Chapter 43 Better off out of Church

One of the casualties of my meddling was Mrs. Oliver. She had been treasurer for years. Her monthly reports were always on time. Every penny was accounted for. She questioned every expense. Her husband was a good man, but not a member of the church. In fact, he really didn’t care for the church. Everything she did in the church was in spite of him.

In addition to serving as treasurer, she taught the primary Sabbath School class. Her daughter came with her. Her son used to come, but now that he was a teenager, his father said he didn’t have to, so most of the time he didn’t.

For all her hard work Mrs. Oliver never looked happy. When we talked about issues in church board meetings, she participated in a civilized, courteous way, but there was always a severe intensity on her face. She felt the weight of our responsibility as God’s representatives in the last days of earth’s history. She worried that people–not just the general population, but most of the members of our own congregation—would come up short in the judgment. They thought they were okay, but in the judgment they would be sadly disappointed.

Sometimes she complained about the amount of work she was carrying. She wished more people would volunteer. Too few were carrying the work of the church. If people really believed Jesus was coming soon, they would be more serious about their support of the church. They would be more committed.

Our second spring in the parish, when it was time for our annual nominating committee, I was pleased with the prospect of electing a new treasurer. Brother Anthony had moved to the area and joined our church. He was a Jamaican. He was an accountant. And he was cheerful and pleasant. Working with him would be a lot more pleasant than working with Mrs. Oliver. At least he would have a smile on his face.

When I visited Mrs. Oliver and told her the nominating committee was going to give her a break from the work of treasurer, she didn’t say much, but I could see she was not happy. I was surprised. She always looked so burdened. More than occasionally she talked to me about how many hours the work of treasurer entailed. I knew her husband was not happy with the time and energy she devoted to the church. I thought she would be relieved. Instead, she was hurt.

A few weeks after her term of service as treasurer was completed Mrs. Oliver quit attending church. People called her. I ran into her in the grocery store a couple of times. She seemed lighthearted and pleasant. Finally, after four months I visited her at her house. We talked for a while about her kids and her husband. I told her I missed her work as treasurer. I was glad we had taken some of the load off her shoulders, but I missed her reliability and consistency.

She asked about different individuals at church. Then I asked if there was anything new in her life. Her face lit up. She gotten involved with a group working to protect streams and wetlands in Suffolk County. She liked the people. The project was very important. They were going to hold a demonstration in downtown Huntington the next Saturday. I winced. She should be in church on Sabbath, not marching with some environmental group. But I kept my mouth shut and kept listening.

She was devoting hours every week to the work of the group. They had talked to her about becoming treasurer. So much for my plans to ease her load. She was a busy outside the home as she had ever been. But it appeared to me there was one huge difference. She looked happy.

Finally, I screwed up my courage and asked her. “Mrs. Oliver, it seems to me that you are a lot happier now than when you went to church. You seem more at peace. Is that true.”

She hesitated, smiled, then said. “Yes. Yes, I am. I feel more free, more relaxed. Sure, we’re busy. We're already planning another rally downtown next month. The county has to do more restrain development that impacts our streams and wetlands here in Suffolk County. I’m as busy as I ever was. But it’s different. I am happier.”

“So is it a good thing you’re not at church?”

She thought for a minute. “Yes. I hate to say it to you, but yes, I’m doing better now. I’m more at peace.”

What could I say? I could see it in her face. She was visibly happier and more content than she had ever been in the year and a half I had known her as a member of the church. What was it about church culture that made her tight and frowning? Working in an environmental group she was still involved in prodding people to do their duty. I'm sure she was still keenly aware of the lethargy and lack of commitment that characterized far too many people. I sure she could see work that could be accomplished if only everyone would step and do their duty. So why was she so much happier? I suspected it had something to do with our ideas of the close of probation and the need to attain perfection in preparation for the Second Coming. Whatever the cause, the effect was undeniable.

As a Christian evangelist, it was my job to tell people, “Get in here! Come to Jesus . . . by coming here.” My entire training as a minister, in fact, my entire life as a devout Adventist, had been focused on helping people by persuading them of the truth of our doctrines and bringing them into the fellowship of the church. However, as a physician of the soul, I could not ask Mrs. Oliver to return to a place that made her miserable. I was obliged to encourage her in her new life. She was serving humanity. She was healthier psychologically. By every observable measure she was better off out of church than she had been in church.

“Mrs. Oliver,” I told her, “you know it’s my job to bring people into the church. And I hope sometime you’ll find yourself drawn again to our fellowship. But I can see you’re happy. I wish you blessings in your new work.”

To put it mildly my visit with Mrs. Oliver left me deeply perplexed.




As a final note of irony, and perhaps as a divine rebuke of my facile substitution of a faithful, meticulous, if somewhat grumpy, worker with someone more congenial, more cheerful--within six months of Mrs. Oliver's departure, I was the one hurting. Brother Anthony remained cheerful and pleasant. He never questioned a receipt I gave him, never challenged an expenditure proposed in board meetings. But the monthly treasurer’s report came irregularly. Sometimes a week late, then two and three weeks late. Then more than a month late. I began to worry about the accuracy of the reports. I asked the conference to audit our books. But their auditor was too busy. No matter how late the reports, no matter how many times I asked Brother Anthony when we could count on the next report, he remained happy and cheerful. Maybe happiness was overrated?