Speaking of the threefold hierarchy: God first, family second, ministry third, my conviction about its importance coincides with that of the pastor with whom I am currently working.
He recently made the following confession before his little congregation.
Many years ago, as a very young evangelist, he and his wife conceived and she bore their first child. As he kept up a heavy slate of revivals under the authority of another minister, his young child became quite ill. His wife needed him at home. His overseeing minister told him that the child would be fine; God would heal him because his father was doing the work of the Lord.
The child died.
Following this, the union was blessed with three healthy sons.
Years later, the pastor was working again under the authority of another traveling preacher. This overseer actively encouraged his protege to take other women, even as the overseer himself attempted to woo his protege's wife. A period of separation resulted between the pastor and his wife. Various friends intervened to help the couple clarify the confusion, untangle motives, and eventually, to reunite.
Then a confession, first to his wife more than a year ago, then to his congregation just two weeks ago: during the period of their separation, the pastor had conceived a child with another woman.
He feared the worst. His wife forgave him. Now he was asking the church to do the same.
It was a powerful story, followed by powerful exegesis.
"When it says in Genesis that the man and his wife were naked together, it does not mean simply that they were not wearing clothes," the pastor explained. "It means that there was nothing between them. They were completely naked to each other."
He went on. "We Mpondos [one of the large clans in this area of South Africa] are under a curse we inherited from our forefathers: our fathers did not go along with our mamas. Even in the church, we pastors have not had our wives by our side."
Two weeks before this was revealed, I had a dream.
Anna and I approached a house. Alone inside, eating supper at a dining room table, was the pastor's wife. She was distraught. We asked her what was wrong. Through tears she said, "Tata has not come home from work. It has been two days now."
I awoke troubled.
The next day was a Sunday. The pastor was at church, but he was ill. I did not want to tell him the dream so as to trouble him further in his tired state. A week or so later, I was prompted to share the dream in the presence of both pastor and wife.
"Enkosi, Tata," "Thank you, father," he said, taking my hand and giving me a knowing glance.
After the confession on a subsequent Sunday, the dream suddenly became clear to me. Mama Mfundisi (the pastor's wife) had been through far more than we had imagined: the death of a child early on in their marriage, the confusion related to her husband's overseer, her husband's indiscretion, the revelation of a half-sibling to her own sons. She was still harboring fears about their relationship, doubts as to whether he would remain faithful, doubts perhaps as to whether he would leave her behind for the sake of his work--his ever-growing call to ministry.
"Tata has not come home. It has been two days . . . "
"It is like that," the pastor confided in me within the following week. "Mama has said recently that it feels like I was running from her."
"But I know now that if I have to stay late at work, loading that truck," he says, pointing to the vehicle he drives for his day-job, "that I must call my wife and tell her exactly where I am. And I practice that."
"When Jesus comes back," he told his congregation, "he will not ask me 'Where is the church.' He will say to me, 'Where is your family.' The wife of Jesus is the church. I must first care for my wife.
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