The other day, a friend of mine in ministry fell in sexual sin. This
was tragic and grieved my friend greatly, and those in ministry with
her. It was totally against all that she professed and held so dear. She
had not only violated her own principles, but she had violated the trust
of her peers.

Constantly ministering to people who needed strong support and
counsel, it was like she had changed places with them. Where once they
were the ones who needed propping up and encouraging, suddenly she was
in that place. After the event, she condemned herself as worst of all.

Her sin, was like denying who she really was as a person. It was
totally against all for which she stood and believed. She knew it was
wrong, but somehow was prepared to throw her moral convictions to the
wind to satisfy that overpowering hungering to be loved.

How many times had she counselled others against what she had done?
How many times had she so strongly stood against those very actions
which now condemned her? And of course, she was now going through the
how can I ever rise above this syndrome. God can forgive me, my friends
can (in time), but I don’t think I can ever forgive myself. All very
understandable.

Then there was the emotional hurt of love misplaced in the person
with whom she fell – her heart was crying out for love, for someone to
comfort and reassure and love her – she knew that it couldn’t have
worked out, but the need to be loved is a compelling need when you’re
feeling down. Whilst talking to her I was really saddened and felt her
pain. Of course, she was guilty and there was no justifying her
actions. She certainly didn’t need me to tell counsel her in her sin –
she knew she had done wrong, there was no getting away from that.

She had simply done what she ought not to have done, and there was
no health in her, as the old Anglican Prayer book used to say. (Amazing
that I can remember that from more than 20 years ago.)

What troubled me more than Jill’s sin was the fact that I knew
something of her character, and like so many cases like this, I knew
that these actions were contrary to her nature. She was (and is) one of
those people in the church who are God’s special people. Always there
when needed. Always

It is easier to recognise the hurt and the pain in those who come to
us from another place. Their eyes red from crying, their bodies shaking
– the wounds they bear in life bleed freely. We would have to be blind
not to see their need. But what of those we respect as being our
carers, counsellors and ministers. As they stand before us looking so
assured, how assured really are they?

Burnt-out is a reality. I have experienced it myself and so I know
what it is to look in the mirror and feel that you don’t know the person
looking back at you. To feel that the load you have been carrying is so
great that you don’t know how to carry it, or where to put it down. If
only someone, somewhere would notice you. You don’t ask for help
because you’re not sure that anyone really cares. You don’t know who to
turn to.

We need to recognise the signs, and the church needs to recognise
how to recognise the signs in its ministers, before the inevitable
becomes the inevitable.

In Matthew 16 Jesus spoke strongly to the Pharisees about signs of
the times. He said that they (and we) can tell when its morning or
evening, and interpret from the appearance of the sky what sort of day
it will be but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. Powerful
stuff.

I see very little of Jill, some times there are months between
meetings, but I guarantee there were signs in her behaviour that showed
her spirit crying out for help long before she fell.

What of those people who stood with her every day, prayed with her,
drank coffee and tea with her, and went to worship with her? They are
people who are used to ministering to others in need too, why didn’t
they see Jill’s frailty? If their eyes were truly open, surely they
could past any front she may have put up, and heard between the lines
her aching heart begging help.

I’m convinced that in the fellowship of the body of Christ we are
more a communion of people than we realise. But like the best of
families, too often we take each other for granted. We don’t look
clearly enough into each others’ eyes.

When Jesus spoke about the speck of sawdust in our brothers eye in
comparison to the plank in our own eyes (Luke 6) the message is deeper
than most of us want to accept.

Jill’s sin is not her own, it belongs to the church. Her peers have
found it hard to understand that she could fall in such a way – they had
thought better of her and put such trust and expectation in her. In
effect, their disappointment in her, was also disappointment in
themselves.

Had they only seen, had they only recognised her need of space,
rest, being ministered to rather than ministering – this whole sad
affair might not have happened. Or was it that they failed to see that
their way of ministering to her satisfied their need to minister more
than her need to receive loving ministry where she really was.

Perhaps in their grief there is something of a recognition of Jesus
words applicable to them in their situation Why do you look at the speck
of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in
your own eye? Luke 6:41 (NIV)

How often our sin is simply not seeing when we should see. Not
being therefor our Jill’s when she needs us. Were all caught sometime
in that failure.

And so we pray for the Jacks and Jills we know. We are assured of
Gods love, forgiveness and understanding for them and pray God will give
us the measure we require to stand, not in judgement, but in a place of
forgiveness with them too. But we also pray that God will somehow open
our eyes and our hearts to be there in a real and practical way for
those in ministry around us and so help them in their moment of weakness
– because surely, the day will come when we will need them to stand with
us in similar manner. Perhaps our sin is not sexual. That makes things
a whole lot easier, and in our eyes, a lot less condemnable. Perhaps it
is simply that in the heat of daily battle there are times when we lose
the plot as we lose our short tempers and our Christ-like nature.
Knowing Christ is watching over us, that problem grows in size.

Perhaps its our lack of will power that when our doctors warn of us
of our need of exercise, of losing weight, of reducing our cholesterol
to increase our ministry years, we haven’t the capacity to respond
rightly.

Perhaps its a kind of pride that fails to empathise with those who
are crippled by depression around us and seem to sit for hours on end
wallowing in their own mire when all we think is that they should snap
out of it.

Our running out of loving puff to sit with them in their need too,
extends our sin.

Well, thank God, Jesus is a Savior who says about us to those around
us that wherever we are, and whatever our failings in life may be He
that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone … John 8:7
(KJV)

David Ayliffe.