A heartfelt goodbye, a hope-filled future

You don’t have to live like a refugee. At least that’s what Tom Petty told us over the radio while we enjoyed some barbeque.

Our girls each chipped away at burgers on ciabatta buns. Elijah, Kristy, and I divided the Pitmaster’s Platter in an attempt to conquer it.

The low hum of restaurant conversation didn’t block out Tom Petty’s encouragement. Or the server’s questions.

“Are you going to need a to-go box?” He asked.

I almost jokingly replied, “Are you kidding me? I’ve never quit anything in my life.”

But then I remembered — I just resigned from the church I had poured my life into over the last eight years. Probably shouldn’t use that Dad Joke right now.

How did we get here? How did we get to a place where we believe that God called us to resign and relocate?

(MIS)UNDERSTANDING THE BIBLE

God created human beings in His image. We are like God in some meaningful and beautiful ways. But not every way.

Take capacity, for example. God needs no rest and does not grow weary. You do. If you don’t recognize that, as I haven’t, you will be forced to rest.

Consider the parable of the Good Samaritan. If you haven’t read it in a while, take a minute to look up Luke 10:25–37.

One of Jesus’ most famous, and perhaps most misunderstood “commands,” is found at the end of the parable. He tells a man who was looking to justify himself to “go and do likewise.”

That is, he was to be like the Good Samaritan. Love people indiscriminately. Pour out your life for the good of others. Care for the broken even when it’s costly for you.

But was that Jesus’ actual point? I’ve lived like it is. Perhaps you have too. Or at least felt guilty for not living up to it.

Maybe you, like me, instinctively identify with the Good Samaritan. After all, you don’t want to be like the religious hypocrites who ignore the ugly parts of reality. And who wants to think that they are the person who is beaten up and broken down on the side of the road?

What option do you have left but to assign yourself to Jesus’ search and rescue team? That’s what I’ve done. Pressed in. Poured out. I’ve already been saved, after all. Time to take up my cross and lose my life for the sake of the Kingdom.

And run myself into the ground.

Over the last eight years, I have rarely worked less than a 50-hour work week. I’ve never taken all my vacation. Or holidays.

I’m not bragging. This has not been healthy. I’ve overestimated myself and underestimated my God. I’ve expected others to keep up with me. That has been hurtful to many.

DUH

Turns out, I’m not the good Samaritan. I don’t think the point of the story is even that we should try to be. Seems to me that Jesus wants us to know that He alone is the Great Samaritan.

Consider how this story sounds an awful lot like the gospel. A Samaritan finds a person broken down. He goes to him. Contaminates himself with the man’s blood. Pours out his resources to heal him. And promises to come back to bring the healing to completion.

Jesus is the Great Samaritan. I am the man beaten up and broken down on the side of the road. Half dead. Which as you may know, is a lot different than totally dead.

COURSE CORRECTION

I’d like to say that realizing I wasn’t the supposed to be the Good Samaritan was an “aha” moment. But it was more of a “duh” moment for me.

It’s required me to apologize to many people. And try to dam up the overbearing self-righteous current that I created.

Leading through a cultural change in the church is nothing new. For me or the church. It requires a lot of energy, though. And trust.

Wouldn’t it be challenging for you trust a leader who says, “we should go this way!” But then eight years later says, “Actually, hang on. We need to go that way. Sorry guys.”

Of course that’s difficult. But it’s also part of life. You shouldn’t be too concerned when someone, especially a leader, admits they’re wrong. You should be concerned if they rarely do.

CONTEXT REQUIRED

In the middle of this, my father-in-law lost a rollercoaster battle with Covid. I cannot put into writing how painful it is to watch your wife spend days by her dad’s hospital bed. I’m not sure we’ve properly grieved this loss yet.

Not only that, our son, Elijah has been going through a terrible health situation. He’s been receiving treated for a condition called uveitis for several months.

Inflammation has been taking away his vision in his right eye. None of the increasingly painful and invasive treatments have helped.

Recently the doctor told us that there is nothing more she can do for him. She’s concerned he has an autoimmune disease. And given my family’s health history, the doc is concerned that it might be the first symptom of MS.

We’ve been referred on to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. Which our insurance won’t cover. Unless we relocate to a zip code closer to Mayo.

LIMITED CAPACITY

In the middle of all of this — leadership challenges, personal family health issues — I still get all the texts and emails from people complaining about the volume of the music at church. Or why we wear masks. Or don’t. And on and on.

I have to be honest about my human limitations. I do not believe that I have the capacity to shoulder other people’s burdens, patiently walk with people through differing opinions, lead through a cultural change, support my wife in her grief, care for my son in his fear, be engaged with and attentive to my daughters’ hearts, and still preach with passion and fervency.

I do not have the capacity to lead a church at this time. And God is not giving me the grace that could overpower my weakness.

CARRIED

Our insurance issues were the final confirmation we needed. We need to have a different permanent residence in order for our son to receive the health care he needs.

It became clear to our family and the elders that God has released me from my pastoral responsibilities at Imago Dei Church. We believe that my resignation is what is healthiest for both my family and the church, given my capacity.

Through it all, I have felt God’s kind, gentle hand. I believe that He is carrying my family into a season of rest and restoration. A time of lying down in green pastures.

Not because we deserve it. But because He is a Great Shepherd. He is now and always will be only good to all of us.

Even in the valley of the shadow of death, we don’t have to live like a refugee. We can live like children of God who are cherished by Him.

NEXT STEPS

What’s next for our family? We’re moving back to New Richmond, Wisconsin. That will allow us to receive treatment from Mayo. It’s also the town and church that we were sent from to plant a new church in Milwaukee.

Those comforts, along with being closer to Kristy’s family, seemed to us like the compassionate direction of our Great Shepherd. We believe that God is inviting us into a season of rest and restoration.

We hope and pray that you also will know God’s great care for you in the days ahead. May the grace of God take your breath away and may the peace of God calm your every fear. Our good Shepherd will never leave us nor forsake us.

Love,

Pete, Kristy, and the Z fam

Originally published at http://duhscipleship.com on August 25, 2021.