out associate pastor, the campus staffer who’s moved on to more stable opportunities, or the volunteer small group leader who is tired of constantly having to change her curriculum due to the whims of church leadership. Ministry is hard. I’ve often talked to friends and associates who say they’ve felt the disillusionment of peeling behind the curtain, seeing what the work behind the scenes actually turned out to be like. It is one thing to participate in the blessing of a well-coordinated worship experience, but it’s quite another thing to be counted among the team of laborers and volunteers. Anyone who has offered her time to local ministry for an extended period often finds herself stretched to her limits, because she is expected to give all in the name of Christian service. “If this was really your calling,” they say, “you’d go above and beyond. You would do whatever was asked of you. That’s what servants do.”

My Dream

Despite my sober assessment of ministry, I nonetheless dove headfirst into my role as lead pastor of a small urban church during these past few years. The Holy Spirit had impressed upon my heart a yearning to do church “the right way.” Ambitious, perhaps. But I know this sentiment is shared by many, many believers who sense that the Gospel is, quite simply, capable of more. I wanted to shoot for the stars. I wanted to build a congregation steeped in the radical devotion of the New Testament church, stripped of artifice and commercialism, a beacon of evangelistic living and a pioneer in cross-cultural relations. I wanted to show my flock that church as we know it is barely scratching the surface of what God has in store for the Body of Christ. I wanted my neighbors to know that church is for everyone. I wanted my people to be so mature in their faith that no storm of tragedy, no tidal wave of suffering, would ever be able to take away their joy in Jesus Christ.

… That dream seems farther away than ever before. I was quite suddenly removed from my pastoral position by the regional staff of my (now former) denomination. I have been barred from attending any and all activities at my church, leaving my wife and me without direction, and without community.

Turmoil and Conflict

Over the years, in my various ministry experiences stretching back to college, I have been privy to all kinds of conflicts within the local church. With everything I’ve seen, I would have thought that by now nothing was surprising to me: turf battles between children’s workers; campus ministers trying to get rival fellowships kicked out; elders resigning over financial disputes. But I never imagined that my entire career trajectory would be upended so dramatically and so unexpectedly—not over a moral failing or a theological disagreement—but over a mere technicality. The regional office had presented instructions on how to run some administrative meetings unfamiliar to our congregation. I tried my very best to comply, but in my earnestness I had made a couple of unintentional errors. My accidental mistakes were deemed “a failure to submit to constituted authority,” and therefore warranted my immediate dismissal.

In one fell swoop, the mission was over. My church was shocked when the news was finally announced to them. I was not even allowed to say goodbye to my flock, to give them parting words of encouragement and strength for their difficult journey ahead. According to the constitution of their denomination, the local congregation has no say in the employment status of their own shepherd. So I grieve for my spiritual family because they have no voice in something so critical for their spiritual health. Instead, they must yet again be subjected to a revolving door of guest speakers and gladhanders. They deserve better.

Conflict in the Early Church

What lesson is there to be learned from my conflict? I think about the Choosing of the Seven in the Book of Acts (Acts 6:1-7). In this incident from the early church, things were starting to get uncomfortable. The Christian community had grown faster than anyone anticipated. It grew far beyond the Jewish setting of its original members, who are referred to as Hebraic Jews in verse 6. These were your traditional Jews. The Hellenistic Jews, on the other hand, were Jews who were living outside of the motherland; they were out in the secular world, speaking Greek and adopting the customs of foreigners. So as the church drew in these immigrants and travelers, it was quickly becoming multicultural. And what happened is what inevitably happens to every community that tries to become more diverse: problems arose. There was miscommunication. People were being overlooked. Specifically, these Greek folks noticed that no one was caring for the widows in their community. There was so much work to do for the growing church that people began to fall through the cracks. So what would the apostles do?

Now if you’ve been in the church for any length of time, you’ve probably heard a sermon about this passage before. And nine times out of ten, that sermon will be about the importance of serving. But that’s missing the point entirely. The first verse clearly sets up the real dilemma for us, pitting the Hellenistic Jews against the Hebraic Jews. This is a story about cultural differences, and it’s a story about power. The Hellenists were calling out the apostles for not being attentive to the minorities in their midst. It was a crisis point for the church, but fortunately, the apostles responded with grace. They listened. They learned. They were humble. They did not tell the Hellenists to “just get over it,” but instead, they raised up seven new leaders to address the problem. And not only that, but these seven leaders were all minority leaders. We know that because in verse 5, all the names listed are Greek. The early church was willing to listen to the minorities among them, and then to empower those minorities with positions of importance. In the kingdom of God, no one should be overlooked.

Comfort for the Overlooked

That gives me comfort. Not only for myself and my wife as we reflect on our next steps, but for my flock as well. I pray for them, knowing that our God is the God of the voiceless. Despite being disparaged, despite being ignored, despite being shoved to the side, in all of our trials, it just gives me even more incentive to turn to Jesus Christ. When we can’t trust the world, when we can’t even trust our Christian leaders, I know that we can trust in Jesus. Even though we won’t ever get respect from those who have the power, Jesus tells us, “My grace is sufficient for you.” When we read the stories about Jesus, what we find is that he gave majesty to the marginalized. He gave power to the powerless. What he did was give respect to the minorities—and not just racial minorities either, but to women, to the differently abled, and to the poor. Jesus showed us that in God’s kingdom, no one will be overlooked. No one will be dismissed. No one will be forgotten.

I will have to live with the lack of closure. I will have to live with my bad feelings. I will have to learn how to balance forgiveness and justice toward those who have wrought so much damage. But in the midst of chaos and conflict, my hope remains firm. This is the hope that will carry us on toward higher ground.

Scott Yi lives in Providence, Rhode Island, where he writes and teaches literacy to underserved populations. Scott is also the director of the Youth Collaborative, a nonprofit that equips urban teens for success through entrepreneurial training and mentoring.