Event #10 - A Deep Darkness Came to Visit
It was eventually run out of town by the glory of an inextinguishable light.
There was a season that brought the darkness, though.
Similarly, it has required a season and a process to recapture my heart and mind with said light.
“I don’t like his preaching.”
”He is changing the church from what it used to be.”
”He is a ______________” (insert whatever theological stance you take slight difference to, find particularly offensive, or loathe above all others…literally, just pick one).
”He got rid of the people who had been on it and just made all his friends the Leadership Team.”
”He worships the bible instead of God/Jesus.”
”He doesn’t believe in the Holy Spirit.”
Those were the common refrains.
None of them said to me, of course. Church people are nicer than that.
They were said about me, in other places, or to other people, and then they trickled their way back.
It did not really feel like a trickle, though.
It felt like a rushing torrent, like a dam had broken somewhere and instead of spilling water, what came gushing forth was a wellspring of opinions about my ability, character, leadership, intentions, and heart.
I did not have enough fingers to plug all the holes.
As those things were said, people left the church.
Like a snowball rolling downhill, what started as a rumble gained momentum until it felt like an avalanche.
It lasted the better part of 2018.
Ten people turned into ten families, which turned into 50, 100, 200 people.
I got emails from anonymous email accounts like “whyIamleavingLCF@gmail.com” or “lookingforanewchurch@gmail.com".
Most were not anonymous, though.
They were not nameless and faceless members of a church.
They were people I still love to this day, people who when the transition at LCF took place were quick to make statements that they were with us, eager to lock arms, ready to go forward, excited about what the future held.
The whole thing was crushing.
This is the right time for me to make a confession:
What you (or anyone else) think of me really matters to me. I get that it should not be the opinion that matters most to me. I am inexhaustibly loved and valued by the God of the universe who created me lovingly and intentionally, set His affection upon me, sent His Son to die in my place, and has positioned me at this place, at this time, for a specific purpose. That love does not change based on what I do, accomplish, achieve, or how I fall short or fail.
That is true for you too, by the way.
It is important that you know it, believe it, cling to it at the core of your being, and live out of it.
It is more than important, actually. It is essential.
More on that in a bit.
Another confession:
I am an enneagram three. If you are unfamiliar with the enneagram, it is a personality typing system. There are nine types. You can distill each of them in different ways, but one of the lenses to look at them through is by examining the core fear of each type. The core fear of a type three is not being valued, esteemed, or seen as successful. People of my personality type thrive not just on success and achievement, but on those around them seeing them as successful and achieving. There is an important distinction there.
Here is the upside of enneagram type threes: We can get things done. Tons of energy. Big goals. Lots of excitement, motivation, inspiration. At our best, we work hard, achieve stuff, and love to bring other people along with us.
As people started to leave, it seemed crystal clear in my heart and mind: I was failing.
More than that, I was a failure. And everyone knew it. Humiliating.
The numbers appeared to prove it.
The comments backed it up.
The tide of people leaving gave overwhelming evidence to support it.
Everything ran downhill in my heart and mind from there. I was worthless. Eventually there would be no congregation left. The church was going to close. Everyone was going to find out that I was a total failure. People would whisper about it. My family was going to be embarrassed. Melody would be ashamed of me. I would not be able to show my face in Liberty again. I was going to have to move.
Then it happened.
It was subtle and yet sudden at the same time.
Everything went gray.
The color was sucked out of the world.
When the grayness and darkness came calling, it was like everything that made me me immediately disappeared.
The energy was gone. Literally. Some days I could hardly will myself out of bed. My poor wife, who was used to me springing up at the first sound of the alarm, excited to tackle a day, was having to pep talk me out of bed and into the office. By the time I got home, all I could do was go back to bed.
The goals disappeared. There was no more motivation. I could not find it. It seemed like it would never come back.
