Chapter 8:

THE BURN BAN

 

I  was still the Children’s pastor at Neighborhood. Yet I longed for something more. God began to work in my heart, drawing me toward something new. I felt called to evangelism. I felt I had “served my time” as a Children’s pastor, and it was time to move on. I knew there was some kind of darkness growing in me from guilt over Todd’s death, but at the same time, I knew God was calling me to a broader ministry.

I had one problem with this calling: Theresa didn’t feel it. She wasn’t ready to move into that area. Desire to evangelize grew in my heart, but she did not share that growing passion. I believe that, as the leader of my family, it is my duty to cultivate unity. Just as Christ desires unity in the Church, I desire unity in my family. So I could not pursue this dream if she were unwilling to chase it with me. I remained Children’s pastor.

Then came a concert and revival meeting. Nancy Harmon came to our church, and she and Theresa really hit it off. But for me, the highlight of the service came when Theresa said, “Yes.” God had worked on her, and she had come to realize that He had called me to evangelism. Such joy filled me when she said that! She agreed to follow, so I gladly led. I turned in my resignation from my position at Neighborhood soon after that, planning to move into evangelistic ministry.

But the darkness had been secretly growing. I was still trying to cope with my grief over Todd, and I wasn’t doing very well. It seemed to overwhelm me, despite my efforts to fight it. So, still months before I resigned from the church, I turned back to my old escape. I dug down to the pit of my soul, where an evil still lived that I had not dealt with. I turned back to pornography.

I began toying with the world of fantasy because I felt I could not cope with reality. My guilt was too complex; the grief was too near. I had to shut it off somehow. I had to escape. But the sin actually just complicated things. I soon became overwhelmed with the pressures of ministry and the uncertainty of my new direction, and I had to escape from that as well. I remember on some days, I would take a lunch break from the church, drive home, and stop by the adult movie store on the way. In those pre-Internet, pre-debit card days, pornography was more difficult to access (still not really difficult, but it required more determination) but also more difficult to trace. I would rent a VHS tape with cash, watch the movie at home, and return it before going back to the church. It was my secret life.

Theresa noticed a change in my behavior and began to suspect that something was going on. It was quite a while before she had any confirmation, but before the end of 1988, she found out about my secret life. She was livid, and rightly so. “I thought you had beaten this!” Her reaction this time made me think of Mount Vesuvius.

As I think back, it isn’t hard to imagine how she felt. She was devastated. I had betrayed her completely; could she ever trust me again? And if she couldn’t trust me, how was she supposed to deal with this? Who could she talk to? Any mention of my sin would tear down my reputation and sully the whole family in the process.

While Theresa dealt with my betrayal, I struggled with her lack of trust. Yes, I had screwed up, but that was yesterday. God’s mercies are new every morning; why couldn’t my wife’s be? I felt I could be trusted—my dedication to purity was stronger than ever (after each new failure)! It always seems to be the case that a sinner is sorry when he gets caught, doesn’t it? Even so, I did want to be committed to my wife. How long would it take for her to trust me again? I wanted to jump from Point A to Point Z and skip the steps in between. Many men are like that. But those steps of rebuilding trust can sometimes take years, especially when each new argument brings up the emotions and the feeling of betrayal, again.

This is the kind of strain that sin puts on all of our relationships, but it is magnified a hundredfold in the marriage relationship. For the faithful spouse, every action, every aspect of daily life, is a reminder of the unfaithfulness. (“Why am I cooking for him when he would rather be taking her out?” “Why am I working so hard for her when he might be at the house right now?”) It is especially difficult with pornography, since it is primarily a mental unfaithfulness. A physical act can often be easier to forgive.

I have talked to several men who have struggled with these issues, who tell me that for a while after they confess, their wives experience emotional breakdowns while simply doing the dishes or hearing a song on the radio. But I do not mean to discourage confession! If you are in sin, please confess and seek help! My intent here is to discourage sin. It breaks the heart of God, and I know from experience that it breaks the heart of every person you love.

