Why I left…

The story of non-denominational accountability…or lack thereof…

It was about 7am when I finally left the church after working through the previous day and night on recreating the children’s ministry large-group space. I didn’t even leave to go home – just ran a quick errand to home depot and headed back to the church, where I would continue to work until 5pm when my team hosted a parent’s night out. It was the longest work day… probably about 36 hours. That was the longest single stretch I’d stayed at the church, but it was only one of innumerable times that I worked crazy hours for the sake of ministry. These are the costs of ministry, of course, that you would work long hours with little pay because – of course – “it’s a calling.”

It is a calling, and I loved my calling. I loved my congregation truly and deeply – so much so that I was willing to filter what I needed to filter, go above and beyond in whatever way was required of me, and basically, bleed myself dry.

My time in church ministry was the best and the worst. I served with some of the most incredible human beings, both staff and volunteers, who taught me and loved me well. We got to create and innovate and learn and grow together. We tried new things, took risks, and launched into the unknown together – and I am forever grateful for my experience – especially the relationships that are still SO meaningful to me today.

But, as is common with large institutions, things weren’t always so great under the surface. I don’t want this to be about assigning blame or shame to any one person, but it is my story and I also feel like two years is long enough to wait to tell it.

So here goes…

Cut to my actual church experience. I started as many people do – a student ministry internship. During the last year of my religious studies program I served as a student ministry intern – writing small group curriculum, building relationships and investing in the lives of teens – and generally making myself available to serve in whatever capacity necessary. When I finally graduated, I begged for a job so that I could stay at the church – partially because I loved the church, and partially because I was in love with Ryan (though he didn’t know it yet).

Some circumstances colluded (and I know a lot went on behind the scenes on my behalf) and I was offered a job as an administrative assistant. Now, this was not an exciting role for me, but it was people and a place and a congregation that I loved – so I didn’t really care what my role was. I threw myself into it, and I did my best to lean into the pastoral part of the role – volunteer recruitment and empowerment as well as teaching…even if it was teaching three and four year olds. I was the lowest on the totem pole, but it was my very first real job. I worked SO hard and threw all of my energy and effort into it. I learned how to deal with difficult people…those who would pull you aside in the middle of a VBS (for which you and your team had written 100% original content in addition to all of the other functional tasks) to tell you… “you know…you could have just purchased something from lifeway…”

The week Ryan and I returned from our honeymoon, there was a restructuring. We had a new boss, and everything started to change. We watched as our new boss went through candidate after unqualified candidate to fill the position of children’s pastor…a position that Ryan and I were already filling in function (Ryan with elementary and me with preschool). I spent so many days in tears before walking into the building. What was wrong with me? Couldn’t they see that I was already doing this job? Was I really that bad at it? They weren’t giving me any feedback to that effect, but that is all I was left to conclude. I wasn’t enough.

Eventually, they gave up the search and allowed Ryan and I to team lead the ministry. We didn’t get a pastoral title, of course, but at least we were able to do the job. We worked. We worked so hard and with all of our energy. We weren’t perfect, we didn’t do everything right, and neither of us was particularly passionate about children’s ministry specifically, but gosh if we didn’t give it everything we had. We built amazing and deep relationships with volunteers and parents. We did everything on a shoestring…half the time we didn’t have the money to purchase supplies, so we had to edit the curriculum to make sure it was as cheap and efficient as possible. We cut out snacks….we limited crafts…we sold off toys so that we could buy the things we needed. The money was just always that tight…but we found a way to be present in our ministry anyway.

Then,  when things were going really smoothly in the preschool ministry and volunteer leadership was empowered throughout the program, we launched a new campus. This new campus was at a really trendy new facility…a cool sanctuary for sure…and the kids got to be in the hallway at the school next door (yeah…the hallway…) I wanted to grow in my skills and to learn from people who had previously planted a church, so I offered to be the volunteer coordinator for all of the ministry areas (except worship arts) at the new campus. I organized the coffee folks, greeters, set-up and tear-down team, as well as the “children’s ministry hallway” team. I did the volunteer recruitment, encouragement, empowerment and leadership. I did the ordering and purchasing, the follow up and contact with new visitors. Often, I was the one who unlocked the building in the morning and the one who was there to lock up at the end of the day. I got to watch as people who were much higher in the organization than I was rolled in an hour later than I did and then complained about things constantly. As things started to go south due to a lot of different factors that aren’t the story today, I got to read a survey written by one of the volunteers that said, “I don’t know why you are asking volunteers to do all these things…this is the staff’s job…this is what they get paid for…you shouldn’t be asking us to do anything.” Again, I cried my eyes out. Here I was, still making next to nothing and no one saw me. Or, at least, the people in the organization that had all the power didn’t see me.  (This survey respondent, by the way, was eventually given even more power within the organization…)

Throughout my time of working two jobs for the organization, my full-time children’s ministry role at the main campus and volunteer coordinator at the second campus, my compensation didn’t change one penny. Not only that, no one even said so much as “thank you” or acknowledged all of the extra work I was putting in. I still wasn’t enough.

