I stood alone in the hallway of the church educational building, my scalp prickling with fear. I asked myself and God out loud without regard to my language, “How the hell did I get here?”
I needed to confess my sin to someone. I could not carry the fear of being exposed, or the load of shame, one more moment. I went to find the senior pastor, who also happened to be my husband, Denny.
Denny and I, unaware, had reached a very bad place. Years of ministry had fostered and encouraged damaging emotional autonomy in us both. He had grown detached, angry and unavailable from giving so much to so many who personified his demanding mistress, the church. I came from a home that did not allow negative emotions straight into the pastorate where they certainly are not encouraged.
You cannot select the emotions you bury; they will out in unhealthy ways.
CYBER SIN
I sought emotional release online through a friendship that was already too intimate. We connected through e-mail and instant messaging. The IM content gradually shifted from emotional to sexual. As is the way with the cyber world, our sin didn’t seem real when we signed off. The wages of sin are death. Our relationship rotted.
Upon confessing my sin to Denny, we began the road back to each other. You might think I should add “and to God,” but I had been crying out to God and He heard my cry. He was near to me, even in the valley.
Six whole months later we received a call to meet our church’s state executive for lunch. We went into shock as he abruptly announced right there in the Olive Garden that I was a sexual predator. Denny quickly rose to my defense but was shut down. It was a devastating scene that ended with an ultimatum. Either I confess in writing that very day, turn in my credentials and resign from my positions, or the church’s state credentialing board would drag my family through a thorough investigation.
I placed the mandated calls to everyone I had ever done ministry with. They listened as I confessed my moral failure. Most responses were unexpectedly harsh and grace-free. I thought the people I served with knew me and would journey with me through my restoration. I was naïve. I was wrong. They were afraid of being tainted. A working relationship, even in ministry, does not equal true community.
There were moments of light, some from unlikely corners. Our local congregation, and some friends, indeed, stood by me and for me. I found community among those who had also faced their brokenness and found Jesus to be their healer, advocate, and redeemer.
THEOLOGY OF PERFECTION
There had been no place in my life where it was safe to confess my sin to another. The results of confessing my sin at any point during my failure would have been the same as the results of getting caught. I suspect this is the reality for too many of us. And, I too had bought into the lie fostered around me that sanctified folks don’t sin. After an extremely draining counseling session I curled up in the fetal position on the couch and Denny held me. I said, “They have my sin on file in black and white at the state office.”
Counseling was the grace that cut through my warped theology of perfection to my emotional needs. I finally found a safe place to bare my soul and sin. That settles it, doesn’t it? I am a sinner. Now, I can see even this is grace.