Teena Myers

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Our pastor claimed God had sent him to the church to bring a great revival. When he did not receive the revival, he blamed the congregation and divided us into the “good Christians” and the “bad Christians.” We heard many sermons berating the “bad Christians.” More than once, I heard him and his wife say, “If we could get the ‘deadheads’ out of here, God would send the revival.”

For months, I sat on the back row of the church waiting for God to bring Rory and me into agreement about moving to a new church. The once healthy, robust church of 400 members dwindled to fewer than eighty in attendance. During that time, I learned what it means to have compassion.

The first time I saw my pastor, he ignored the people standing in the foyer of the church and entered the empty sanctuary to pray. Then he left without acknowledging the flock God sent him to shepherd. The sign of a serious problem became evident when we attended a party at a deacon’s home. The pastor and his wife sat in the living room alone, everyone else was in the kitchen laughing and eating.

Initially, the pastor and I were of the same mind. Most Sundays, the principles I taught in Sunday school were repeated in the main service through the gift of tongues and interpretation. Then he would step behind the pulpit and announce that the Spirit’s message had confirmed the sermon God gave him to preach.

On one occasion, I concluded my class with a scripture in Hebrews. He opened his sermon with the same scripture and picked up where I had left off. When the Bible, the Spirit, and two or more people of flesh are saying the same thing, we have the mind of God. But my pastor did not know that happened, because we never discussed what we were going to teach.

The problem between us began when he invited an evangelist and close friend whom he admired to speak. The evangelist attended my Sunday school class that morning. When I concluded the class, he exclaimed, “That’s good teaching.” I thanked him for the compliment, and we went to the sanctuary.

I underestimated his compliment. In the middle of his sermon, he stopped preaching and spoke about my class, calling me the best teacher he had ever heard. Then he encouraged everyone to attend my class. Everyone in the church turned to look at me except the pastor, whose face flushed red as he gritted his teeth. The same thing happened a few weeks later during the midweek service with another guest speaker.

I saw trouble brewing and hoped no one would ever compliment me from the platform again. My hopes were dashed, and irreparable damage created when a deacon who attended my class ended the church announcements by telling everyone I was the best teacher the church ever had. My thoughts were screaming “Please stop,”as the deacon handed a man who attended my class the microphone to sing a solo. Before he started singing, he drove the last nail in the coffin of my relationship with the pastor. He said, “I have been in Sunday schools all my life, but I have never heard a better teacher than Teena.” I marveled at the pastor’s ability to contain the anger written on his face.

In retrospect, the compliments were never about me. God used them to open my eyes and the pastor’s eyes to the sin in our hearts. If there was anything stopping the revival God promised him, it was the pastor’s anger and jealously when he had nothing to fear. My class never grew. It wasn’t the people he thought were bad Christians stopping the revival. It was the bad character traits in him.

The experience opened my eyes to my lack of compassion. I was disgusted with the pastor for destroying the church and his childish temper tantrums. Sunday after Sunday, I watched him make a fool of himself. But my disgust with him slowly turned into pity. I’d had enough interaction with him to know he loved the things of God, and he believed he was a good pastor. He had the potential to be one, but his love for religion eclipsed his love for people.

As I watched him struggle, my pity turned into compassion. He could not understand why he clashed with most of his congregation. When he preached overseas, the people loved him, which reinforced his belief that he was a good pastor, and we were a bunch of bad Christians.

He returned from a mission trip to South America with a video of one of his sermons and played the end of that sermon for the congregation. For at least five minutes, the crowd in South America shouted in unison, “We appreciate you.”

The video failed to convince me we had a good pastor. The crowds in a foreign country only heard a good sermon, and he left. They did not have to deal with him in an ongoing relationship.

The video convinced me of God’s love. I saw God loving his shepherd so much he spoke words of encouragement through his people. God does not berate us for who we are. He sees who we can become and never stops encouraging us. As my compassion grew for this struggling pastor, I found the strength to forgive myself for my failures in ministry.