But I stayed. Because I loved the church. Because I loved the congregation. Because I believed in what we were doing and who we were trying to become.

I was finally able to transition out of children’s ministry and into small groups – which is what I always felt passionate about. I dove in and, once again, gave it all I had. I was new to that role, but I wasn’t new to ministry or to people. We began to grow our small groups program, take risks and try new approaches. I was told that I would have this position on a trial basis…because I had to prove myself. That if I eventually proved myself, then maybe there would be a title or compensation change. I will say, I was given some flexibility in my schedule here given the fact that I had just given birth to my first son – and I was very grateful for that. But I still wasn’t enough…not really. Not more than a few months later, I was told that the organization would be restructuring and I needed to decide which pastor I wanted to be an assistant for. TO BE AN ASSISTANT FOR. I was humiliated. That restructuring never really fully came to pass, fortunately, but it still drove the message of not enough even deeper.

When things started to get really tricky regarding finances and attendance, the church wisely sought some outside counsel. We had this big staff retreat with a church consulting firm and talked about all the things that were right, wrong, confused and missing. Almost immediately, those guys saw me better than the leadership did. By the end of the retreat, I had some new leadership responsibilities and was invited to join the pastoral team. Well…I still didn’t officially get the pastoral title via HR paperwork…and there was still no change in compensation, but I did get all of the responsibilities of a pastor. Oh, and I gave up my schedule flexibility so that I could be more present in this “new role.” I was told, time and time again, that once I proved myself maybe there would be some change. But it never happened.

Here I was, ten years into ministry making barely more per year than I did as a fresh college graduate administrative assistant. Here I was, giving everything I had for the sake of a leader who didn’t really see me.

So what was I to conclude? I mean, I was never given direct feedback about why I made at least 40% less than any other person (all men) on the pastoral team. Was I really that bad at my job? Was something wrong with me? Was I not mature enough? Was I not pretty enough (believe it or not…I had reason to believe that it might be a factor)? Was I not trendy enough? Why on earth was I not enough?

I internalized it. And I started to believe that I was, in fact, not enough. Not only that, but I didn’t know what it was about me that was lacking, so I didn’t know how to “work” on it.

I finally started therapy, for something completely unrelated – and began to unpack some of these feelings of “not enough” that I was encountering in my professional life (but lets be honest…when your professional life is the world of faith and ministry, it is incredibly personal too…). After processing through all these stories, and a bunch more that I won’t share publicly because they are not completely mine to share, my therapist was appalled. I was in the midst of a toxic environment and I didn’t even know it. I was blinded. By my love for the work, my love for the congregation, and my loyalty to what we were trying to build. I finally grew a spine, and planned and executed a conversation with leadership about boundaries. I said that it wasn’t right, the way I was being treated. That I had waited two years for this compensation change after being added to the pastoral team, and that the pay inequity was not ok with me.

I had one of the most vulnerable and difficult conversations of my life. And it was miserable. I was told things like, “wow, if the title is that important to you – then I guess we can fill out the paperwork. That kind of thing just isn’t that important to me.” You know what, maybe that’s because you didn’t spend your life being told you weren’t “enough” to be a pastor…or grow up as a woman being told that you were, in essence, disqualified from birth. I was told that with the current financial situation, though they wished it could change, there wasn’t anything they could do or promise that they could make about it in the future.

But I knew better. I knew that money was on the decline with the attendance…but I also knew where the money went… (the books are open, folks…you can ask to see them any time…)

So I told them I would have to hold my own boundaries and remove myself from the situation. And that is what I did. I left the church that I loved – that felt like family. I left the organization whose mission had become my life’s work. I left the city that felt like home and the pastoral identity I had tried so hard to cultivate and I started over.

And it has been hard. And I have been bitter. And I have been so filled with anger. But, you know what, I am also starting to feel full of life again. I stood up for myself. I said, you know what, no matter what you say I know I am enough. I get to decide whether or not I stay in a situation that invalidates my worth – and I am proud of my decision to risk it and believe in myself.

And I want to say this. I just didn’t want to be silent about it anymore. I have SO much love for the organization, despite it’s faults. I have so much love for the leadership, despite their faults. I was formed there. I didn’t and don’t want to hurt anyone, because, honestly…as hurt as I have been and as much as I feel wronged, I don’t believe in my heart that it was intentional. I don’t. Maybe that’s naive, but I believe the best of these people. I know they were doing their best, but there still has to be accountability.

 

Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash