When Men of God Fail

Good men and women fail. Even men and women of God, ministers of the gospel of Christ. We hear of it through the news, or from those who know or have heard about it. What happens when it’s someone you know? Has it ever happened to someone you personally know?

It hurts.

I recently attended a memorial service for someone I had worked under in ministry who had fallen. Because of my position at the time, I was involved in the process of confrontation and accountability. It was the second time I had been involved in such a process – a few years apart. It left me wounded and bleeding. These men had impacted my life. They had been a powerhouse for Christ. I considered it a privilege and blessing to work in ministry under their leadership.

They were good to me. As a boss.  As a friend.  As a mentor. I loved and admired them. I realize that ministers face the same struggles and temptations as anyone else. Perhaps more so because Satan has more to gain if men and women of God fall. Even non-believers take notice.

One man lost his family and ministry after he fell. The other lost his ministry.

Then it happened again. To a pastor we knew. Again, my husband and I were devastated. A trust had been broken this time. A wife was betrayed and abandoned, friends and family were wounded.

I could titillate you with details – and I have details – but I won’t. I respect the memory of the good these men did while in ministry.  Years later, when my thoughts go to any of these men, my heart floods with sadness.

Do I, or you, judge these men on their failure? Or on the totality of their ministry? Human nature is such that if you do ten wonderful, sacrificial things for someone and then do one horrid thing to them, it will likely be with that one horrid thing that dominates their memory of you. Sadly, in regards to these three men, their ministry legacy will reflect their failure more than their successes.

If you’re familiar with David in the Old Testament of the Bible, David had grievous sin and failure in his life. Adultery and murder to cover his crime were a few things in David’s life.  Yet, in 1 Samuel 13:14 and Acts 13:22, David is referred to as a man after God’s own heart.  How can that be?

The biblical record does not attempt to sugar-coat David’s blunders. It honestly shows his triumphs and his tragedies. Throughout, David had a soul that could be touched with truth. He was unafraid to admit his transgressions. He broke his own heart by his lapses of spirituality. 

David’s life, nor the lives of the three I mentioned, should be judged exclusively by their valleys of failure, but by the whole landscape of their ministry. They had/have families, friends, and followers who loved them. People were hurt, and some destroyed, by their failure. The greatest destruction, however, is what the repercussions of their actions did to them.

None of us know for sure what we are capable of doing if presented with certain circumstances. Remember that before you point a finger at others. 

And so, I write of these things in my books....men and women of God who fall or fail. But, always with redemption and restoration in the end. That is the God we serve -- a God full of mercy, grace, compassion, and kindness.  Alas, I have not seen restoration in the men I personally have known. It is no fault of God's, but of their own.

Last Post from Memoirs of Teen Challenge

Teen Challenge, a ministry dear to my heart, ia again featured in this week's blog. I worked in the heart of downtown Phoenix at Phoenix Teen Challenge from 1992 -2011.

There were also three Native American men who frequently dropped into the offices at Teen Challenge – Ralph, Dennis, and Virgil. My friend, Shelley Savage, who also worked there, had warned me, “Don’t give any money to Ralph or Dennis or Virgil no matter what sob story they tell you. They’re nice but they’re alcoholics and use their money for beer.”

            Okay! Well, I haven’t any money to give them anyway.

            I believe one, or perhaps all three, had checked into the program prior to my employment there. I know Virgil had, and Jeff Richards made the mistake of trying to get the street filth showered off of Virgil. Fortunately, Jeff lived to tell about it.

            Sadly, these men’s need for alcohol was stronger than any desire to surrender to Christ. But, for the most part, drunk or sober, they usually stopped by to talk with Jeff Richards, or to ask for food. They could occasionally be belligerent and itching to start trouble, although none of them was ever rude to me. Not even drunk Dennis who wanted to kiss me.

            It took Dennis a few minutes to maneuver himself through my doorway one morning because he was weaving so badly. He almost fell over once he was inside, but managed to grab the small ledge under the sliding window in front of my desk. He steadied himself and grinned. “Good morning,” he mumbled, his alcohol breath sending waves of foul odor over my desk

            “Hey, Dennis! What’s up?”

            “You’re purty.”

            “Uh, okay, thanks!”

            “Give me a kiss!”

            “No, Dennis.”

            “Why? A little kiss won’t hurt. I won’t tell.”

            “No, Dennis.”

            “You’re not married cause you don’t wear a ring, so it’s okay.”

            “I have a fiancé, Dennis, now go away.”

