From 1995-2002, I pastored Our Father’s House — a nondenominational church in the small rural Ohio community of West Unity. I had started the church in a storefront in downtown West Unity — the former library building. We eventually bought the building for $20,000. For seven years, I pastored a delightful group of people. Outside of three older families leaving the church over our use of praise and worship music (they wanted hymns only with a smattering of southern gospel music), Our Father’s House was a kind, loving, unified body. The church never grew much, peaking attendance-wise in the 50s.
I have lots of stories to share about my time in West Unity, but none about conflict or disgruntled congregants. If I ever pastored a Kumbaya church, Our Father’s House was it. I could have easily pastored the church for decades. Unfortunately, as a driven church planter, I became bored. Everything was fine, but nothing of substance was happening. In 2002, I decided it was time for me to move on to new, more exciting experiences. The church body decided that if I wasn’t going to be their pastor, they didn’t want to continue. So in July 2002, we closed the church’s doors, sold the building, and everyone moved on to other congregations. Today, most of them are still involved with conservative Christian churches.
After seven months away from the pulpit, God (I) decided it was time for me to get back on the proverbial horse and find a church to pastor. I decided to see what churches were available with the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) in Ohio and Michigan. I sent my resume to several SBC associations. In a matter of days, I received calls from twelve different churches that were looking for a pastor. Most of them were small churches that were seeking a bi-vocational pastor. Bi-vocational is Greek for working your ass off, burning the candle at both ends for the sake of God and his kingdom.
One of the first churches to call me was Victory Baptist Church in Clare, Michigan — a congregation running 30 or so in attendance. On the Sunday before Easter 2003, we drove two and a half hours north to Clare so I could preach for the church. My preaching and our family were well received. I returned two weeks later, at which time church leaders told me that they were interested in me becoming their next pastor. I told them that “God” was telling me the same thing. Two or so weeks later, we moved to a beautiful home in a gated community near Farwell, Michigan, and I became the next pastor of Victory Baptist Church. Seven months later, tired, worn-out, and disillusioned, we returned to our family in rural northwest Ohio.
What happened? I saw Victory Baptist as a fixer-upper, of sorts; a church that needed the magical touch of Pastor Bruce. I had been successful in the past in resurrecting churches and helping them to grow, so I thought Victory was just another church that I could bring back to life. And sure enough, attendance began to grow. We remodeled the entire church building; “we” meaning my family and a couple of men in the church. We constructed a new auditorium, added Sunday school classrooms and offices, added a nursery, and laid carpet throughout. Before, the church looked like a cluttered, messy, disorganized warehouse. Now it looked like a real church; complete with a fancy new sign.
I was busy working in God’s vineyard. The church paid me a paltry salary, while Polly worked full-time for a local dry cleaner. We kept our heads above water — barely. I loved being “busy.” That had been my way my entire life. Work, work, work, do, do, do. Preach, teach, study, win souls, visit church members, and do it all over again week after week. Though that Bruce still lives inside of me, health problems have robbed me of the physical ability to continue on my workaholic path.
Seven months in, I had a disagreement with a woman in the church (who wanted to be a preacher and had been a member for years) over toys in the nursery. Her daughter had some toys she couldn’t sell at a yard sale, including those children could climb upon. She wanted to donate them to the church nursery. I took a look at the items and declined her offer. I told her that were not well suited for young children; that they could cause injury and harm. I thought that was the end of the matter.
The next day, I found out the toys had been put in the nursery, anyway. Pissed off, I removed them. This, of course, led to outrage and demands that I put the toys back. I said, no, telling people that we could not have unsafe toys in the nursery. Sometimes, pastors have to protect church members from themselves. The “noise” became so loud that I resigned from the church. A meeting was held to discuss the matter. Members showed up who hadn’t been to church in months. Nothing like a business meeting to bring members to church. I reminded the church that I had told them that I wouldn’t fight with them; that I no longer had it in me to deal with church cliques and power brokers. I had become a lover, and not a fighter.
At the close of the meeting, one member — a pastor’s wife — told me, “Bruce, your vision was never our vision,” Her words cut me to the quick, but she was right. The church was fine with wallowing in their dysfunction. They had no interest in being anything other than what they were. I had cleaned up their mess, balanced the church books that hadn’t been reconciled in five years, removed members from the roll who no longer attended the church, refinanced the church mortgage, cut their payment by a third, and brought a sense of order to church services. What I should have done is pay attention to their dysfunction and cliquishness. Instead, I minimized these things, thinking I could fix what ailed them. I thought all the church needed was fresh air. I should have known that all the fresh air in the world won’t bring a rotting corpse back to life.
