My Story at King’s Cross Church

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I’m starting this post on October 10, 2023 and I don’t know how long it will take me to finish; I’ll guess I’ll find out at the end. But I’m hoping to use this space to recount my story of how I ended up having to part from my church for over a decade. At the start of this writing, there are a few occasions for why I’m writing this:

1. I want to document this because at some point, all the events, dates, and records will fade from my memory. I want to be able to go back to see (1) my state of mind (which I assume will be apparent in the writing) and (2) what happened. I also (3) want my children to eventually understand why we could not stay. Maybe one day when they’re older they’ll come to read this and we could talk about it together.
2. It’s also come to my attention that the session has characterized my leaving of King’s Cross Church as a voluntary resignation; in other words, with all that was possible and available to me, I wanted to leave. This is not true; at best I would concede that I was forced to resign through the actions and inactions of the session. I hope that this narrative will address this irreconcilable difference.
3. And lastly, I hope that in writing this out, it will help me put some closure to what has been a tumultuous year of conflict with the ruling body of the church that had chosen to keep me from serving this congregation. I miss this congregation dearly and I am still grieving the loss.

How I started at King’s Cross.

In February of 2012, through a series of rapid-fire events, Stephanie and I transitioned from the church I had attended and served for about 8 years and with the blessing and support of our church communities, joined the “core team” that planted King’s Cross Church. We didn’t know exactly what we were getting into; we joined with my long-time friend, Peter, and a team that was born out of a young-adult community group, to dream up what a new congregation could look like in Downtown Flushing. Stephanie and I were newly married and, while we were cautious, we were excited for the prospect of what King’s Cross could become as a church we would attend together as a married couple (prior to this, we had attended different churches). After much planning, work, and organizing, we had our first service on October 14, 2012. Less than two weeks later, our first child, Rehema, was born. My formation as a husband and father were intertwined with my calling as a pastor and the development of this church community.

Yet the timing of the new edition to our family was not ideal for a new church plant; we were two weeks into our launch and I recall Peter was concerned that we would be “out” for this critical formational period for King’s Cross. Yet we were fortunate that Rehema wasn’t a particularly difficult infant. In those early months, Stephanie cared for Rehema at home, making room for me to go to meetings and participate with other leaders in establishing the new church. I know that I would not have been as involved with the church in those early days if Stephanie had not enabled me to do so.

In February of 2013, Peter asked if I would formally come on staff in a “part-time” capacity as the Worship Director (though the joke, “part-time ministry is just full-time ministry with part-time pay” rang true). I was already doing the work anyway so after some meetings with the LFCC (Living Faith Community Church) session, I was hired, and thus began my formal employment with King’s Cross Church (technically I was working at LFCC because King’s Cross would not become a particularized/independent church until 2018).

As Worship Director, I helped to give purpose and structure to our Sunday Worship. In the beginning, much of our Sunday worship structures were just copied over from the LFCC congregation; these structures had yet to be adjusted for our particular context. Few people knew why we did what we did — even those who came from LFCC. I was new to liturgical structures, so it was my aim to learn and then instruct our church about why we go through the various movements in our worship service. As I learned, I began to create documents to teach and inform the church about every aspect of our worship service. Through this work, corporate worship quickly became one of my passions. Though my role and title would eventually change, my oversight of the structure and flow of worship (all of it, not just the musical aspects) would continue.

The abbreviated middle.

As I tell this story I will skip over much of the middle, yet the middle is where most of my life with the church happened: highs and lows, the mundane and the exciting. I’ll always be grateful for the many years I had with this congregation. They were years that gradually formed me. It was in the day-to-day work of the church that learned about my self and how to minister to the church out of who I was. But just so I don’t forget the middle altogether, I’ll list some particulars (in no particular order) that come to mind:

• I led the worship music ministry.
• At one point I led a Chinese Bible study group. (that was very challenging!)
• I helped train presiders for worship leading.
• I advocated to include laypeople into the regular business of the church.
• I helped develop the liturgical flow of our Sunday Service.
• Several times I attempted to bring the liturgical calendar into our collective consciousness with varying success (some aspects of the Lenten and Advent season remain, and for that I am grateful).
• We briefly formed an “Arts Initiative” that helped express our faith through artistic expression (visual, literary, musical, etc).
• We formed a book club which ended up being a platform to share about faith.
• I wrote several bible studies because I found much of the published material wanting for our particular congregation/context.
• COVID-19 (isolation, BLM, AAPI violence, deconstructing purity culture, political polarization, zoom, zoom, zoom, etc.)

I am not exaggerating when I say that there has not been a single day in the past 11 years where I have not thought about, prayed for, or worked with this faith community. I know them well. Through the various leadership “shifts,” every change in format, structure, position, and just the general ebb and flow of church life, I was present. I had woven my life and the life of my family into King’s Cross. I could not be more entwined with this church community. We bore much fruit together during these years, and I reflect on these years with gratitude.

Misaligned foundations.

Before I can get into how this all unraveled in the past year, I need to make a few confessions and describe some events that I believe laid the foundation for the conflicts of the past year.

I love the local church, not the denomination.

The PCA (Presbyterian Church in America) denominational affiliation of King’s Cross had absolutely no bearing on why I joined this work nor why I decided to become ordained within the PCA. If the King’s Cross was CRC, I would have pursued ordination in the CRC. If it was ECC, I’d be ECC. If it was PCUSA, I’d be PCUSA. I’ve never been too particular, and it didn’t seem like any of the members were too particular either. The driving force of the church was not a particular theology, but relationships and mutual belonging. We cared about the person of Jesus, not whether one was sprinkled or dunked, a cessationist or continuationist, pre- or post- or a- millennial. King’s Cross was PCA, so I jumped through whatever hoops I needed to jump through in order to serve there. Particular denominational affiliation and positions on peripheral doctrines just weren’t important to me, but they do matter.

I vividly remember my first day at my seminary intensive: when I was picked up at the airport, the very first question I was asked was whether I was complementarian or egalitarian. At the time, I didn’t know! They weren’t terms I was familiar with (it really wasn’t a thing that was discussed in my faith upbringing). My hesitation lasted long enough that someone else jumped into the conversation (thank you, whoever you were!) to take the spotlight off myself. In hindsight, I should’ve known, but at the time, it wasn’t something I thought I needed to have a firm position on. When I learned that the PCA is unquestionably complementarian, I read all the theological material I could find about it in order to affirm it. I tried to hold true to what the PCA believed because I didn’t want to educate myself away from the local church community that I had come to love. It’s odd that I was going to school to learn but it seemed like certain questions already had set answers. To have a different answer meant risking your place in a community. In hindsight, I realize that tribalism was working on me long before I knew it.

Whenever I felt uncomfortable with a PCA position, I found ways to stretch the meaning of words to make them work because I didn’t want to separate myself from my church I’ve come to love. For example, during my preparation for ordination, I learned that the PCA only allows two reasons for divorce: infidelity and abandonment. That doesn’t take into account abuse or neglect or any number of reasons that could keep someone trapped in an unhealthy situation. I learned that many in the PCA who share this concern stretch abandonment to go beyond physical/geographic abandonment to encompass practically any kind of separation (emotional, spiritual, mental, etc). Another common stretch was the creation of a diaconate team rather than openly disagreeing with the PCA’s position that only men could be deacons. It’s a work around that works. I know people who have been in PCA churches that never knew the PCA does not recognize women as deacons.

I stretched a lot of words, but at what point would it break? There was an open and ongoing joke amongst those who knew me that I would eventually get myself kicked out of the PCA. But I did whatever I needed to do; stretched whatever definitions I needed to stretch. And prayed that the ordination examination committee wouldn’t ask certain questions which would require me to perjure myself, and eventually… I passed!

But I didn’t pass a different test.

There’s a particular episode that I need to recount here that, while I did not think was a big deal when it happened, became an important part of explaining why my conflict with the session was so deep during my last days at the church. After I passed my ordination exam, and before I was officially a pastor at the church, I was at a birthday party for one of the kids at our church. I had brought my kids to this indoor play place on the second floor of a building to participate in the birthday celebration; so did some members of the session. While we were all there watching our kids play, unbeknownst to me, the members of the session wanted to have a conversation with me… about me. So we went downstairs to the parking lot area, away from the loud volume of the party.

At this impromptu (for me) meeting, they explained to me that they were unsure about whether I should be an associate pastor or assistant pastor. They expressed that they were unsure if I would work well with them. I recall that one member said that I seemed too opinionated in my views and they were weary that I would not agree with them; another had said that I did not seem friendly or greet him with a smile on Sundays. I can’t remember any other notable comments but those stuck out to me. I do recall that the mood/tone at the end of the meeting was fairly contentious. At the time the only difference I was aware of was that  associate pastors were part of the session and assistant pastors were not; I suspect that was their understanding as well because we never spoke about the principle of whether it was the congregation calling me to serve or it was the session calling me to assist them.