            “Your boyfriend won’t care. Don’t tell him.”  He then puckered his lips and made smacking sounds while he tried to push his upper torso through the window opening.

            “Stop it, Dennis, or I’ll call one of the men to come in here.”

            “Come on, give me some kisses.”

            He was through the window past his shoulders and still wiggling to get in so I pressed the intercom for the living area where the staff member and students were. “Hey, someone, I need help in the front office,” I announced, backing my chair up because Dennis’s hands were reaching for me.

            Ted, one of the male staff, came rushing through the door and into my office. He grabbed Dennis and pulled him out of the window opening. “Leave Leola alone, Dennis. Go on now, get out of here. You’re drunk. You can come back later.”

            Dennis swayed. “I just wanna kiss.”

            Ted grabbed Dennis’s shoulder and pushed him toward the door. Dennis turned and threw a limp punch in Ted’s direction. Faster than I could blink, Ted’s fist shot out and connected with Dennis’s nose.

            Dennis staggered back. He grabbed his nose which was spewing blood. “Ah, Ted, you gave me a bloody nose. What’d ya do that for?”

            Ted’s eyes were wider than mine. “Sorry, man.” He awkwardly patted Dennis’s shoulder. Turning to me, Ted mumbled, “It was a knee-jerk reaction. I should’nt have done that. You got some tissue?”

            I inhaled and handed Ted my box of Kleenex to give Ted. I’m sure somewhere in the Policies and Procedures Manuel for Teen Challenge, what Ted just did was a no-no. Although Dennis continued to stop by, he never tried to kiss me again.

            Happenings like this were the norm, not the exception – not staff members punching people in the nose, but similar things.

Another Day At Teen Challenge

In keeping with this month's blog posts, here's another excerpt from my memoirs of working for 19 years at Phoenix Teen Challenge

                                                               ~~~~~

            There were several homeless people – some called them street people – who frequented our doors.  It’s easy to label all such persons in this category as a certain stereotype – mental illness, drug and/or alcohol addictions, no desire to get off the streets, deviants – but some sincerely were caught up in situations beyond their control. Most, however, that were frequent visitors at Teen Challenge did fit into one of the mentioned stereotypes.

            There was the lady who came in at least once a week demanding food. The kitchen workers – and by kitchen workers, these were mostly students assigned to kitchen detail –  usually gave her a donut, or a piece of fruit. Our policy was that we didn’t give away food because it wasn’t always easy to provide meals for the students and live-in staff.

            If this lady didn’t like what they gave her, or if they had nothing to give her, she would curse, stomp off, slam doors, and occasionally throw something. I had finally given up on greeting her with a cheerful hello because she just snarled at me. I would simply smile politely if she looked my way.

            Summer heat in Phoenix is brutal, especially for those who worked or stayed outdoors. The homeless are particularly vulnerable. Many organizations such as the Salvation Army set up stations around the downtown area to give out cold bottled water.

            It was on one of those scorching days of temperatures over one hundred ten degrees that I had an encounter with this snarky woman.

            Using the restroom was not a simple task for me. I usually would page into someone else’s office and ask them to answer the phone for a few minutes, or snag an intern as he walked by. This particular day, I couldn’t rouse anyone to help me, and I had to go. Since the restrooms were located in the breezeway in front of my office door, I decided to make a mad dash.

            When I flung open the restroom door, there stood snarky lady. She was nude from the waist up, splashing water over her head and soaking her blouse and bra in the sink. Fire spit from her eyes as she let loose a stream of obscenities and kicked the door shut in my face.

            I stumbled backwards, my mouth agape, and slunk back into my office, only to have her slam my door open in a few minutes, hair and clothes dripping water, and call me a foul name. Although I was compassionate toward her need to cool off, I knew I would not want to run into her in a dark alley. 

A Day At Teen Challenge

In 2011 I retired after 19 years at Phoenix Teen Challenge. Since then, I fill in for a few weeks every summer while the director and his wife -- who replaced me at my position -- go on vacation. The ministry of Teen Challenge is dear to my heart. I started writing my memoirs of my time there, so for the next few weeks my blog will be excerpts from that memoir.

            I chuckled about Jeff’s remark regarding my boyfriend. Before I could think about it, though, I took several incoming calls. Once there was a lull, my thoughts went back to the elderly gentleman Jeff referred to as my boyfriend. I did have a boyfriend but that man definitely wasn’t him. The old fellow had come into the office several days prior. Being in the heart of downtown Phoenix, and because of the type of ministry we were, the homeless and indigent were frequent visitors. Some wanted help with their drug and alcohol addictions. Some wanted money, food or clothing. Some just wanted to cause trouble.