 

Though heartbroken, Theresa forgave me and urged me to get help, starting with Pastor Jim. And that is exactly what I did. I sought the pastor’s counsel, and we prayed over the issue. But it could not end there. As a practicing minister, I would have to accept disciplinary measures for my sin. Jim didn’t want to report me to the AG leadership, though; he wanted me to act on my own accord.

The Assemblies of God churches hold to a hierarchical leadership model similar to that of the Catholic church. Those in leadership positions exercise an apostolic spiritual authority over those under their care. These leaders provide guidance, support, and counsel as well as discipline when necessary. In some ways the organizational model is very similar to a business, with the District-level officers fulfilling the roles of C-suite executives. The District Superintendent, Assistant Superintendent, and Secretary Treasurer hold similar responsibilities to Chief Executive, Operations, and Financial Officers, respectively, in their District. Above them is the General Superintendent.

Each District of the AG is divided into regions, each of which has an Executive Presbyter over it. The Executive Presbyters regularly meet with the District officers in a council appropriately called the Executive Presbytery. The Executive Presbyters are each responsible for overseeing several sections of their region, and each section is under the authority of a Presbyter. Presbyters are roughly equivalent to bishops in the Catholic church; they are the next level of authority above the local pastor—the first link in the human chain for any pastor who needs guidance or correction.

So I went to the Presbyter to determine the next steps to take in order to overcome this problem. I sat down with him in his office and related the situation. He responded with grace, but he let me know that there would be some consequences when I brought this before the District Superintendent, which he nevertheless encouraged me to do. So I made the appointment.

As I have mentioned, I’ve often dealt with the fear of failure. Time and again, I’ve found myself thinking that I could never measure up. Now it seemed that, once again, I’d fallen short. I had tangled myself in sin, shooting myself in the foot and causing my ministry to implode. A pastor with a double life—what kind of a witness is that?

Theresa came with me to the AG’s District office, which was in Kirkland, Washington, at the time. We sat in the waiting room, and I felt about ten inches tall. It was like being called into the Principal’s office in grade school, only much, much worse. After a while, the Superintendent called out my name in his booming, commanding voice. Fear gripped me as we walked down the hall to his office and sat in what would normally have been comfortable leather chairs.

“So what’s going on?” he said.

I told him everything. It must have been tough for Theresa, sitting there, having to listen to me confess the depravity of my sin. I felt the disappointment and anger emanating from the chair next to me.

When I finished, the man looked at me with a fatherly expression, full of mercy, and said, “You know, I don’t think you need a two-year probation.”

This came as a shock to me. Two years of probation, inability to minister in the Assemblies of God, was the customary penalty for adultery, and that was exactly the penalty I was expecting. After all, didn’t Jesus say that lust was equally as bad as adultery? Pornography certainly fell into the lust category! As far as I’m concerned, viewing pornography is adultery—it’s a violation of my promise to love only my wife.

But the Superintendent continued, “I think we’ll be fine with just a one-year probation.”

At the time, I was glad to hear his decision. Alright, I thought, that’s not so bad. I’ve got a year to overcome this thing and get back on the right path, then I can get right back to ministry! Now, though, I’m disappointed that my sin was taken so lightly.

I don’t think the Christian Church in the 1980s really understood pornography. Today, there’s a ton of research to back up what our experience tells us: it is an incredibly addictive, incredibly damaging vice. Today, it’s a multi-billion-dollar industry because society openly accepts it. Today, it’s an epidemic, even in the church. It’s disgusting how many pastors are leading the kind of double life I was. It’s a sin that compromises your integrity, your marriage, and your ministry, and the only way out is full repentance. And after your repentance, the sin will constantly try to creep back into your life. Even now, years after God brought me to victory in this area, I still have to set up protective “hedges” (practical things, like keeping the computer in a public room, with a strong filter installed) and stay on guard. I don’t want to slip again; I know how hard it is to get back up!

But it didn’t seem like such a big deal back then. I thought I could “get right with God” during my year-long probation, and things would be fine. That’s what my Superintendent thought, too. So he got up, came around to the front of his desk, put his arms around me and Theresa, and prayed for us. And that was that.

