Stephen, my oldest son, was in the parsonage's backyard playing with our dogs when he saw a couple of church members looking over the fence and whispering. "Mom, why are they looking over our fence?" Susan didn't know what to tell him, but I did. It was our delivery from "the conflict of the month club." Our dogs were digging up the backyard, and they didn't like it.

The constant conflict was wearing me down. By now, I couldn't remember why I ever came to this church and was beginning to question whether I belonged in the ministry at all.
 

After ten years at my first full-time church, I began to look for other ministry opportunities. A church in central California showed some interest, so I accepted an invitation to come in view of a call to become their Senior Pastor. Though red lights were flashing all over the room during the interview, I wanted to go to a bigger church, so I accepted their call and resigned my church. After all, this was my chance at the big time, I wasn't about to decline their offer. What I didn't know was that a subscription to the "conflict of the month club" came with the prestigious pulpit.

I got my first delivery the first day on the job. The pastor's study didn't have enough book cases for my library and when I arrived for work, they wouldn't provide them for me. Instead of reminding them that the pulpit committee promised me new office furniture, I moved some shelving from our garage into the Pastor's study and unpacked my boxes of books. I didn't want to argue with anyone the first day on the job, so I gave in. Little did I know what was ahead of me.

Our church began to grow within a few months of my arrival. Because of the growth, we had to increase the number of bulletins we printed for Sunday morning. Our treasurer checked the counter on the copier and kept a total of how many copies we ran every week. They surprised me when they called me in on the carpet during a finance committee meeting because we were spending too much money on copier paper and toner. I prepared a cost analysis of the ratio of worshipers to copy expense that covered the last five years and showed that we were spending less per worshiper than before. Instead of being happy that we were growing and that our income was exceeding the budget, they were upset that we were running off too many copies. I agreed to log every copy we made in the office and file a report with the committee monthly. By now, I began to think I was the pastor of the Twilight Zone Church.

I sincerely believed that if I just worked harder, my enemies would learn to love me. I tried to turn my critics into coaches and learn from what they said. If they said I didn't visit enough, I would extend my work day and make a few more visits. When they said I didn't care about them, I'd spend my recreation time to take them golfing, fishing or out to eat. All I did was work.

One day, on the way home from church, my six-year-old son asked me, "Daddy, do you like being a pastor?" Because I was a pastor's son myself, I thought of how proud I was of my Dad, and thought Jamie was having that same feeling. "Yes Son," I replied, "I love being a pastor. Are you glad I'm a pastor?" I was ready for a stroke. I needed some confirmation. "No, Daddy, we never see you."

His comment cut deep. I wasn't spending much time with my family; instead, I was spending every waking moment working or trying to solve relationship problems. Unfortunately, it was easy to rob time from my family to try to solve "church problems." I knew that no one was going to nominate me for the "father of the year," but I wasn't that bad a Dad, was I? The jury was still out that night, but soon, they would deliver a final verdict.
 

I'm not proud of how I handled the latest delivery of the "conflict of the month club," our dogs digging up the backyard. Lady was a black German Shepherd mix; Tramp was a brown mutt with elephant ears. Lady and the Tramp were good-natured dogs that seldom barked. Our whole family loved these pets. But, with the pressure building from the constant conflict, I snapped. I couldn't bear to hear another person complain about their precious yard the dogs were destroying, so I told Susan to load the dogs up in the car and take them to the pound before the kids got home from school.

She looked right through me for the longest time, then she said, "Isn't there anything else we can do." "Not as far as I'm concerned, you know the pressure I'm under; those dogs could cost me my job."

I listened to my boys cry themselves to sleep that night.

The conflict didn't stop, and eventually we moved to a more peaceful church. At the time, I blamed my enemies for my stress. In retrospect, I know my reaction to the conflict caused our problems, not the conflict itself. Why did I cave in and put my books on shelving with oil can stains? After all, the pulpit committee promised me new bookcases. Why did I ever agree to keep a log of every copy we made in the office? This extra work was demeaning and adversely affected office productivity and morale. Why did I push my work week beyond sixty hours to try to please my critics? The work drained me of my energy, absorbed all my free time and put me on edge. Why did I neglect my wife, and kids? I learned some valuable lessons about ministry through the experience.