In hindsight I should have given this more thought. Being relatively new to Presbyterian governance and not having experienced or observed a properly functioning session before (whether at LFCC or at KCC) I did not care too much about whether I was hired as an assistant or as an associate.. The question of associate or assistant did not seem to affect what I wanted to do: serve the people of the church. Now I realize that the paths that the session was presenting to me at this meeting were not even proper. It betrays a misunderstanding about the difference between an associate pastor and an assistant pastor and the relationship that the pastor would have with the church. While I was ultimately hired as an assistant, my relationship to the church was one of an associate without representation on the session. The church as a whole, not really knowing the difference between associate and assistant, just went with whatever the session proposed. For most of the congregation, all this procedural stuff was red-tape. The church didn’t care about the differences and didn’t know what they didn’t know.

Flying under the radar.

When King’s Cross hired me as an Assistant Pastor, one of the benefits was that I could fly under the radar. As an assistant, I could hold my particular peripheral beliefs and explore various perspectives without the burden of having to lead or steer the church out of these explorations.

Being an assistant also made it easier to have open conversations within the pastoral staff. Among the pastors, we had good conversation around all the hot button issues: gender, sexuality, women in the church, inerrancy, politics, abortion, etc. It was no secret to anyone around me that I entertained ideas and theological perspectives that did not square with PCA positions. And I entertained a lot! As long as I wasn’t decidedly conclusive or rebellious in any of these positions to the firmly established position of the PCA, I was good to go. I understand that for the idealist, this may seem disingenuous, but as a long-standing and well-respected member of our presbytery once said at a presbytery meeting, submission to the governing structures and beliefs of the PCA did not require me to be in agreement. I could work within the system and I was doing everything I can to stay with the church that I loved. My love for our church was far more important to me than whatever denominational differences I may have on peripheral doctrines. So for all my years at King’s Cross, I enjoyed a bit of freedom to explore different perspectives and not being called to steer and lead the congregation out of these perspectives.

The felt experience of the presbytery and denomination.

Another side of my responsibilities was to the local presbytery. When I first became a member of the presbytery through ordination, I had to learn the ropes and adjust to what seemed like a foreign culture. There was no orientation meeting, user manual, or any welcoming process for new comers aside from just trying to figure it out from observation. I had to learn parliamentary procedure (Robert’s Rules) through immersion and guessing (I did buy a book on it but it was such dry and boring reading). I took in what I could, watching, guessing, and confirming my understanding of the procedures. Every now and then something new  would come up and I would wonder, “Why does it happen this way? And how do they know how to do this?” My participation in presbytery was limited by the fact that I never knew what was proper, thus I resigned to observation until I could get a better handle on what was happening. 

I share these initial observations and experiences because the world of the presbytery and denomination seemed very distant from the lived-in experience of King’s Cross. I am not exaggerating in the least when I say (and have repeatedly said) that King’s Cross is a PCA church in name only. No one in our church is even remotely involved in the business of the presbytery nor does it seem as though any of the business of the presbytery affects the local church (aside from the approving of pastoral calls).  If King’s Cross changed its affiliation to another agreeable denomination, I doubt anyone would notice; it didn’t factor into who we were as a church. 

The preoccupation of the presbytery.

I came into the presbytery in the midst of church’s reckoning with the #metoo and #churchtoo movement. I caught the tail end of a case that, from what I could tell, was weighing heavy upon our presbytery. In my time attending presbytery meetings, I saw a constant stream of cases and concerns around divorce, women in ministry, LGBTQ+ concerns. There was also expressed caution around social movements and the racial reckoning the country was going through. And while we did other business (examinations, campus ministry updates, administrative tasks), the bulk of our presbytery time was spent debating verbiage for amendments to the Book of Church Order (BCO), or deliberating on identity politics and language that would ultimately include or exclude people from leadership or membership in the church. To the credit of our local presbytery, I think we often came down on the right side of these debates. But all of this was tiring.

I left most of these presbytery meetings feeling like I wasted my time, often asking myself, “Is this what being a member of the presbytery is all about?” The more I continued to attend presbytery meetings, the more I was beginning to see that I didn’t really belong. Debating identity politics was far from what I imagined to be the purpose of the church. With all the ideas and perspectives I entertained, and the ongoing concerns of the church and community, I was fearful that my days flying under the radar were numbered.

How it started to unravel.

The “misaligned foundations” remained in the background until the events of 2022-2023. In early September of 2022, our senior pastor, Rob, emailed the elders and pastors requesting time off to reevaluate his calling as a pastor. He had communicated that the reason for this was to work through his identity with regard to his adoption and the recent contact he had made with his birth family. This was completely unexpected. No one — not the elders nor the pastors who met with him weekly — had a clue that this was coming. While we asked him some probing questions, it was apparent from his responses that it had come from very deep and sensitive pain. At this point we did not know that the adoption narrative was false. From what we knew at the time, and out of our love for Rob, we found ways to give him space to work out his adoption identity. I won’t be detailing Rob’s story; that’s not my story to tell. I can only describe the ways that his absence affected me and my relationship with the elders.

In the immediate aftermath of Rob’s absence, I found myself trying to fill the leadership vacuum. I volunteered to preach a series from Psalm 23 to buy us a few weeks to reorganize, but it was also to bring a word of comfort to a church that had already been feeling some level of discontent. During the time I was filling in with Psalm 23, Josh and I asked the session for direction regarding what to preach next because it wasn’t our role as assistant pastors to steer the church. We are a session-led church (or so I thought), and we were respecting their role and the responsibility that is placed on them as the session. Let me be clear that we were not asking for a scriptural outline; that would not be a fair ask to ask of our Ruling Elders. We just wanted topics and concerns that they wanted us to address from the pulpit; as Teaching Elders we would fill in the scriptural details. Unfortunately, we discovered that the session was not prepared for this kind of steering. We were beginning to realize how much of the leadership structures had been dependent on Rob; Rob held the pieces together. We learned from the elders that Rob practically did everything. The elders told us he was the “ideas person.” They told us that while they knew they were supposed to lead, they felt that it was the pastors who actually led and that they had limited influence. It seemed like we were not in a place where we were ready to properly move forward. To be honest, I was dismayed at this, but I also recognized that it was where we were.

With this, Josh and I told them that we’ll plan the next few series in order to give us more time to figure ourselves out. Josh and I worked closely together and it was… to be honest… really nice. I reflect fondly on this period. Josh and I brainstormed together. We shared ideas and observations. We shared with one another concerns that we were seeing amongst the congregation. We supported one another in all that we were doing. It was a relief to plan things out with Josh knowing that plans would actually stick (plans rarely stuck when we tried to get Rob to plan with us. He would change things on a whim all the time). We planned a series in Acts to remind the church who we are, and eventually another in the book of Hebrews to show how Christ wanted to give us rest as we closed out the year.

Rest. That was a word that I needed.

Readjustment.

At the end of October / early November I communicated to the elders that I was spent, and that it wasn’t exactly the physical work itself that was tiring me out. I told them that for all of October, because of the needs and state of our church, I was doing all these things I wasn’t supposed to do as an Assistant Pastor. While I appreciated that they wanted to provide preaching relief by telling us there’s a budget for guest preachers, I repeatedly communicated to them that preaching itself was not particularly difficult; I could preach every week if that was what was required. My exhaustion was more of an emotional tiredness because no one was giving direction. I communicated to them that I didn’t have a sense that someone was taking ownership of the church. I shared that the leadership I was exercising was not proper for me as an assistant pastor and it was tiring to continually do something that I knew I shouldn’t have been doing. My leadership took the pressure off of them to lead and steer for a time, but I started to feel like they were depending on it (treating me as a replacement “ideas person”) rather than taking steps to move into the role they should be exercising as the session. To their credit, they took this well and took some steps to live into their role as the session. I continued to serve in my capacity as Assistant Pastor but I was not working with the same anxiety nor at the same pace I put myself through in October (I should also say that I did that to myself and I do not fault anyone for my error in doing that). I saw glimpses of change. But another surprise was coming that would force me into a difficult position with the session.

A heavy burden to carry.

In mid-November, Rob called me to meet. Since I hadn’t heard from him in weeks apart from sporadic SMS check-ins, I moved around my schedule to make it work. I assumed that we were just going to catch up and that he would share about the progress he was making in himself with his time away. Instead he shared with me his account of how his marriage was falling apart and how he wasn’t planning on returning to King’s Cross.

I grieved with him. 

