"So, You're The Adulterer!"

(Over the next few posts, I’m going to talk about sev­eral rea­sons why the book “Fallen Pas­tor” is for any­one con­cerned about the future of the church. We are in the midst of a cri­sis and need to under­stand how to approach it).

I love talk­ing to peo­ple who work in funeral homes. They have some of the most amaz­ing per­son­al­i­ties. They deal with peo­ple and care for them at the worst point in their lives on a daily basis. Yet, most of them have the best atti­tude when you get to know them.

The other day, I was rid­ing in the pall­bearer car back to the funeral home with a lady who helped man­age the funeral home. We had been talk­ing a bit and she said, “What do you do?”

We had already talked enough that she knew I worked in sports med­i­cine. What this 50-​something woman who knew peo­ple really wanted to know was, “What was I doing as a pall­bearer at this funeral?”

I said, “I used to pas­tor this church that most of these peo­ple went to.”

She said, half-​joking, “What did they do? Kick you out?”

I had to smile because she prob­a­bly wouldn’t have asked it like that if she had known. Or maybe she would have. She had a great sense of humor and, like most funeral direc­tors, shot pretty straight.

“I com­mit­ted adul­tery,” I said.

Her mouth dropped wide open, “Ooooooohhhh!” I thought for a sec­ond the car was going off the road as she adjusted her sun­glasses. Then she looked at me and said, smil­ing, “I’ve heard about you.”

I said, “Most of it is prob­a­bly true, I’m sure.” Her state­ment would have both­ered me two years ago, but thanks to a lot of help­ful peo­ple, time and for­give­ness, I just smile.

She said, “You wrote a book! Didn’t you?”

“Yes ma’am, I did. Did you read it?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t think I needed to, I’m not a pas­tor,” she said.

“Well, it’s not just for pas­tors,” I told her. “It’s for every­one. It’s about learn­ing to for­give, what we expect of our pas­tors, how we can restore peo­ple, how we’re all sin­ners…”

She stopped me and con­tin­ued my thought, “You know, you’re just a sin­ner like me. You’re no dif­fer­ent. We all mess up. Why is it peo­ple find it so hard to for­give pas­tors?”

“That’s a great ques­tion,” I said. “We are all sin­ners. I dis­ap­pointed a lot of peo­ple who expected more from me. And they should have.”

“But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t for­give,” she said with a slight frown.

“No, it doesn’t,” I said. “It just takes some longer than oth­ers. Hurt can last a long time. I haven’t always been per­fect and no one else is either.”

We talked about other stuff on the way back to the funeral home. For instance, I found out it was eas­ier to make crème brûlée than I thought.

She let me out at my car and said, “Thanks for shar­ing that. You’re a good per­son.”

I knew what she meant. And I appre­ci­ated her say­ing so. But I’m not good. None of us are. None of our heroes are good. They are all stained with sin and mere moments from a fall. When they do fall, I pray we all have courage to forgive.