When I served as a district superintendent overseeing pastors and churches in the Pacific Northwest Conference, my colleagues bestowed upon me the nickname “Pandora.” This was because they believed that there was never a box I wasn’t willing to open. If I saw a situation that looked fishy or not right, I was so curious that I was instantly there prying open the cover with a crowbar. Like the Greek figure Pandora, the boxes I opened often didn’t pour out with good things—desserts, vacations, or parties. Almost every time, the box led to the most unpleasant work— complaints against pastors, pastoral moves, conflict, or the hidden reality of unsustainability.

Several times as superintendent, I opened boxes that meant walking with churches and pastors as they decided to faithfully complete their ministry. Watching congregations wrestle with the reality that their resources —finances, people, and property— were dwindling and no longer sustainable was one of the most difficult things I did. And yet, this work was even more heartbreaking and emotionally exhausting for pastors. Often, the reward for this work was being tagged by the institution and their colleagues as a “failure” for having done this ministry.

Despite this labeling, the clergy who did this work were among the strongest leaders I knew. They offered pastoral care to every member, strategically planned how and when the congregation was ready for the next step, identified influential leaders and coached them, and worked with the institutional structure that required numerous things from them and the churches they served. When I realized how difficult this work was on pastors, I realized that anyone can kill a church, but only a few have the skills to lead congregations to faithfully complete their ministry.  

Years later, I experienced this difficulty firsthand as the congregation I was serving merged with a smaller faith community during the pandemic. While the pastor of the smaller church walked the congregation through the process, I once again found myself coaching a pastor as they helped a congregation discover its future. What I did not anticipate was the amount of work required to welcome a congregation into the life of a new faith community.  Unlike individuals who join a church, the merged congregation came with its distinct culture, relationships, and terminology. Thus, we not only had to help members find belonging in the new congregation but also navigate the difficult work of culture change, financial habits, and understanding as we continued to process grief and loss through the first few years.

When Pandora opened her box, she unleashed hope in the world alongside sickness, death, strife, jealousy, and famine. While many find helping churches discover their faithful path painful, I believe it is some of the most hopeful work we can do. Rather than continuing to deny the realities of our institutional lives, we begin to live in the light. And in the light of God, there is no darkness at all. For out of death comes resurrection and new life.  What could be more hopeful than that?

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