No one spoke to us after the church meeting. Not one person called or offered to help us load our U-Haul. I had spent 40-60 hours a week trying to build a successful SBC work in Clare. None of that mattered. One elderly man by the name of Bob said that I was the best preacher he had heard in fifty years, but I had gone too far with removing the toys. If I was compiling a resume today, I would list Victory Baptist Church in Clare, Michigan. Where it says “reason for leaving,” I would write: toys.
As we were driving by the church for the last time, the toy lady was out front scraping my name off the sign with a paint scraper. This would be the last church I pastored. I was done. Done with the fussing and fighting and constant pettiness. I loved preaching and teaching the Bible. I loved ministering to others, and helping the “least of these,” but the petty bullshit? I put my shovel away.
After we left Victory, several other families decided to move to other Baptist congregations. Two years later, the church closed its doors.
In 2005, I would briefly consider re-entering the ministry. We were now living in Newark, Ohio. I sent out my resume to several SBC associations in West Virginia and Kentucky. And just like before, fifteen churches called to request my services. By then, I had become quite particular with what I required from churches: a living wage, medical insurance, vacation, and a parsonage. This quickly narrowed the list down to one church, Hedgesville Baptist Church in Hedgesville, West Virginia. I preached for the church, but I knew that my heart was no longer in the work. Hedgesville checked all my boxes. They were a growing congregation, in proximity to Hagerstown, Maryland, and Washington D.C. This could have been my dream church, but I suspect I already had one foot out of the door. This would be the last sermon I preached Forty-two months later I left Christianity and became an atheist.
Bruce Gerencser, 67, lives in rural Northwest Ohio with his wife of 46 years. He and his wife have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. Bruce pastored Evangelical churches for twenty-five years in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Bruce left the ministry in 2005, and in 2008 he left Christianity. Bruce is now a humanist and an atheist.
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Wow – toys. Mmm mmm mmm. And after you’d done so much for the congregation.
This was a very interesting look at “the life of a Pastor” and how it is a job, and one like any other job. You look for open positions, some sound great but end up destroying your soul (figuratively and literally), then wisdom sets in and eventually you say fuck it.
Then you start a second career and gain a following of godless heathens who really do appreciate your efforts.
Happy Anniversary, Bruce!
Dang and we could have been almost neighbors! The WV/VA/MD/DC church world is not that big!
You have to know, if it hadn’t been white elephant toys, it would have been something else. Something I’m gleaning from the anecdote is that once you began to think of preaching as a job, rather than a passion project, you already had one foot out the door. I have to wonder why they have gated communities up near Clare… all I can think of is to keep the bears out. Great and interesting story.
The toys were just the straw that broke the camel’s back. This congregation didn’t really want to change.
The last church we attended was also a church that gave lip service to wanting to change, but in committees the older members dug in their heels and wouldn’t move forward. We entered the church just a few months before 9/11, and after several younger families joined. Most of the church members were older, so the entrance of our families with kids was a huge change. Also a huge change were the husband and wife co-pastors who were hired. It only took a few short years fir the young co-pastors to leave, and all the young families including us left. One of the last weeks we were there, a couple of members asked us specifically our opinion as younger members on which pastor to hire – a younger woman or an older man. We were honest when we told them that while the older man was nice, if they wanted to attract younger members they needed to hire the younger woman. They hired the older man. We left that church, and religion in general, before the newly hired pastor started. That wasn’t the main reason we left, but it certainly was clear that the majority of the congregation couldn’t give a rat’s ass about attracting young families.
OC— My last church is in a similar situation. I sometimes look at their website (a guilty pleasure) to see what is going on. The woman who is their chair recently remarked that they needed to attract new members. The people who are in volunteer positions are mostly people who have been going there for years. They do not seem to know what to do to get new members, or maybe they don’t want to learn how or change. When the older members die off the church will probably implode. That will be a black eye for their bishop, since the church is the oldest in the diocese and has historical importance for the region as well.
As a former SDA (Adventist), I am still friends with several people, including a couple pastors. And one, a woman, has told me stories about behind the scenes stuff similar to your stories. She felt like she could confide in me as a friend, and also because since I’m no longer with that church, it was safe to vent to me.
Oh! And I want to add that 20 years is quite a time. Bruce, I feel like you are a pastor to disaffected and disillusioned people, and I believe that your writings have influenced many.
BJW – I second that! Bruce has certainly been a boon to me since I found his website. 🙂
BJW–In some weird way, we could say, “Once a pastor, always a pastor!”
Congratulations, and Thank you, Bruce! Your story reminds me of this: Almost any of career or calling we envision when we’re young has its soul-destroying qualities we don’t see until we become practitioners. I think of all of the people–like me–who envisioned being a professor as living “a life of the mind” and a nice campus life. What we don’t realize is that, as in almost any other career, we have to bring money to our employers–and deal with all manner of politics and pettiness.