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I wanted to begin my message with "Testing, testing. I'm testing my voice to see if it still works." Instead I simply said, "Four years ago some friends of mine (members of my presbytery) felt I should take some time to recoup, refocus, and renew my relationship with God, myself, and my family." In language from my college days, I said that I had been working out with the team and cheering on the players, but I had been benched. Then one day one of my teammates had asked the Head Coach, "Do you think it's time for Moomaw to get back in the game?"
"Yes. It is time," came the welcomed reply.So Rev. Clayton Cobb, chair of the Ad Hoc Accountability Committee assigned by presbytery to meet regularly with me during my four years of forced "ineligibility," looked down the bench and said, "Donn, the Head Coach and I think you're ready to get back in the game. How about preaching at St. Peter's Church?"
So there I stood, almost four years to the day since I had resigned my 28-year pastorate at Bel Air Presbyterian Church of Los Angeles. The words that day came surprisingly easily as I retold the story of the church's namesake--St. Peter--emphasizing "His Call, His Fall, and His Recall." You know the story: After Peter had boldly told Jesus that he would always be there for him, Jesus said, "I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day until you deny three times that you know me." And after the self-assured and self-deceived fisherman did deny the Lord three times and that rooster did crow, Peter remembered what the Lord had said. He went out into the olive orchard and cried and cried and cried.
The clapper that rang Peter's bell took the form of a rooster. My thesis that morning was this: Isn't it kind of God to have a rooster around when we need one the most?
I stressed that God's rooster call of warning and awareness comes in many different ways. It could come in the form of a family intervention, a therapist, a police officer knocking at your door, a sermon, a DUI, a visit from the IRS, a passage of Scripture that leaps off its pages and tugs at your heart--or a committee from your church or presbytery.
My roosters
There were many people and circumstances--roosters--that God used to make me aware of the seriousness of my sexual misconduct. For over twenty years, I had been meeting regularly with a group of Presbyterian pastors. Ostensibly it was to be a sharing group, where we could express freely any of our personal or ministerial problems. Yet, we seldom got much beyond blaming others or bad-mouthing the direction of our music programs. But this meeting was different. I had already been confronted by a select group from my church who had heard from a member that my actions with her had been improper. I was beginning to hear the faint crowing of a distant rooster. So I took a chance. I shared with my brothers, rather cautiously, some of the darker sides of my personal struggles.
They felt I should tell my story to representatives of our presbytery's Committee on Ministry (COM), and one of my covenant brothers set up the meeting. Even though I wasn't yet aware of the severity of my pathology, the COM members listened with concern and compassion. Unsure of what to do with my disclosure, they were in agreement, however, that I should take some time away from my pastoral duties to receive professional help.
It was becoming clear: I had delayed confronting my questionable behavior long enough. Now I was hearing the rooster crow--big time!
First steps
Someone recommended that I call Dr. Ralph Earle in Scottsdale, Arizona. From my first conversation with him, I knew I had been led to the right person. He felt I should begin three weeks of intensive therapy. Three weeks? Am I that needy? Carol, my bewildered but loving wife, accompanied me to Scottsdale and then flew back to Los Angeles the next day.
As Dr. Earle suggested, I began my therapy by joining a group of men early the next morning. At that first meeting with other wounded participants, I again heard the sound of a rooster awakening my slumbering conscience. They simply would not let me get away with anything! Right then, I began taking my first steps toward climbing out from behind my previously faulty coping techniques.
It wasn't at all comfortable to admit to myself and others that my arrogance had closed my ears to the counsel of my friends. Success had led me to think I could make up my own rules, and my competitive heart believed I was indestructible and could do no wrong. But now, I was ready to call it what it was: sin.
Those three weeks were truly life altering. It became clear that I was beginning a scary journey of emotional, psychological, and spiritual recovery. After sharing my "challenge" with all five of our children, after a great deal of prayer and conversation with trusted friends and some COM members, and after hearing that rumors about me were flying around the church and community, it seemed best that I resign my pastorate. I needed to give full attention to my healing and restoration--the "amends process"--and rebuild my relationship with Carol and our family.
Two weeks after returning to Bel Air, I did leave that church that I so loved. And in doing so, I began a journey of unrelenting humiliation, unbelievable sadness, uncharacteristic candor, and unremitting loneliness.
Tough lessons
The Holy Scriptures were a great source of strength and encouragement--well, most of the time. I found it difficult to agree with Job when he wrote, "Happy is the one whom God reproves" (Job 5:17). Or with the Psalmist, who wrote, "Happy are those whom you discipline, O Lord" (Psalm 94:12). With roosters crowing all over the place, it was difficult to imagine any way discipline could make one happy!