I had asked if he was planning on telling the elders; he said he would soon. Before the Thanksgiving weekend, Rob shared with the elders that he wasn’t planning on coming back to King’s Cross but he did not share the real reason why. And this placed a heavy burden on me. I knew why, but it was not my story to tell and I could only keep encouraging Rob to share openly with the elders. On December 4 (shortly after the Thanksgiving break), Rob sent a very brief resignation letter to the session which became the focus of our early December meeting.At the meeting we were all disheartened. The elders started working on a plan based on advice from David Ellis, a member of the presbytery’s care team, to dissolve the pastoral relationship with Rob and send him off with care. But I sat there watching things unfold with alarm because the elders still didn’t know why he was leaving; they were told a cover story. Things seemed to be moving very quickly so I asked the session to pause. I then told the session that I’d been burdened with some information that I was not at liberty to share. I told them that when they learned of this information, they might feel “betrayed” and that they needed to hear from Rob. So I texted Rob during the meeting that he needed to call in and explain, but he did not respond before the end of our meeting. Instead the session sent a request to Rob for more information and a more detailed resignation letter that would explain why he was resigning. I hoped that in the new letter he would be more transparent. The new letter arrived on December 13th; I was disappointed.

Fumbles and constraints.

There was some urgency to address Rob’s resignation but we had many external constraints. We could not formally dissolve the pastoral relation without (1) a congregational meeting to vote on the matter and (2) presbytery approval of that dissolution. We knew that the upcoming presbytery meeting would be on January 10th, and that did not leave us a lot of time. In the same week that we received Rob’s more detailed resignation letter, we learned about a few unexpected constraints that were imposed on us. The first was that, after a lot of back and forth, the school where we met for Sunday worship informed us that they would be closed on Christmas Day and New Year’s Day (both fell on Sunday that year) and that we could not meet. This meant that the last in-person Sunday for us would be December 18. The only Sunday remaining for a congregational meeting before the upcoming presbytery meeting was January 8th (December 18th was not possible because congregational meetings require sufficient notice). Adding to these complications was that December 18th was already set for the ordination service of a friend of the church and many guests and visitors were coming to celebrate with him.

Now for this part of the story, I can only be clear about my own rationale for how we navigated all these constraints — I cannot speak for the elders. But I share responsibility with the elders regarding the decisions that were made in December. In my view, there was no good path forward; every option had significant downsides. We decided together on what we thought was best. We had received Rob’s final resignation letter (which we received on December 13th) and we had 5 days until our final in-person Sunday service of 2022. We had to share this letter on that Sunday. With the already scheduled ordination service, we saw two options before us: (1) share it before the ordination service or (2) share it after.

We ultimately decided to share the letter after the ordination service. In my view, it was the lesser of two evils. Rob’s letter was lacking! Whether we shared it before or after, the church would be upset; we already knew it would not be received well. If we shared it after the ordination, at least we could preserve some good for the ordination service. So that’s what we did. Even as I write this account months after the events, I cannot think of a better option given the holiday season and the logistical constraints that were before us. After the ordination service and celebration, an email went out to the congregation later that afternoon. As expected, it did not go well, but it was about to get worse.

Associate pastor?

I need to interrupt this narrative about Rob to share that while all this was going on, the session emailed me saying that they wanted to bring me onto the session as an Associate Pastor. This was immediately after a meeting (December 17) where we shared with the leaders the news about Rob’s resignation. I was not expecting this proposal but I already knew my answer.

We met for lunch and I shared with Matt a few reasons why I would not accept the Associate Pastor role. The first reason was regarding public perception. I knew that in January, we would have to vote Rob out as senior pastor of the church. For me to become an Associate Pastor, the congregation would then need to vote me in. I believed that this would look like I was replacing Rob. I knew that I wasn’t. While I would not be the senior pastor, I would be the “senior-est” pastor, and I did not want the church to have such expectations through the optics of these formal procedures. I also shared with Matt that I had theological issues with the PCA and was looking to transfer out. My understanding of the process at the time (I would later find out that my understanding was incorrect) was that if they kept me as an Assistant Pastor, I could stay indefinitely; I could serve “out-of-bounds” from whatever denomination I would transfer to. If I had accepted the Associate Pastor role, not only would the church have to vote me in, I knew that they would also have to vote me out, and that seemed like an unnecessary emotional and administrative burden to place upon the congregation. My understanding at the time was that keeping me as an Assistant Pastor keeps the administrative details to be more localized, not requiring a congregational meeting to make these changes in the future.

There were days when I wondered if I should have just taken this role. Perhaps I would have been able to use my seat on the session to help steer the church differently. Would that have been better? Maybe something could’ve been salvaged. But I did what I did because I wanted to be open with the elders and act with integrity. Besides, we still had the church to care for in the aftermath of Rob’s resignation letter.

The reveal.

The period between the sending of the letter on December 18th and our January 8th congregational meeting was a turbulent one. People were understandably upset and wanted answers. Various members were voicing their dissatisfaction with leadership and the poor communication regarding Rob. In response, we scheduled two in-person gatherings at members’ apartments to share and discuss their feelings and concerns. The first one was scheduled on Wednesday, December 28th; the second was scheduled for the following week on Wednesday, January 4th.

Unexpected news.

It was at this first gathering at Stephen’s apartment that church members (including Stephen) learned with certainty that something wasn’t right about Rob’s resignation. A longtime friend of the church who was not a regular attendee joined this meeting. And after several people shared, this visitor proceeded to tell us that she was given permission to share some news with us from Rob. Intrigued, we listened as she shared that Rob had taken on another full-time job and had been employed already for a few weeks. We were all confused. Stephen, understandably, was alarmed by this news. Why was he employed at two places at the same time? Why didn’t he share about this in the letter? Also… why were we not hearing this directly from Rob? Why this third-party?

After this meeting, the elders reached out to Rob to schedule a meet in order to get answers. We eventually were able to secure a meeting on Tuesday, January 3rd. But before we could have that meeting, we had our first Sunday Service of the year on Zoom.

“Incompetence.”

For this first Sunday service of 2023, Josh and I had requested that an elder give the first message of the year as a way for them to move into their role as elders in the church. Curtis stepped up and prepared and delivered the gospel message that day. I know it took a lot of time and effort for him. I was grateful for his willingness to step into the role. But knowing the concerns about Rob, we had scheduled a Q/A after service which poisoned whatever confidence and progress we had hoped for in the new year. It was at this Q/A that people unloaded their frustrations and the word incompetence entered into our common discourse.

In that Q/A, we informed the congregation that Rob will be present at the January 8th meeting. We also informed the congregation that we have scheduled a meeting with Rob to figure out what was going on.

The burden lifted.

On January 3rd we met with Rob at Matt’s home with two objectives: (1) to get answers and (2) to determine whether we would want Rob to be at the second informal gathering scheduled for the next day. We were all reasonably upset by the news about Rob’s double employment; we wanted an explanation, but the elders did not know what was coming. It was at this meeting that the elders first heard about Rob’s marital issues and the severity of the situation. Prior to this meeting, everyone thought that Rob’s absence was due to the complexities surrounding his adoptee identity; no one knew it was about his marriage. I will not go into his story here; it is still not my story to tell. Besides, we only heard Rob’s version of events at this meeting; it would be quite some time before I would hear from Sara. But I’ll note a few points  and comment on the general mood of this meeting.

I first want to note that Rob saw his pastoral role as one that was intricately tied to his marriage. At one point during his sharing he asked what he thought was a rhetorical question: “Would you even want a pastor who had a broken marriage?” After a heavy silence there were two different responses that emerged in that room: “Yes, of course!” and “Well… I’m not sure.” As I reflect on this interaction today, I believe they represent two different understandings and expectations of a pastor. Rob, understanding and embodying the expectations he had of himself as senior pastor could not accept himself as a pastor with a broken marriage. If I had to extrapolate his view, leaders had to be “above reproach” in a way that was superhuman. The culture that Rob lived and moved in required a level of perfection in order to be before others as a leader and pastor.

I was in the “Yes, of course!” camp. What mattered to me for leadership was not their individual “success” in various areas of life, but how they could show and demonstrate grace at work in their lives through their faults. At the time, I thought this self-imposed requirement for being “above reproach” (manifest in life/vocational “success”) was limited to Rob. As I reflect upon it now, it seems as though it saturated the elders and leadership in how they saw themselves before the congregation: a need to be competent in all the things that they expected of themselves. Just as Rob hid the real reason for his departure for fear we would not accept him, I think the elders hid the extent of their imperfections from the congregation for fear that the congregation would reject them. The elders have since placed much blame on Rob with statements like, “Rob didn’t train us for this.” The truth is that he was training them. The elders were formed to be like Rob, they just didn’t realize it. They were being formed just through working with him. I realize now that the culture was already there, I just wasn’t able to identify and articulate it at the time.