            This particular guy was older. I guessed he was about sixty, but life on the streets is harsh, so he could’ve been younger. He was obviously homeless. He wasn’t too dirty or smelly, but he was shabby, with unkempt hair and a day or two of growth on his face. He grinned from ear to ear, without a tooth to be seen, and said, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

            I stiffened. He looked harmless – I was sure I could beat him up if he attacked me. But I didn’t appreciate being addressed with a term of endearment, or the familiarity in his voice.

            “Can I help you?” I smiled but kept my voice aloof.

            “Yeah, beautiful lady, I need a pair of shoes. You guys got any shoes?” He then tried to raise his right foot to the window so that I could see his bare feet, but he lost his balance and almost toppled over.

            I tried not to giggle as his arms flailed around until he managed to grab the opening in front of my desk. Once he steadied himself, he looked at me, winked and cackled.

            I pushed the intercom button and summoned a staff member to the front office. Rob, a young intern, responded.

            “Hey, Rob, do we have a pair of shoes in the Blessing Room for this man?” I motioned to the still-grinning man. The Blessing Room was what we called the area where we stored extra clothing, shoes, and linens for the men who came to reside in Teen Challenge. Some men came in with not much more than the clothes on their back. Occasionally, we gave things to the homeless and indigent when we had an abundance.

            Rob left and returned with a pair of white buck shoes reminiscent of Pat Boone’s trademark shoes.

            The old gent tried them on. “Well, by golly, looky here. They fit perfect. Come on, look,” he said, motioning to me. “I look like that singer dude. Know who I mean?”

            “Pat Boone,” I replied, complimenting him on his newly acquired shoes. The younger generation would be unaware about a singer and actor named Pat Boone.

            Rob left, and I hoped the old gent would too, but he continued to talk to me while I ate an apple. “I sure am hungry,” he said, eying me like he thought I’d rush to the kitchen and whip him up a meal.

            “Uh, you want an apple? We can’t really give out food, but someone donated apples.”

            He opened his mouth, showing me his toothless gums. “Can’t eat it, darlin’.”

            So what did I do? I got an apple and peeled and sliced it for him – a Christ-like gesture, I’m sure, only he returned the next day declaring he was in love with me. “I’m gettin’ an inheritance, sweetheart. My dad left me a million bucks. I’m gonna pick you up in a limo and take you to the best restaurant in town and buy you anything you want. Anything!” He flashed his toothless grin and winked. 

            Of course, I didn’t believe he was inheriting a million dollars. Somehow I managed to turn him down without too much fuss from him. I saw him a few times after that when Teen Challenge did our regular Friday night outreach to the homeless. I tried to not make eye contact with him, but he never seemed to notice me. It did make an amusing story to tell.

Writing A Memoir

I’m writing this blog post today because I am working for the next three weeks at Phoenix Teen Challenge, therefore I will miss my blog time with my friends tomorrow, Wednesday. We meet every Wednesday morning at Crossroads Books and Coffee where we blog, drink lattes and espressos, and chat.

I worked at Teen Challenge from 1992 until 2011. It was some of the most fulfilling, exciting times in my life. Last year I filled in for a month for director’s wife while they went on vacation. I am doing it again right now. 

I love this ministry. Most people think of Teen Challenge only in the terms of a Christian drug and alcohol rehab, but it’s so much more than that. At least it is in Phoenix. Just this past weekend, they did a Back-to-School Bash outreach where they served meals to 1,900 people and gave out over 1,000 backpacks filled with school supplies to kids. 

Churches, individuals, and organizations donated the backpacks and supplies. A local fire department donated hot dogs, chips, and drinks. Not only did they donate the food, they were there to grill the hot dogs. Teen Challenge does many other outreaches to the community, plus house up to fifty men in the residential rehab.

I’m happy to be back there if only for a few weeks for reasons other than I just love this ministry. I recently started writing my memoir of the time I spent working there. Actually, I began writing this to enter a non-fiction contest. I typically don’t enjoy writing non-fiction, but I am enjoying this. Ah, the memories.

It was fun, it was exciting, it was heart breaking, it was sad, and overall, it was a tremendous blessing. If you think about it, please whisper a prayer that I can do this justice.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, no, I don’t want to go back to work there on a permanent basis. I miss the people and the ministry, but I don’t miss working every day.