I was afraid to go out in public. I am an introvert by nature, which means I recharge by being alone. But I really do love people. I am not shy. I come alive in a full room. I like to tell stories, make people laugh, all that jazz. Until I am worn out, then I need a few minutes to get some energy back. Then, all of a sudden, I was having anxiety attacks at the thought of preaching at church, going to Target, even hanging out with our friends. I became a prisoner in our house.
Life, as in the ongoing process of existing, became wearisome, burdensome, overwhelming to think about beyond a day at a time.
Eventually, I found the bottom of that pit. Melody was out of town in California on a quick trip. We had had some conversations about whether or not it was wise for me to be home by myself for a few days. Imagine having to have that conversation with your spouse. “Babe, are you going to make it if I go out of town for a weekend?” Brutal. But that is where we were.
The second evening she was gone, our small group was getting together to hang out. I was ready to go and then panicked. I had an anxiety attack. What if they already knew? What if they could see through me? What if they were thinking about leaving the church? What if I was a failure to them?
I stayed home. Opted for a run on the treadmill. I had a cardiac episode while I was running (long story for another time, maybe). I punched the stop button on the treadmill. Heart hammering. Tears rolling. Mind swirling. As it slowed down, I stopped running and literally fell down to the belt and let it toss me onto the basement floor just behind the treadmill. I laid there and cried for like 45 minutes. For the first (and I hope only) time in my life, I didn’t want to be alive. I was ready for it to be over.
What had been gray for a number of months was now black. Deep, dark blackness.
How did I end up there?
I was living out of a lie instead of the truth.
The lie?
I am only as valuable as what I accomplish and how people recognize it.
My life’s greatest fear seemed to be playing itself out in an entirely public way and it had caused me to lose sight of eternity’s greatest truth.
When that happens, the results are bound to be disastrous.
They almost were.
There was a long road back to health from the basement floor. It is still ongoing, actually. Counseling appointments. Medication for a season. Changes to habits, patterns, rhythms, and life routines. Conversations with Melody. Rewiring in my heart and mind. Vulnerable conversations with friends, the Leadership Team and staff at LCF, our entire church family.
Enough about the specifics of my situation.
Here is the point:
“You do not have to live as a slave to your biggest fear.”
There is grand, glorious, gospel freedom from it.
You need only to look to Jesus.
In the gospel, there is an inexhaustible fountain of mercy and grace for all of our worst fears.
Afraid of imperfection? Good news: Jesus is perfect, and His perfection can be yours.
Afraid of feeling unloved or unwanted? Good news: Jesus loves you so much He came here in order to make you His.
Afraid you will not accomplish enough? Good news: Jesus has accomplished everything of eternal significance on your behalf.
Afraid of being abandoned? Good news: Jesus will never leave or forsake you.
Afraid of feeling helpless or incapable? Good news: When Jesus ascended to heaven, He sent the Holy Spirit, the Helper, to aid and empower you.
Afraid of having everything go wrong or fall apart? Good news: Jesus reigns, right now, and nothing is happening that is outside of His good, loving, sovereign will.
Afraid of pain? Good news: Jesus suffered the worst of it in your place and promises the day when there will be no more of it.
Afraid of being hurt, betrayed, rejected? Good news: In Jesus, God has provided for your every need and you need not live and die by others coming through for you. He always will. Always has.
Afraid of separation, isolation, loss? Good news: Jesus always sees, knows, and remembers you. Not only that, but you matter to Him immensely.
Good news.
That is what the gospel is.
And in it, there is good news for every one of your fears.
Some particular fear is likely operating under the surface of your life right now, impacting the way you think, act, respond, and react. It does not have to control you. It does not have to define you. It does not have to dictate your days. It does not have to wreak havoc on your life. It does not have to toss you to the bottom of a deep, dark pit. It does not have to have the final word.
You can turn all of that over to Jesus.
It is important that you know that.
It is important that you believe it. That you live out of it.
It is more than important.
It is essential.
Even the pastor needed a reminder and a reset.
