What God taught me

Jill Morningstar Janzen

It will come as no surprise when I say that this has been a hard year. Quite frankly, there have been a lot of hard years here, and this has just been the worst. During my eight years, there were often times when I would feel overwhelmed by the crises that surrounded us as leaders. I clung to the verse that said that God would not give us more than we could handle. Many times, I would think of resigning, but the other pastors would convince me that I was called to this job and that I was believing lies from Satan. So I would go on clinging to the hope that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle.

Earlier this year, I read in Ephesians 6: "Be prepared. You're up against far more than you can handle on your own." It seemed like a contradiction, but then I read those last three words: "on your own". I began to consider that I was feeling overwhelmed because I was trying to cope on my own. I would not have thought of running to God and crying out, "This is more than I can handle" because, in my twisted way of thinking, I would be denying God's promise. But the light was slowly going on. Maybe, that was what God wanted. Maybe He wanted me to come to Him and admit that I couldn't do it.

By last summer, my coping skills were at zero. One day, my husband Ken asked my opinion about an everyday decision, and I burst into tears. I felt like there was nothing left inside me to give, and the thought of someone needing me for something scared me. When I tried to put into words what I was feeling, the only word I could come up with was "weary". It felt as if I was on the front line in the battle against Satan, I had fallen down, the enemy was approaching, and I was too tired to pick up my sword and do battle. I had no sense that God would rescue me. In fact, I was sure that His plan was to leave me there to die. By September, I realized that I needed to get off the battlefield and spend some time in the army hospital.

A good friend convinced me that I needed to talk to my doctor. I went to see him on Sept. 16. On the way, I wrote down everything I was experiencing. He read the list and said, "You're depressed." I made plans to take some vacation time and some leave in October.

The day before my break began, Thom Braun, the senior pastor, and I had a meeting with the Sexual Abuse Response Team, which helps pastors and leaders deal with cases of sexual abuse. We went to see them about a situation we were facing and to talk about how we were coping with our job stress. One of them said that we were suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I had heard of it, but I thought only Vietnam vets had it. He explained that this happens to people when they are constantly exposed to crisis situations. Eventually, they come to a place where they cannot cope with any more crises. Then he said that our job was tougher than his job as a counsellor to abused people and to offenders because building a church was like taking all of his clients and putting them in one room and trying to make a nice-looking institution out of them. We left assured that we weren't going crazy--we just had a crazy job.

So I began three weeks of vacation. I had a plan for getting better. I would exercise, read, pray, journal and spend time with Ken and the children. I often talked with God while exercising. After a while, I realized our conversations were about the weather, exercise, Ken, the children and me, not about the problems at work. For a moment or two, I felt guilty, and then I realized how good it was to talk to God about me and not about everyone else's problems. I was also reading a book called Restoring the Christian Soul

, which speaks of being unable to accept yourself as God made you, and of knowing in your head that God loves you but not really feeling it deep down. I related to much of what the author said.

I was working hard at getting better. There was just one problem--the harder I worked, the worse I felt. By the second week, I knew there was no way I would be ready to be back at work at the end of October.

Someone asked me what it would take for me to come back. I knew right away. If the church could guarantee that there would be no more marriages ending in divorce, no more adultery, no more children being hurt by their parents, no more wives being pushed around by their husbands, no more crimes being committed, no more husbands and wives treating each other badly, then I would be willing to come back tomorrow.

Another dilemma arose in October. Ken and I had wanted a computer for a long time, especially for Ken's business. We had never got one because it wasn't in the budget. An opportunity arose to lease a computer. It still wasn't in the budget, but this was a great deal. I struggled to make a decision because of that word "should". I taught budgeting at church. I taught people not to buy anything unless they could pay cash for it. How could I break my own rule? I shouldn't teach one thing and do another. I should practise what I preach. I should set a good example. I should. I should. I should. After weeks of agonizing, I realized that all these "shoulds" were a pain in the neck. We leased a computer and bought a desk, a chair and a scanner. And it felt great. This was a step in crushing the power of the word "should" in my life. I had done something that I shouldn't have done, and the world didn't end. Imagine that!

I next talked with Thom about two of the things that I had realized. One was that, when I come to God, I come with my hands covering my face, saying "Please don't hit me." I have this expectation that God is always disappointed in me and that He wants to smack me because I am not learning fast enough. The second was that I couldn't read the Bible anymore without seeing a list of impossible expectations. Thom suggested that I get some people to pray for me.

November came, and I decided that I would stop trying to get better. It was no use anyway. I relaxed and started having fun, especially with my children. I realized something: As a pastor, I would come home from work in body only. I would bring my heart with me, but it was heavy with the aches and pains of our church. I had nothing left for Ken and the kids. I did things with them because I should, but my heart wasn't really in it.

I realized I was having a faith crisis. Sure, God's gift of salvation was free. But, in my estimation, there were conditions on the gift after you accepted it: You have to arm yourself for battle. You have to resist the enemy. You have to give up any desire to be financially secure. You have to do this, and you have to do that. I didn't want all the "shoulds" anymore.