 

As part of my probation, I needed to find a pastor to mentor and counsel me. The pastor who had nurtured me for many years at Hillcrest Assembly of God in Bremerton, where I’d spent most of my teen years and some of my young adult life, had now moved to pastor a church in Redmond, Washington. He asked if I would move to Redmond and come under his wing for that year. I thought that was a great idea: how much easier this process would be when I already had a strong relationship with the pastor who would counsel me.

We kept things pretty quiet at Neighborhood Christian Center. Pastor Jim knew, of course, but we didn’t feel it necessary to tell the congregation. I was resigning anyway, so most of them assumed I would simply be leaving to pursue another ministry. The pastor protected my reputation and even asked me to preach one final Sunday before we left. It was the hardest sermon I’d ever yet preached. I felt like I was spitting cotton. I knew the double life I had led, the hypocrisy, and that knowledge kept me sweating in the pulpit. Theresa could hardly look at me. I knew what she must be thinking: You charlatan! What are you doing up there, you phony? I remember catching her eye briefly and seeing a look far more discouraging than mere distrust. Bitterness and resentment seemed to spew from her. Her eyes were glazed; she wasn’t even hearing me. She could not connect with anything I said, could not connect with me. She had ceased to know me, ceased to even see me. Whether she actually felt that or not, that was the condemnation I felt for myself, and I felt it coming from everyone. I was playing a game, and I hated it.

The move to Redmond began on an interesting note. The trip coincided with a late winter snowfall, which made loading and unloading that much more difficult. I felt like I couldn’t catch a break. I was glad, though, that my dad agreed to drive the U-Haul, because ever since the accident in the 1985 snow storm, I felt anxious driving in snow. Despite my anxiety, we made it safely to Redmond and unloaded everything into the apartment without incident. But after everyone from Bremerton left and we were alone in our new apartment, I felt lost. A fog of questions enveloped me: What do I do now? What will come of this? My mind was a busy street with no clear road signs. How do I ask for directions? I was one confused man.

The first step on the road was connecting with our pastor. I needed to set up our time of counseling and wanted to get quickly acclimated into our new church. It had been a while since I had attended a church without having a pastoral role; that just added to the confusion. Our time in Redmond began with a warm welcome, though. Arms were opened wide to our family. We were even invited out to lunch with the pastor and his family following church our first Sunday. A joy I hadn’t felt in a while washed over me. I couldn’t help but think this was going to be a very good year.

The second step quickly became clear: I needed a job. The money we had would rapidly run out. In the past, the employment I had been the most successful in, other than ministry, was retail. So my search began with the familiar. It wasn’t long before I secured an interview with a local convenience store. The interview went well, and I was hired on the spot. Things just kept looking up. My first impressions of the place were above my expectations. But lurking in the shadows was the enemy of the saints, poised and ready for another attack.

 

One of the obvious conditions for any employment during my probation was that the company could not sell pornographic material. Fair enough, I thought. During the interview and the training period at the store, there were no such periodicals in sight. I was in the clear—so I thought.

Not long after I began to work on my own, I noticed them in the magazine rack, half-covered up. Oh no! I thought. I had told the District Superintendent that this store didn’t sell these. What do I do? I need this job! I tried to ignore them, to act like they didn’t exist. But that pull was still there; I felt the compulsion, almost a command, just to take one quick peek. Most of the time I would resist. But at other times, especially when no one was in the store, I would cave. The pull was too great. The situation made my rehabilitation that much more challenging, if not impossible.

I chose not to inform anyone that these magazines were around. I can do this, I thought. What a foolish man. I was stepping right up to the fire again, thinking I wouldn’t get burned. I kept lying to myself and avoiding telling the truth to others in order to keep my job. I felt like I had nothing else.

After foolishly staying in the pit of temptation for far too long, I received a saving grace. A friend of mine had been the full-time maintenance man at the church we were attending, and now he and his wife were moving, leaving the job available. I was offered the job. This would solve everything! I wouldn’t have to come clean about the struggle; I could now simply ignore it.