When Rob responded and expressed his fears about being “found out” by the presbytery, some in our group were like, “No way! They wouldn’t do that!” But I explained to the group that this was a legitimate fear/concern because it had happened before, and that there isn’t much of a gray area regarding divorce in the denomination. I felt for Rob in this. I wish there was more room for grace with leaders, superhuman expectations just aren’t fair or good.

While we had entered this meeting wanting answers, it ended with us making room for Rob to share freely. There were definitely some concerning details in his sharing, but we realized that it was not time for us to probe. He was hurting and questioning whether we would even accept him (Rob, not Pastor Rob). We wanted to communicate to him that we did. At the close of the meeting we wanted to reassure him of our care. We communicated our hearts to him, but, to be honest, I am not sure if he received that message. The second gathering with the church was scheduled for the next day. We could not tell his story for him so we invited Rob to Josh’s apartment to share with church members.

Round two. (or three?)

The next evening at Josh’s, Rob had a second opportunity to share his story before church members. It would be my third time hearing him share and I started to see how different parts of the story were being emphasized. The main narrative was still the same, but he started leaning more heavily on characterizing himself as a victim. To everyone listening, the story was fresh and raw. I would learn later on that others also had reservations about his sharing, but the desire to care for Rob came first. At the end, the general tone was again one of care and support.

As I reflect on this now, I’m grateful that the heart of King’s Cross is one of love and grace. There’s so much to be upset about; so many unaddressed wrongs from the past several months. Sometimes I worry for the church dealing with all this pain. I worry that these unaddressed hurts will manifest in anger and bitterness — that would be the expected response! But as I reflect on this gathering and the people that showed up, I’m grateful that the Spirit worked in us to lead toward love rather than judgment. I know people were upset, but that is not dominated that space. It’s my hope that one day the leadership of the church would lean into this reality: at King’s Cross, grace abounds, and I’m certain the church will survive despite the lack of leadership in this area.

At the conclusion of this second gathering we discussed what to do with this information. It was heavy. With the congregational meeting coming in just a few days, some suggested that Rob did not need to lay his heart out like this before the congregation. I believe the intention was to protect Rob from further exposure. I believe most people in attendance weren’t ready to make any suggestions for action. It was too new and raw. But after a brief discussion, we decided it would be better to inform the church. If we didn’t, we saw that we would have created more problems and we did not want to create another division in the church from tiered knowledge of what happened to all of us. I had shared that it was extremely burdensome to carry what I knew about Rob’s marriage on my own for a few months and I wouldn’t wish the same upon anyone at church. We concluded in that meeting that Rob did not need to include every detail — it could be shorter! What mattered was that he communicate the severity of the situation.

There’s also one detail of that meeting that I’ll mention just to remember it, but I’m not sure of its meaning or significance: Rob didn’t want us to pray for him. I was cautious of reading too much into it. Maybe one day in the future when I read this story again it will make sense. For now it is just something that sticks out in my memory.

After this second gathering we prepared for the congregational meeting. Rob expressed his reluctance to share his story before the congregation, citing a private email from a church member urging him to keep the messiness of this from the church. We assured him of the need for transparency and we offered to work with him to share the severity without sharing unnecessary details. He didn’t accept that offer. We were tiptoeing around him because he was so sensitive about this story. In hindsight maybe we should have insisted on it. I wonder if our collective wisdom could have helped curb what was to happen at the upcoming congregational meeting.

The January 8th congregational meeting.

At the congregational meeting Rob shared his story again. Unfortunately, the more questionable parts of his sharing were expanded rather than diminished. The story was the same but some aspects were intensified, including the characterization of Sara’s actions as “abuse.” He further painted himself as a victim. He impressed upon the congregation that unless we already had an existing relationship with Sara to not contact her. Some understood this as a suggestion borne out of care; others saw this as a red flag, indicating that everything is not what it seems. There were also some members who had gotten the story relayed second-hand and came with their anger and frustrations to unload before the church.

At this contentious meeting, a member started to lay out before the church how wrong all of this was: the hiding, the double employment, the incompetence of the leaders to find out what was happening and to act appropriately. She claimed that she knew and saw the signs of this well before anyone else had caught on. She came with a list (literally) of grievances to air before everyone. Unfortunately, one of our beloved members of the church who was being voted in as a member of the diaconate team — completely unrelated to Rob — received some of the collateral damage from this outburst. Then another member, perhaps emboldened to be more open in light of the first member’s unrestrained deluge, started to speak and buttress the first member’s positions. By the time this second member started to speak, other members in the congregation started to shift uncomfortably in their seats. As I looked around the room, people appeared to be either stunned, upset, angry, or crying. It all reached a critical point when Matt, one of the elders, stood and yelled at the two members who had stood up: “Enough! This is fucked up!”

I believe this moment — where an elder of the church raised his voice and used profanity (which is not common in our church space) to silence the room and stop the onslaught of words from two members of the church — caused more harm than Rob’s departure. It traumatized the church and further divided the congregation. After this, people were fearful of offending the session because of what they saw. They were also fearful of being marginalized because they saw how people’s anger and frustration turned against these two members who had spoken. People were upset and understandably so! While I believe there was substance to the complaints of the two members, it was the manner of delivery as well as their insensitivity to others in the room that made this act foolish. Likewise, I also believed there was “substance” to Matt’s outburst — it was fucked up — but the way it was addressed was not appropriate!

After the onslaught of accusations from these two members and the explosive reaction from Matt, a congregant who was older and more experienced in presbyterian polity stepped forward and urged Curtis, the moderator of the meeting, to keep order because these outbursts were not proper. This act, while done with good intention, further reinforced the narrative that the elders were incompetent in their roles. It was clear they were new at this and were not seasoned at handling conflict in public spaces. I am aware that after this meeting, the elders had met with this congregant regarding this public interaction to better understand how to moderate congregational meetings. They also asked that he speak to them in private regarding corrective statements so as to not reduce public confidence in the elders’ competence before the church.

Curtis then called for a brief recess. We needed a breather. I am aware that Matt did speak with those members during the brief recess, but everyone was in shock and people were not connecting. I had hoped for an apology immediately after the recess, but I later learned that Matt wasn’t ready to give one. He was in protective/defensive mode. He saw the church in pain and his gut instinct was to stop the hurtful words, unaware of the effect of his own. When the meeting resumed, we finalized the decisions from the vote, dissolving the pastoral relationship with Rob. It was a painful meeting.

Trying to heal.

The elders and pastors met together via Zoom to debrief afterwards. The pressing issue at the time was how to recover from this traumatic congregational meeting. At the top of that list was for the session to come before the congregation to apologize for what happened at the meeting; whether it be from a lack of order to the explosive outburst, they needed to take responsibility if the church was going to move forward. I will not share the details of our conversation; there were feelings and hurts that were not meant for the public. But I can share my own perspectives: I was torn.

I thought the church needed a better apology, but the feelings in the group were still raw. Gentle nudges to be more open/vulnerable were met with resistance — resistance that ultimately resulted in a prolonged (still ongoing as I write this) and painful marginalization of certain members of our church. I should clarify that at this point in the story, I do not blame the elders. The series of events that unfolded in December and January would put anyone in a frenzy. They were not ready to fill the role. Matt came off “parental leave” to serve because of Rob’s sudden absence in September. Curtis had his own things going on in his new home that were taxing as well. And then there was the church. It’s not easy to learn when you’re under pressure and scrutiny. In the end the apology we got was what the session had the capacity to express before the congregation. In my opinion it left much to be desired. We were all on a difficult process of learning how to be before a congregation. It wasn’t an easy time to learn.

For the remainder of the weeks in January, we held a series of after-service debrief sessions. There was a lot for the church to process together. People also called me to meet individually because they had concerns that they were not comfortable sharing openly, and there was a regular drip of impromptu conversations when someone would pull me aside after service. From my conversations I felt that the church was polarizing; some wanted to make Rob a martyr, others demonized him. Knowing that the session members did not have the experience or capacity to guide the divided church, I asked if I could draft a letter to the congregation to help the church heal from the growing divisions around Rob with a call to make space for one another. It was during this time that I again felt the same tension I felt in October: the work I was doing was not proper for an assistant pastor.

The proposition.

On January 23rd, I received an email from Matt on behalf of the session asking me to consider serving as the interim senior pastor. We spoke that evening via Zoom and I expressed that I would be open to it but I needed to be upfront about my reservations about staying in the PCA, a subject we only touched upon briefly in December.. Matt asked if I would share these reservations with the rest of the session so we scheduled a Zoom meeting for the following week.