There is a difference between being a peacemaker and being peace loving. I really thought I was noble for giving in to my enemies. I wasn't; I was a coward. A shepherd's job is to protect the sheep from the wolves. By caving in to their demands, I let the wolves run the shepherd out of town. Today, I do my best to confront conflict.

The church I now pastor is a healthy congregation with very little conflict. Occasionally, however, a problem does surface. One of our older members was upset about a change we were making while remodeling the auditorium. In front of other members, he let me have it in no uncertain terms. Calmly, I answered every question he asked me and assured him of my desire to come to a compromise.

After the service, I asked if he would remain behind for a few minutes. When the room was empty, I said, "I don't mind you disagreeing with me, but I do mind you raising your voice at me in public. I am your pastor and your friend and believe you owe me more respect than you showed me tonight. In the future, I'd appreciate you expressing your opinions to me in private, not in public." He apologized, we compromised, and our relationship remains amiable to this day. When I went home that night, I didn't stew about the problem. I left it at work.

I used to think that only troubled churches and troubled ministers had conflict. Now I know it is a part of every ministry. In the sixteen chapters of Mark's gospel, Jesus had twenty-six separate conflicts. His most common response to conflict was to teach. Though ministers will never receive an engraved invitation to teach at a church fight, the opportunity still exists.

Even my enemies want me to minister to them.

"Bruce" was upset again and boycotted church. He told his wife, "Be sure and have the house clean; Pastor Jim will come by to see us this Tuesday night." I didn't come.

The next Sunday he didn't come, and the next Tuesday I didn't go--the same the third week. By the fourth week I began to think something was wrong. I called him to find out if there was illness in the family.

He told me what he was upset about. He also told me how they had prepared for my visit for three weeks, but I didn't come--he wanted to know why. My answer? I didn't know he wanted to see me.

Though his actions were petty and he had a childish attitude, he taught me something that day. This guy thought I was the worst pastor in the world. He told me I never preached a good sermon in my life; yet, he wanted me to visit him. Why? People want contact from the church, even when they're mad. He wanted a "conflict visit."

Members want to know we love them--even when they're angry. If my children didn't come home tonight, I'd go looking for them. I love them and want them warm and safe in their beds. The church must love her members enough to visit them--even when they're upset.

Conflicts come and go, but family is forever. As I look back on the experience, I can't believe I neglected my family, or that I killed our dogs to try to silence my critics. Why does my family usually get the short end of the stick? I've noticed a pattern develop over the years. Whether there is a conflict with people or with my schedule, my family always makes the sacrifice so that my life is easier.

Last spring, Susan and I scheduled a get away weekend at a bed and breakfast in a nearby resort community. She arranged for someone to keep the boys and I called to make the reservations. It was five years since we last went somewhere together, and we were anxious to go.

Monday, when I arrived at the office, I immediately reached for my calendar to reserve the dates. I couldn't believe it! I was scheduled to teach a class at a nearby seminary on the Saturday we would be gone. I sat in silence for a few moments and thought about my options. I knew that the academic dean wouldn't be too happy if I canceled the class and that doing so could create conflict and ultimately jeopardize my job. I didn't know how he would react, but I knew what Susan's response would be. She is always supportive and understanding. She never complains when I cut vacations short or make it home late from work; I knew she would understand.

Like I'd done so often, I picked up the phone and called home. "Susan, I've got some bad news." I heard the disappointment in her voice as I explained the scheduling conflict. "What should I do, Baby?" "It's OK Jim. Do whatever you need to do." In that split second, I made my decision. "Thanks, Sue, you are always so understanding. I've got to go, Susan" "What's the hurry?" she asked. "Well, I've got to call the seminary and tell them to cancel the class or reschedule it. I'm going to take my wife away for the weekend!"

I didn't need a picture phone to see her response. She was smiling from ear to ear.

What? You didn't think I'd avoid a little conflict at work and miss a weekend with my beautiful wife, did you?
 

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