On the surface, things seemed on track again. But the struggles inside—the rock ‘em, sock ‘em battle—continued. I fought not only lust, but even deeper, more hidden demons. I had a need for approval. Most men have this need, this desire for respect, and many who turn to pornography are looking to fill it there. At least in our minds, in the realm of fantasy, we can command respect. The trouble is, it doesn’t really work. In my case, like in so many others, the sin made that need even more pronounced. Would I ever be good enough? Or would I wear this badge of failure the rest of my life? I looked for approval and ‘atta-boys from anyone, but responses never came the way I wanted them.

Time and time again, I would sit in the pastor’s office, wanting to ask him a question regarding my struggles or something that he had said. I would begin by saying, “Now don’t get mad!” His response was not what I was craving: “Don’t tell me what to do!” I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but he was struggling with enormous frustration about how things were going at the church. My first hint to that fact came much later, when he said, “Ken, in my last church the people acted like I could walk on water, but here they don’t think I can even tread it.” He was having a tough time and didn’t really mean to let it slip in conversations with me, but I always took it personally.

In time our relationship became strained. To make matters worse, I was not a good maintenance man. I was always making mistakes. The pastor and I would get into conflicts in and out of church. Two men struggling independently in their own lives is not a good mix in a mentoring relationship. Soon I had to do what I did best—run. Theresa and I found it easier and easier not to attend that church. I didn’t think anyone would even notice if we were there or not. The personal pity party I was hosting in my head went on and on. In response, anger and tension built in my relationships.

On one Sunday we sat in a new church, trying to blend in. I knew we were unknown there, but I felt I had a sticker on my forehead that read Pervert. To make matters worse, it was communion Sunday. That was horrific to me. First Corinthians tells us not to participate in communion in an unworthy manner. If we do so, we will be judged for it. Am I worthy to take this, I wondered. Am I bringing judgment on myself? As the plates came nearer, the questions kept pounding in my mind.

Soon enough, the usher stood next to me, offering me the elements. Without hesitation, I reached for the cup. The stress was so gripping that as I pulled the plastic cup from the tray, I crushed the cup in my hand. Grape juice sprayed over the tray. No longer was I invisible. I wanted to crawl underneath the pews and out the door. But I was hemmed in. There was no escaping this humiliation. Something had to change. I soon resigned from my job at the church and returned to the store. It wasn’t the wisest move, but it appeared to be my only option.

 

The probationary year neared its end, and decisions needed to be made. Would I have to continue in my probation or would the Assistant Superintendent feel I was ready to move on? I was nervous about his decision, but in my final meeting with him, he said, “Ken, I don’t think you are going to be completely restored until you are back in full-time ministry.” I wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, but who was I to argue? If this man of God said it, then it must be true.

Theresa and I made plans to move back to Bremerton. Everything always seemed to come back to Bremerton. I couldn’t leave right away because I had to finish my work obligation by giving a two-week notice. So we decided that Theresa and the kids would first go to stay with Theresa’s parents and find us a place to live, and I would stay with my sister and join them later.

But with my family gone, the loneliness set in, and the temptations mounted. One night after work, the pull became so great that I jumped into pornography by traveling to the next town, where I knew there was an adult bookstore. Obviously, the year of probation was not the final solution to my problem. On the way home, I beat myself up: “I did it again! What is wrong with me?” Yet as I traveled back to my sister’s house, I felt I could just hide this as one final stumble. I could move on, and no one would know. Then, suddenly, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw red and blue flashing lights.

I pulled to the side of the road. Was God trying to get my attention? Was He reminding me that nothing is outside of His sight?

When the officer reached my window, the tears began to flow down my cheeks. He must have thought, It’s just a speeding ticket, man, get over it. It was more than that: I had been exposed again. Theresa would see the ticket and the location of the infraction, and she would know I was well out of my way after work. I had to confess to her that night.

As I expected, the conversation didn’t go well on the telephone. Theresa hung up on me. I felt awful. I knew I would be going home tomorrow to face more of the music. I wanted so much to be free of this bondage! I determined that night that it had to stop, and stop it did.

“At least for now,” I said, “I am on the road back up.” I could now get back into the ministry.