But now after ten years of painful yet constructive discipline and life-changing discoveries, I now can heartily agree that the fruits of discipline are not all bitter, and to experience anew God's deep and pervading forgiveness, love, and mercy awakens peace beyond measure.
What I didn't understand then but appreciate so much now is that to deprive failure of its power, we have to live through it gradually.
In his book The Song of the Phoenix, John Lord wrote: "Failure has the paradoxical quality of never being put on the invitation list but always adding something positive when it crashes the party." Yes, it does.
But I would add one caveat to this clever statement: Not all failure, pain, sorrow, disobedience, or disappointment makes a better person. Some contrary experiences can make one bitter, resentful, angry.
I believe the author of Hebrews adds a corrective to John Lord's comment: "Discipline always seems painful rather than pleasant at the time, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it" (Hebrews 12:11). The important phrase here is "trained by it." If we are indeed trained by discipline, it will yield "the peaceful fruit of righteousness."
God used my brothers in the covenant group, a special small group from Bel Air, therapy friends from Arizona, a 12-step group of co-dependents, and, of course, the committees and commissions of presbytery to help my family and me move toward restoration and renewal. Also, it is good to be reminded that God even has many angels "outside the camp."
The process continued: A Special Disciplinary Committee was assigned the task of studying my situation and reporting back to COM. Two years after I had resigned my pastorate, at a meeting of presbytery (ironically, held at Bel Air Church), the Permanent Judicial Commission made their final report, which was fortunately general in nature. After much discussion, presbytery followed the PJC's recommendation by moving to censure me. The crux of the discipline was that I would be excluded from any ministering or preaching for four years from the date of my resignation. Among other things, the censure stipulated that I could not attend any Bel Air worship services, on or off the church property.
Tough choices
Now the roosters were insidiously crowing, and I often struggled to perceive how this discipline was "for building up the body of Christ, not destroying it, for redeeming, not for punishing." Some presbyters seemed determined to enforce justice; others, thank God, were eager to demonstrate mercy. I sometimes had to fight the inclination to play the victim.
But as awkward as we all were when the process began, I have many times acknowledged privately and publicly how privileged I am to be a Presbyterian pastor and how grateful I am for the care and nurture I have received from my presbytery. Never once did I consider demitting the ministry or renouncing the jurisdiction of the presbytery. When I was ordained for the gospel ministry, I took very seriously all the things I said I believed and was willing to do. During this testing period, I reaffirmed again and again my positive response (45 years ago) to one ordination question in particular: "Will you be governed by our church's polity, and will you abide by its discipline?" I believed God had sent the roosters, and he would get the glory.
After repenting of my sin and affirming God's complete and unrestricted forgiveness, I sought to make amends wherever possible. I also made certain that isolation was never an alternative, and carefully avoided feeling sorry for myself. Instead, my relation-ships with God, Carol, and my children, grew consistently stronger and healthier.
Some suggestions
How might presbytery and my church have better aided me during my dark journey? They did well, but I might venture a few suggestions:
* If the presbytery is in reality the "corporate bishop," it needs to pastor the accused's family as well. It cannot leave them to recover by themselves.
* No church official ought to speak to the media without the consent of the person accused.
* The presbytery should do all it can not only to gather information from the victims, but also to minister to them.
* The presbytery is wise to act as soon as possible in a given case. The Book of Order specifies time limits, because moving with dispatch is crucial for the sake of the church and all the people involved.
* While presbyters naturally will talk about the person found guilty, talking with him or her is imperative as well. Feelings of rejection and abandonment are two of the most sinister, soul-crippling emotions one can ever experience.
* Discipline should include spiritual as well as psychological treatment, such as an assigned spiritual mentor, required reading, compulsory attendance at pastors' retreats, and, if married, conferences for couples and counseling with a therapist sympathetic to the pastor's task and the church professional's family life.
* Before any decision is made public, the presbytery should be careful to share the verdict with the person found guilty and the session of the church he or she served.
Many have said, "Pain is inevitable, but despair is optional." Like St. Peter, I chose, by God's grace, to grow through my pain and not attempt any longer to minimize, rationalize, spiritualize, intellectualize, or deny my sinful behavior.
I know full well that I will probably again hear the rooster's crow for some sad reason down the road. Again I will need careful discipline. We all do. But the lessons I learned and the renewal I have experienced lead me to again assert humbly and sincerely, "Thank God for crowing roosters!