On Nov. 20, Ken and I met with the team who were to pray for me. I gave a brief explanation of what was happening. As soon as they started to pray, I started to resist. I was fighting what they were doing, and they knew it. After an hour-and-a-half, one of them asked me what was up. Why didn't I want them to pray for me? The emotions came in like a flood. As I sobbed uncontrollably, I said that I didn't want to get better because then I would have to go back on the front lines of the battle and get wounded again. One of them asked the Holy Spirit to release in me all of the pain, and they surrounded me in prayer. Up until that time, I could admit that my job was hard. But, as God's Spirit gave me freedom, I began to cry, "I hate having to comfort women whose husbands have committed adultery. I hate seeing young families torn apart as their dads go off to jail. I hate counselling people who can be kind and giving to everyone, but rude and insensitive to their spouses. I hate working so hard and getting attacked by people who think that I'm doing it the wrong way. I hate my job, I hate my job, I hate my job!"

All of a sudden, I stopped and quietly sobbed, "I don't want to go back." Then I felt God's presence, whispering in my ear, "You don't have to go back."

Then I heard God ask me to picture the church. He asked me what I saw. I saw blackness. I saw people walking around with their heads low, dressed in black, weighed down by their problems and sins. The church, as I saw it, was an ugly mess. Then God asked me to lean into Him a bit so I could see the church with His eyes. I did, and I saw the church as God sees it. Everyone was dressed in white, and no one was carrying the weight of their sins because Jesus did that on the cross.

Then God said, "Jill, you can't go back and be a pastor yet. The church is My Son's bride. She is beautiful. She is glorious. You have come to think about the church as a place of bad news. You forgot--it's all about Good News. I love the church so much that I can't have pastors who think the job is about bad news when it's about Good News."

I told the others what God had said to me. I asked God to forgive me for misrepresenting Him and His church. We thanked God for working. We hugged, and we all headed home.

At this point, I had no idea that I would end up resigning. I just thought, "We've got some things to pray through before I go back on Dec. 3."

On Nov. 25, I met with one of the other pastors. He asked me if I could go to God for comfort. The answer was, generally, no. I could go to God for counsel, guidance, correction, and to get my orders, but not for comfort. I thought, "Maybe there's another thing that God has to heal if He wants me back at work by next Tuesday." Then he asked if I was sure of my call as a pastor. "Not at this minute," I responded.

At that point, God brought to my mind I Peter 5:1-2: "I have a special concern for you church leaders. I know what it's like to be a leader, in on Christ's sufferings as well as the coming glory. Here's my concern: that you care for God's flock with all the diligence of a shepherd. Not because you have to, but because you want to please God." I was faced with the truth. I was working as a pastor, not because I wanted to, but because I thought I should. I realize that, in any job, there are things that you want to do and things that you should do. God was showing me that, for a while now, I was doing most things because I should. This couple are having problems in their marriage; I should pray for them. This small group is dealing with a problem; I should pray for them. So and so just had surgery; I should visit her. This person is going through a hard time; I should call her on the phone. I so badly wanted to be a good pastor that I was doing all the things that I should. But God was saying to me, "That's not what I want for you or for the church."

I was broken-hearted as I realized that I had been lying to myself and to my church. I didn't want to do this job anymore.

The next morning, I met with another of the pastors. He suggested that I take an unpaid leave of absence, with no time limit. Then I could come back whenever I was ready. That whole day, Ken fasted and prayed. That night, I visited with one of my best friends and told her what was happening. As we talked, I realized that "an indefinite leave of absence" was just another word for quitting. I came home and went to bed early.

At two o'clock in the morning, I woke up and began to sob. I knew that God was calling me to resign. I went over to the desk and typed my letter of resignation. I sobbed as I wrote it. At one point, I stopped and begged God to show me if there was another way. Couldn't I just take a leave of absence? Then God showed me that, if I took a leave of absence, I could still consider myself a pastor. I'd still have an office and a key to the church. I would still have my identity tied to my job and my hope tied to coming back one day. God was saying that He wanted to be my hope and my salvation and that it was time to surrender it all, the keys, the office, the title, the position. I knew that He was right, but it hurt so much. I knew that this was a death and that I was grieving.

At 10:00 a.m., I handed in my resignation. I was completely worn out. I went home and cried again. Then I heard God say something that I hadn't heard Him say all the time I was a pastor. He said, "Well done." For eight years, I had worked my head off in the hope of hearing those words. Then I quit (at His suggestion, of course) and He said, "Well done." Maybe it is true that to obey is better than sacrifice.

I cannot promise that I will be back on staff one day. I don't know what the future holds. For the immediate future, my plans are to stay home and be a mom to my children. One thing I know is that I do not want to go back to the place where my heart is not with them. Certainly, my resigning feels like a death, but our God is the God of resurrection. I am expecting new life.

This article is based on words that Jill Morningstar Janzen spoke to Westview Christian Fellowship in St. Catharines, Ont., in December, 1996. Scripture quotations are from The Message.