At this meeting, I explained how I would be willing to be the interim pastor, however I wanted them to know that if I were to take on this role, I would need to bring all of myself into the work, rather than have to filter myself (as I detailed in “flying under the radar”). I wanted to be upfront with them rather than take the role and steer the church in a direction they did not expect; doing that, I thought, would lack integrity. My days in the PCA were numbered and if I were to serve the needs of the church as the interim pastor, I would need to lead without having to constantly check whether or not my actions were acceptable in the PCA; I’ve seen what had happened to others who crossed the line.

Too litigious.

I explained that my primary reason for leaving is cultural: I found the PCA to be too litigious. It was a denomination that seemed more concerned about making sure people fall in line theologically than they were about proclaiming the gospel of Jesus. Our presbytery meetings were packed with cases around identity politics and debating proposed gatekeeping language to our bylaws with the not-so-hidden intention of barring particular people from serving in churches. Serving in a city like New York, there are times when a pastor would need to bend the rules in ways that a minister in a more homogenous setting (White) would not understand. It was tiring. And knowing my own theological leanings and ministry relationships, I knew that the cases and discussions they had around other members of the presbytery could easily fall on me. If I were to become the interim pastor, it would be very difficult to continue flying under the radar. This was a serious issue for me. I knew I was called to pastor, and the PCA did not seem like a culture where I could pastor with a clear conscience. Yet, I knew that a “cultural” reason would not be sufficient for the PCA; I would need to provide a theological reason to exit the PCA.

A theological reason.

The theological reason for my transfer revolves around the PCA’s beliefs on women in the church. While I won’t go into the theological details here (I hope to write elsewhere about that), I can say that my own theological wrestlings and engagement with the texts have led me to conclude that God does not place any limitation on women in leadership. I was no longer entertaining the position. It was now conclusive — a conviction. And this conviction was buttressed by the rotten fruit produced in patriarchal systems like ours. Women in the PCA and other complementarian circles have shared about it in books, blogs, podcasts, etc. There was something in the subjugation of women that was keeping the church from showing the beauty and manifold wisdom of God. It was this theological conviction that I would submit before the presbytery to invoke the following vow (found in BCO 21-5) that every ordained minister in the PCA makes:

Do you sincerely receive and adopt the Confession of Faith and the Catechisms of this Church, as containing the system of doctrine taught in the Holy Scriptures; and do you further promise that if at any time you find yourself out of accord with any of the fundamentals of this system of doctrine, you will on your own initiative, make known to your Presbytery the change which has taken place in your views since the assumption of this ordination vow.

I shared with the elders that I did not come to these conclusions quickly; it took several years of listening, learning, and engagement with the scriptures and I did not expect them to come to any decision quickly. I expressed that I would be happy to work with them through any questions or concerns so that they could be more informed about the different theological perspectives. 

I shared with them that the top contender for my transfer was the EPC. It was a denomination where I already knew some members, and it wasn’t very different from the PCA with regard to doctrine; it subscribed to the same creeds and confessions and had the same system of governance. From my initial conversations with members of the EPC, it seemed less litigious. I imagined that if King’s Cross were to become EPC, it would not require any major theological changes.

Later that evening they replied that they needed more time to consider the question and will not be hiring an interim for the time being:

We agreed to have a conversation about it at the next shepherding meeting, looping in Josh, who also shares this same theological conviction.

Our February shepherding meeting was more casual and at a restaurant. The elders asked both Josh and I to share why we no longer hold the complementarian perspective regarding gender. We each shared our stories of how we came to our convictions regarding women in the church. We again offered ourselves to study the scriptures more deeply with them since a restaurant wasn’t the best place to have a theological study. Josh and I already had notes and documents from our own discussions in the past and were ready to share what we learned. We agreed to look more deeply into the theological issues at our March shepherding meeting. It was my expectation that they would need more time and study before they could make an informed decision on the matter.

Yet, beyond my theological convictions, I also shared with them my read of our church. I did not think our church cared about our denominational affiliation. King’s Cross was PCA in name only. It is no exaggeration to say that not a single person in our church follows anything that is going on in the denomination; nor are they affected by it. We gain very little, if anything, by being part of the PCA. I remember asking the question: “What do we lose by changing our denominational affiliation from the PCA?” (Nothing!) It was also my sense that the church as a whole would not be opposed to changing denominations. I stressed to the elders my belief that our church was “already there” with regard to leaving the PCA; we just haven’t updated our name tag.

A family tragedy.

Shortly after these conversations, and just before an already-planned family trip to Arizona, we learned that Steph’s father was the victim of a homicide. The nature of our trip, which was supposed to be a family reunion of sorts, changed dramatically. Prior to the trip, I found myself just trying to take care of the needs in the house in order to give her space to grieve. While we were in Arizona, I just tried to stay out of the way and offer a hand when I thought I could contribute. I didn’t know how to properly care for Steph during this time; I wish I had done better to be present and emotionally supportive. I was divided because while my family was in crisis, so was my church family. Near the end of our time in Arizona, I received an email from Matt on behalf of the session.

Miscommunication.

This email, sent on February 21st, was and is the source of a lot of our miscommunication.

I will attempt to backfill the timeline with details that I learned much later in the timeline, but unfortunately I may never know why communication broke down between myself and the session. It was in the following email that the session claims they communicated to me the decision to not change denominations, but that is not how I understood it. The relevant section says this:

The session met last Friday and we discussed more about the EPC. More specifically about the possibility of guiding the pastoral search committee to be open to candidates who are not in the PCA. At the present moment, we are only considering candidates who are PCA ministers or who are willing to be a PCA minister. I know this email seems a little redundant from my 1/30 email, but the session felt that we make all of this clear to you about your future eligibility as a candidate.

Given that my expectation was that a denominational decision/exploration would take a long time, I understood the language of “At this moment…” to mean that “in the near term,” because the church needed to move forward with creating the pastoral search committee. The idea that this email may have been “redundant” also indicated to me that there was no new change between the 1/30 email and this one. 

In my mind, it was too soon for a decision. It was important to me that the elders understand, before moving forward with any direction. My email from just a few weeks earlier would have “advised against making [a decision]” even if the decision would have been leaning towards changing denominations with me. I thought they needed more time to work out the differences. I did not think they had the time nor the theological background needed to make an informed decision. But in later communication, the elders would point to this email as the moment where they told me about the final decision.

I would later come to understand that they were working with constraints that were just not true. But I did not know of these assumptions nor did I have the opportunity to address them. I did not understand this email to be a decision for the church. I understood it to be a decision to help move the upcoming pastoral search committee along in their task — a decision that was not tied to a denominational affiliation. This was ground zero for our communication mishaps.

I was eventually informed in passing that a decision was already made regarding denominational affiliation through a Slack chat with Stephen on March 5th where he mentioned that “KCC is not exploring changing denominations at this time.” I told Stephen that I do not consider this passing comment on Slack to be proper communication from the session. But the hurt was already done. Other differences had already soured my relationship with the session. In all my disputes since this miscommunication, my repeated question to them was, “Why didn’t you include me?”

Why didn’t you include me?

I didn’t receive an answer to this question until mid-July during one of our summer mediation sessions (we had several with an outside mediator which I’ll get to later). During our last mediation session, I kept asking why they didn’t include me and finally got an answer from Curtis and Matt (I would later learn that Stephen also had his part to play here, but his role is a bit different). 

Curtis shared that the reason I wasn’t included was because they didn’t need to; he said he already had all the information he needed to decide. Curtis said before the group, “Norman, you said that if I read this book [Beth Allison Barr’s The Making of Biblical Womanhood], I would have all my questions answered. I read it and it didn’t change anything for me. I had all the information I needed.” When he said this… I didn’t have words. I could not believe what I was hearing. I would never even hint that one could merely read a single book and know all they needed regarding a theological question. This was upsetting on many levels, but Matt had an equally frustrating response.

Matt shared that the reason he didn’t want to include me was because he didn’t want to have a meeting about it; he said that the idea of having a meeting was exhausting. And… I get it. At the time he had a newborn at home and I don’t doubt that the sleepless nights combined with the rat race that we were all put on due to the unexpected changes in our church left him spent. But in my view, he neglected his responsibility to the church during this time and part of that responsibility includes letting the church know if he is unable to do what the church was expecting him to do. At the very least, he should have informed others and allowed others to support and fill in for what he could not do during that trying period. I can’t imagine a rationale that could make “I was tired and didn’t want to have a meeting” an acceptable reason for not having such an important conversation that would affect the church.

What made this answer even worse is that he later added and doubled down on a “spiritual” component to the decision to stay in the PCA. I will rarely say with certainty, “This is God’s will” or even the softer, “I believe this is what God wants.” It is foolish to put divine approval upon a human decision. It shuts down conversation. It’s dangerous to use such language and often leads to a form of spiritual abuse. And if you convince yourself that it’s from God, how can you listen to any challenge? Who is going to argue with God? If down the line, new information emerges, one would have great difficulty going back on a supposedly divine decision. If something really is “God’s will,” God will not need us to use it as an argumentative trump card to assert his will. This is not leadership. This is, again, passing off responsibility and agency to another (God) so that one will not feel responsible for the outcome. 

By going this route, the session essentially locked themselves in an uninformed decision. It made the decision practically irreversible, and it separated me from the session. I had no part in their discussions and there was no functional trust between us to work together. Around this time, someone accused me of blaming and dividing the elders because I wasn’t using “we” language. They said I should support them and not distance myself from their decisions. But I could not in good conscience use “we” language. To do so would feel like I was participating in a cover up, helping them save face. Instead I started using “the assistant pastors and elders” to separate myself from the decisions that I had no part in deciding. I was not going to support actions that I believed were hurting members of the church in order to project some illusion that everything was fine or protect their façade of competence. And this façade was clearly on display at the congregational meeting for the pastoral search committee.

Law & order.

The congregational meeting to create a pastoral search committee was our first one since the January 8th meeting; people were nervous, looking around trying to get a feel of the room, hoping to avoid a repeat of our previous meeting. Curtis was again the moderator. Unlike the January meeting, Curtis came with notes and rules for how this meeting should proceed. He had written prepared answers for questions. I could tell that he put a lot of work into preparing for this meeting. He laid out rules for the meeting which dictated how frequently someone may speak and the duration of their speech. These rules were laid out without discussion. Furthermore, Curtis explained how votes would be tallied for committee candidates to become committee members. These were also decided for the congregation without discussion. I’m not sure if the congregation knew these rules could have been discussed. To be honest, I’m not sure if the session did either. I suspect they laid out those rules as a form of care for a congregation that was weary of the prospect of another explosive meeting.

Influencing the vote.

I won’t recount a play-by-play of this meeting, but I can say that the rules that were not equally applied. Those who the session were apprehensive about received a more strict application of the rules; they received the “Sorry, you ran out of time” and “Sorry, you’ve already spoken” limitations. It seemed like Curtis was more attentive to the rules when he was on alert with these members. However, those who were seen as “friendly” speakers received a softer application of the rules; when time went over time or if they spoke more than once, no one enforced or drew attention to the rules. These are not merely my own impressions of the meeting; even those who “benefited” from the soft application of the rules noted it after the meeting but did not know how to address the discrepancy during the meeting. Then there was the voting.

One can influence the vote by changing the conditions or rules that surround a vote. While I don’t believe it was intentional or malicious, that’s what happened here. The curbing of discussion and the imposition of rules had unintentional consequences. It created a pastoral search committee that was generally more agreeable to the session, and this had an effect on those who already felt on the margins. 

In my view, there were two additional questions/concerns being addressed at this meeting: (1) the competency of the session and (2) growing divisions within the church. The meeting ended without any violent outbursts, and most people went home relieved that the meeting was not as openly contentious as the January meeting. But the church was not fine.

Growing divisions.

At the next shepherding meeting (March 14), Stephen started by asking the group to share our take on the state of the church. He then shared about his general optimism and how he thought the church was stabilizing. Unfortunately, my observations and conversations with members of the church since the congregational meeting led me to a different take. A number of members shared that they felt marginalized and were fearful of sharing their concerns with others in the church. They further shared with me that they had first attempted to bring their concerns to the elders but did not feel like they were heard. In contrast to Stephen’s take, I shared that while the recent congregational meeting did not have any loud outbursts or open conflict, there was growing discontent in the congregation. Josh also shared similar experiences and conversations; I was not expecting this, but it affirmed what I was seeing in the church. Matt said that he wanted to abstain from offering a take; Stephen said that was unfair. I cannot recall what/if Curtis shared as his take on the church; I remember that the focus with Curtis was the recent congregational meeting.

Lacking a better grace sandwich.

Now again, I know Curtis spent a lot of time preparing for that meeting, and I admit that I failed to express appreciation for that preparation. I was protective for the hurting members of the church, not the elders. After this meeting Curtis shared that what he needed was some affirmation regarding these efforts. I believe that affirmation was warranted but at the time I could not see it. Josh also told me that my “grace sandwich” (where you first affirm something before following with a critique/challenge, then end with encouragement) needed some work. It did (and probably still does). In my view there were two urgent concerns: (1) growing discontent in the church and (2) the continued public marginalization of a member of the church. I felt this pain and frustration more acutely than the needs of the elders. I wish I was able to feel both at that meeting.

Listening to needs.

I shared with the elders that it looked like they were trying to “make up” for January’s meeting and demonstrate to the congregation that they can run an orderly meeting; that they wanted to assure the congregation of their competency. But I believe this focus on their own competency was done at the expense of addressing the hurts in the church. This was another example of seeing themselves rather than the needs of the congregation. I made this clear when I shared with the elders that they were used to being administrators, but lacked practiced listening as shepherds/pastors. I used a recent occurrence at a Town Hall meeting to illustrate this point where a member shared about her desire to teach her children about tithing and suggested a practical change, but instead of hearing her central need, the elders responded with the mechanics and pragmatic constraints of the proposed practical change. I told them that they needed to grow into the neglected pastoral practice of listening to the needs and square with the congregation about where they are. 

The discussion around the congregational meeting led Josh and I to impress upon the elders the need to reconcile with the member of our church feels marginalized. We both offered ourselves as possible mediators to expedite this process, but if they preferred outside help, to do it soon. I explained that to delay would be to exercise their privilege as elders in the church; their inclusion in the church is a given. However for this member, every day, their marginalization is an experienced reality.

The burden of leadership.

In the church there is a burden of leadership. I told the elders that if they were not going to hire an interim pastor to steer and lead the church in this difficult period, they, by structure and role, are supposed to steer and lead. They cannot just wait until the next senior pastor comes to lead and steer for them. (In hindsight, I wonder if their original invitation for me to be the interim pastor was a way for the elders to return to the familiar pattern they had with Rob.) If they do not actively take on the burden of leadership, the burden doesn’t go away; the burden ends up being borne by the congregation. It was this growing sense of directionlessness and stuckness without any noticeable change by the session that made the month of March such a heavy month for me.

March.

March was a critical month for me; it was the month where I rapidly descended into despair. There’s a window inside that despair through my sermons from that month; I preached three out of the four Sundays. I still reflect on these sermons as some of the most unexpected prophetic interpretations of scripture I’ve ever preached at King’s Cross.

Prior to the shepherding meeting, the first sermon in March was from Mark 9:14-29 where Jesus heals a boy, casting out an evil spirit. If not for the conflicts I saw in the church, I would have never imagined preaching about discrepancies of power and privilege and the need for all to go to the Healer from this passage. The second, was from Mark 9:33-42 where Jesus receives children; this sermon was about receiving one another in a deep way that transforms us. My final sermon of March was the last before retreat.

By the time I preached this last sermon, I was completely discouraged. I had a whole month of preaching my heart out and pleading with the church to work together. But I couldn’t even get a response from the elders of the church. I started to question why I was still there; there seemed to be no room for me to minister. I had hoped that the shepherding meeting after those first two sermons could have been a turning point — to give some sort of indication that something was at work if they missed it all in the sermons themselves. Instead, between the shepherding meeting and this last sermon was silence. I heard nothing. This silence would continue more or less uninterrupted until my last day in late September.

I felt more and more like this marginalized member (who I suspected was also receiving silence) during the weeks leading up to this last sermon in March. I felt like I was being pushed out for having a critical view just like this member had dared to say something that the elders didn’t like. In this last March sermon from Mark 14:1-11, I already felt the Markan sandwich of danger and division (v1-2,10-11). I aimed to answer one question in that sermon: How can we persevere in love when we are surrounded by strife? And I found myself sharing with the congregation my broken alabaster jar. I could not be more explicit about my sense of helplessness from the pulpit that Sunday.As I write this and revisit that sermon, I find myself needing to hear the message from that sermon: even though it seems like my alabaster jar of time at King’s Cross was spilled — that my time may have been better applied elsewhere or with a denomination that I was better aligned with — Jesus sees, and he delights in me. I held this truth in tension with my felt reality of despair. Yet, even after this… silence; thick silence. The tension I precariously held snapped at our church retreat the following weekend.

Retreat.

Our church retreat, which should have been a reprieve from the chaos of the year, was the lowest I’ve been in all my years at King’s Cross. By the retreat I became convinced that I had no future at King’s Cross. I was leaving the PCA and I was working for a session that did not want me to be there. When I arrived at the retreat center, I entered into our main gathering space and instead of seeing people who I’ve grown to love and care for, I saw people who I would soon not be allowed to pastor. It was too painful for me to be in the same room with people who I knew would be taken from me. So I escaped into myself. I joined only at meal times — the quickest meals I could’ve eaten. I emerged only to pick up or drop off my kids — and that’s a maybe. If it weren’t for my kids’ involvement in planning the children’s skit, I would have left the first night. 

Even now (in December 2023), it’s difficult to write about this time without that feeling of despair resurfacing. I still love this congregation and am still coming to terms with the reality that I was not allowed to be their pastor. Should I have fought back? Should I have directed members to do what was needed to switch denominations without the session’s instruction? I suspect that any such action would have divided the church. So I sunk into despair. 

The April meeting.

We had a shepherding meeting the Thursday immediately following the retreat, no doubt spurred by my sunken demeanor and a conversation I had with Stephen where I shared that I saw no place for myself at King’s Cross. I was still hurting. At this meeting I plainly laid out my frustrations and disappointments regarding the elder’s lack of action and communication. This was a very emotionally raw meeting for me and also for one of the elders. My frustrations were met with an elder’s background story of a difficult upbringing that I did not have the capacity to receive. I came into this meeting already questioning his authenticity so I was insensitive to his vulnerability. I responded to his story in ways that hurt him deeply, further enlarging the rift that existed between the elders and myself. I was hurting and “bleeding sideways” (a term one of my professors used to describe people who are hurting and hurting others yet unaware of their actions). This offense resulted in deepening mistrust that we never recovered from. While we had hoped to end on a positive trajectory, we ended that meeting lower than we started.. The next day was Good Friday and I remember leading the Good Friday service knowing it would likely be the last one I’d ever do with King’s Cross. Every song that was sung and every scripture that was read hit me differently because it would be the last for me. But I could not share that loss with anyone. I described the situation at this time this way: “I was grieving the loss of a church that didn’t know I was grieving their loss.” I asked for someone else to do Easter Sunday service; I couldn’t muster up the strength for Easter.

Visiting the EPC.

In the midst of all this conflict, I was looking forward to visiting the EPC’s April Presbytery meeting (April 29th). At this point, I had not settled on the EPC; it was just the most likely candidate for a new denominational home. It was orthodox yet without the litigiousness. I would not have considered a denomination that would not have fit our church. The EPC presbytery meeting was my first opportunity to experience the ethos of the denomination, or, in negative terms, the last opportunity for the EPC to display any red flags that would lead me to consider alternate denominations.

My impressions.

Because my aim was to assess this particular presbytery, I attended everything I could. The first session was a smaller group focused on youth ministry. There I found women and men coming together to share about their respective ministries. Beside the fact that it was nice to hear and fellowship with women in ministry and hear more perspectives, I was encouraged by the openness of the people and the sharing of resources without fear and judgment. In that short gathering, people shared about how youth in the church were navigating the subjects of gender and sexuality, and it was refreshing to see them genuinely explore questions rather than come with presupposed answers. Their posture was one where they entered into the complexity of sexuality and gender with an ear to listen and an openness to unconventional ideas . 

There were also a few ordination examinations on the floor that day; they were no less rigorous than the PCA, but there was a warmth from the group. Oftentimes the ordination process on the floor of the PCA seemed like they wanted to make the club as exclusive as possible. The bulk of the business of the presbytery was about ministry! Missionaries. Strategies for engaging culture. Resources and connections. Not a single debate about constitutional language. No veiled attacks on identity politics. No one was being charged for ministering in a way that doesn’t hold the line. 

It wasn’t perfect! It was still unabashedly white. There were definitely a few strange characters in the crowd. And the presentations presumed the dominant culture in its offerings. But by then I was well experienced in code switching within church circles, and these were compromises I could deal with. I left that presbytery meeting encouraged and grateful I would have a denominational home that would allow me to serve with my convictions. But just when I thought things were turning for the better, I would soon hit another snag.

“Can’t sit here.”

Knowing I had a denomination to transfer to, I made the proper connections with EPC contacts and I scheduled a meeting with David Ellis who, being part of the presbytery’s shepherding team, had been helping me navigate this period. When David and I met, I had the same understanding about the relationship between denominations as I had when I declined the Associate Pastor position in December: I thought I could stay indefinitely “out-of-bounds” as an Assistant Pastor in another denomination, but I would soon learn I was mistaken. In our discussion, David told me that while PCA ministers work out-of-bounds in various denominations and churches, the PCA does not entertain a reciprocal arrangement. I discovered that my transfer, which I had already initiated, would effectively make it impossible for me to stay at King’s Cross as a pastor. The only work-around would be for the session to rehire me as a “director” for there was precedent for such an arrangement at another church.

I had no idea.

But now I was in a predicament! I couldn’t undo my act of informing the presbytery of my change in theological conviction. There were no take-backs! I immediately relayed this information to the session. My mind raced in circles. Would they act now? Passivity is no longer neutral! Again, I asked the same questions that I still had no answers to: Why not change? What was it about the PCA that they could not let go of? I still didn’t have an answer. But I could no longer rely on their in-action; in-action would certainly mean that I was out. The conditions and the timeline had changed.

The church needs to know.

And at this point (mid-late May) I asked the session to allow me to share more openly regarding my eventual departure. While I understood the delay in the initial months of unrest, now it seemed that delay was only there to maintain a false peace. It did not seem right to withhold this information from the church any longer. I had hoped that this would also impress upon the elders the urgency and practical ramifications of their decisions: waiting can no longer be considered a neutral decision, it had real consequences. Again they asked me to delay pending a consultant’s recommendation.

So I did, but it was a puzzling delay to me. Did they not have enough information already? I did not know what difference a consultant would make in this situation. When I retrace the sequence of events here, it doesn’t make sense. The scheduled sharings with leadership (6/17) and with the congregation on the subsequent Sunday (6/25) were already set before I had spoken with the consultant. I do not know what background discussions were happening. I had a long phone call with the consultant a few days before the first announcement before the church leadership. In that call, the consultant seemed very attentive and receptive to what I was sharing, but he did not really ask any questions regarding the upcoming meeting. Our conversation seemed to have no bearing on what I was supposed to share on Saturday (6/17). I don’t know if he reported anything back to the elders. Communication was minimal between the elders and myself throughout May and June and it was during these final days leading up to the leaders’ meeting that I learned about a number of misunderstandings that the session had about the situation.

One foundational misunderstanding that resulted from the lack of communication between the session and myself was their assertion that I was looking for another call. I discovered this through multiple oddly worded well-wishes in email and chat that the elders thought I was looking for another church to serve at. After enough of these odd messages I had to clarify to them that I was not looking for another call, that I wanted to stay, but the only way I could stay would be if the session acted. I’m not sure if these clarifications landed for they did not result in further discussion. But more clarifications were to come as I put my words in writing.

The drafts and the announcements.

In preparation to share with the leaders and the church, I told the session that I will write a draft that I would submit to them for review. In this draft I spelled out the reasons why I was leaving the PCA and why I could not stay at King’s Cross. This draft included my concerns regarding the litigious nature of the PCA and the difference in theological conviction. It also included my experience and account of the souring of relationship between the elders and myself that led to my belief that I had no place among the leadership at King’s Cross. The first draft did not paint a positive picture of leadership (self included). But it was true to my experiences. Because I often found that their efforts came up short in addressing the needs of the church, I did not give the elders the encouragement they needed. The elders took offense to these portrayals in the drafts and revealed some misunderstandings about what was happening. 

One notable misunderstanding was around my language that I felt “snubbed” by the elders for not including me in the discussion around the church and denomination. They thought that I felt snubbed only because their decision was not to my liking (that’s not what snubbed means), emphasizing that it was their decision by PCA structure. It is not. The presbyterian structure of government is based on checks and balances and this is one of the areas where the congregation has agency over the session. The decision on a church’s denomination rests with the congregation; even if the elders wanted to change denominations, they could not do it unless the congregation wanted to. I told them I felt snubbed because it seemed reasonable that the pastors of the church be involved in the discussion regarding a decision that would impact the whole church — and they weren’t. But they leaned in on their “rights,” appealing to an incorrect understanding of what the BCO prescribes. 

We also discussed (in the form of comments to my draft) the misunderstandings that came about from the February 21 email where the elders believe they told me that the denominational decision was expressed and final. I won’t repeat that here since I already wrote about it previously. This was left as is. No apology for the poor communication. No actions taken to address the acknowledged miscommunication. Perhaps it is because they were already locked in a God-ordained decision. It was unquestionable.

They also did not want me to share my observations that the division in the church was no longer about Rob, but about the session, and how they were or were not dealing with the tensions in the church. In the end I shared that “my relationships with the session are too fractured for me to believe that we could lead well together” and that we had fundamentally different “styles of leadership.” The sharing that I gave before the leaders and the congregation were stripped of many details that may have put the elders in a negative light. The congregational sharing was even more bare of content that may have cast doubt on the decision that the elders made for the congregation regarding denomination. Without explanation, the request for removing some parts was merely: “I prefer to leave out this part.”

It seemed to me that the session feared disorder or disagreement that may have resulted from an informed congregation. Questions that came up during the congregational sharing were “answered” in such a way to discourage further questions. For me, this was a concrete example of our different “styles of leadership” that were incompatible.

“Mediation.”

Some time leading to the summer months, I learned that the session had been working with a mediator to work out differences with the marginalized member I had previously written about. This was good news! The elders believed that it was going well so they asked that I also meet with this mediator. I agreed. This period with the mediator overlapped with the leadership and congregation sharings and extended into the summer.

At our first meeting, we got acquainted and I shared with her the situation. I shared with her that my primary concern was how to spend my remaining days with a session that I am at odds with — this is what I believe needed mediation. Her response after sharing all the conflict I had experienced was just, “Preach the gospel.” This response sounded so cookie-cutter that I wasn’t sure if she understood or heard what I had shared. I spent an additional hour in that first meeting going over the situation again and reiterating that preaching among my other duties has not been difficult; it was the broken relationship, conflict, and stuckness. This first meeting left me hesitant to do another, uncertain if these meetings were going to be effective.

Somehow my sessions became intertwined with the conflict that the elders were having with this marginalized member. I wasn’t sure why this was necessary but by participating in these additional sessions, I became concerned about the practices being employed. From odd ways of practicing reflection (it was more like parroting) to what I thought were inappropriate questions for individuals before a large group (I was uncomfortable listening to a story that this member seemed coerced to tell), I began to have strong doubts about the efficacy of these meetings, but I was caught between the elders’ expectations that I attend and my growing concerns about these sessions.

By the final session, the elders and I were still not communicating. We had little to show for the many hours we spent with this mediator. For the remainder of the summer until my last Sunday in September, contact was minimal.  I was deflated and had no desire to continue maintaining the facade that things were fine between the session and myself. 

The final weeks.

As I write this last section, I realize that even though these are the latest memories, they also seem to be the cloudiest. I can vividly recall and reinhabit my body at the moment I realized that my days were numbered saying my familiar opening words: “Hi, my name is Norman and I am an Assistant Pastor here at King’s Cross.” It was from the pulpit, and it was likely just a brief pause to the congregation, but it felt long and heavy in my heart. I can remember brief snapshots in vivid clarity like this, but my general memory of the period is a haze. My sermons from these final weeks were, again, a record into my heart and mind. In the final weeks, I chose 1 John for my final sermon series. John, the pastor in his final days, who had seen his fair share of strife and conflict, calls the church to remember Love.

There’s a call to manifest love — a call to action rather than resigning to intangible piety or leaning on “spiritual” practices without an in-the-flesh component. In these sermons I laid out a number of things I would’ve wanted to do if I could steer and lead — to share with the church things that I thought were good and accessible. If not immediately, then I hoped one day they could practice when I was gone: from community service to communal worship, from daily bible reading plans to seasonal practices to engage the beauty of worship. I impressed upon the church the need to lead with love, not fear. I could see how fear was keeping us from practicing love with one another, with ourselves, and with our neighbors. 

My prayers at the end of all these sermons were pulled from poems and lyrics. I was running on “borrowed faith,” an idea I took in from Tish Harrison Warren’s Prayers in the Night. She was speaking of the historical liturgical prayers, but I felt the same from these saints who also went through hardship and expressed them in song. I borrowed the faith of these prayers because I lacked the faith to pray what I knew to be true: that God would sustain his church and God would sustain me. They expressed my heart in ways I could not. As I revisit these prayers, I’m reminded that they still resonate with my longings:

All the chisels I’ve dulled carving idols of stone
That have crumbled like sand ‘neath the waves
I’ve recklessly built all my dreams in the sand
Just to watch them wash away

Through another day, another trial, another chance to reconcile
To One who sees past all I see
Reaching out my weary hand, I pray that You’d understand
You’re the One Who’s faithful to me

— from “Faithful to Me” by Jennifer Knapp

Can I offer up this simple prayer?
Pray, it finds a simple ear
A scratch in Your infinite time
Notwithstanding my fallings, notwithstanding my crimes

If I give my life, if I lay it down
Can you turn this life around, around?
Can I be made clean by this offering
Of my soul?
Can I be made whole?

I’m weak, I’m poor
I’m broken, Lord
But I’m yours
Hold me now, hold me now

— from “Whole Again” and “Hold Me Now” by Jennifer Knapp

Hold me Jesus ’cause I’m shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won’t You be my Prince of Peace

— from “Hold Me Jesus” by Rich Mullins

I don’t mind if you’ve got something nice to say about me
And I enjoy an accolade like the rest
And you could take my picture and hang it in a gallery
Of all the who’s-who’s and so-and-so’s
That used to be the best at such and such,
It wouldn’t matter much.

I want to leave a legacy,
How will they remember me
Did I choose to love
Did I point to you enough
To make a mark on things
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy.

— from “Legacy” by Nichole Nordeman

For my last Sunday, I just wanted the church to see Jesus, even in the midst of our pain and grief. I felt my own complaint in the text, exclaiming with both Martha and Mary, “Lord, if you had been here…” But Jesus did not forsake them — nor us. He is always with us, nudging and walking with us in our pain. And he will walk with us still, even if we are apart. I held this belief precariously in the end.

Postscript: a grief iceberg.

Near the end of the holiday season, I was invited to attend a “Blue Christmas Service.” It’s a service designed for those who aren’t necessarily experiencing joy and merriment during the holiday season. At this service, we were given space to be. We were invited to do an exercise to process our grief called the grief iceberg. To help us, they prompted us with four questions:

1. What are you angry about?
2. What are you sad about?
3. What do you miss?
4. What are you hopeful about?

These basic questions were an entry point to probe what lay beneath the surface. When I was first presented with these questions, I wasn’t sure how I would answer the last one; hope seemed merely theoretical. I was getting glimpses through interactions and conversations, but I wasn’t sure what I was hopeful about. I will need to revisit these questions in the future but here is how I would succinctly answer them now (Anything more in-depth would make this whole processing document even longer than it already is!)

What am I angry about?

I’m angry at the way the modern church is set up; how it steeps us in denominational identities that we don’t even understand to support power structures we don’t even care about. I’m angry at the elders for their lack of action and clinging on to their privilege as elders to wade the storm while others in the church were in need. I’m angry that I was ignored when I called the elders to action both in private and in public. 

What am I sad about?

I’m sad that I’m no longer at King’s Cross. I’m sad that my family has lost our church family. I’m sad that my children still express their desire to be with the only church family they’ve ever known — church aunties and uncles, friends and members they can’t name but they’ll recognize. I’m sad that the church may never know what happened to them. I’m sad that this difference in awareness of what happened between myself and the elders will continue to keep a barrier between church members and myself; they’ll always have questions that will be too uncomfortable to answer. I’m sad that I’ll only have occasional encounters with good friends I’ve come to know and be known by. I’m sad that I won’t be able to see some of the children grow up. I’m sad I’ve had to let some of my dreams of church die.

What will I miss?

I miss singing with the church; it’s something I took for granted because I belonged to a church. I miss the book club. I miss having people to discuss and wrestle with the overlap of faith, culture, and life. I miss reading the bible in community. I miss writing bible studies for a particular people. I miss leaders’ meetings. I miss ministry dinners. I miss having a book budget. I miss having weekly communion and the drama of worship.

What am I hopeful about?

I’m hopeful that my family will get to know our neighbors and be better members of our community. I’m hopeful that my kids will one day understand what happened here and forgive me for my part in bringing about this difficult transition. From many unexpected conversations and sit-downs to my own wrestling with self and calling, I’m hopeful and more sure that God is not calling me away from church work. I’m hopeful that God is not done with me and ministry.

Again, Tish Harrison Warren helps me recognize my needs and limits with hope. She writes, “To hope is to ‘borrow grace.’ It is not naive optimism. Hope admits the truth of our vulnerability. It does not trust God to keep all bad things from happening. But it assumes that redemption, beauty, and goodness, will be there for us, whatever lies ahead.” So I hope, even though I cannot see a clear path forward. I hope because I have a clear sight of Jesus.