On Monday mornings, I facilitate a group for men who have beaten their wife/girlfriend and/or children.

Men are obligated to attend twenty-seven sessions in order to avoid further criminal charges.

It’s a rotating group, so some men are beginning while others are ending.

1/9
Though my role is not overtly faith-based, I am open about my history of pastoral ministry.

Invariably, participants are surprised that I am a pastor.

2/9
This morning, our session involved a trend which seems to occur every 10-12 weeks.

One of the men expressed how unlike other pastors he has experienced me to be. Exploring the meaning behind this, he said what men usually say, “You actually care about me.”

3/9
At this point, others chime in. On the surface, they’re angry — expressing disgust and judgment toward the hypocrisy of churches and their leaders.

4/9
Below the surface, the grief is evident.

These men are searching for meaning and the dominant meaning-making story of our culture has excluded them from access to a grander purpose.

5/9
So I did what the other pastors couldn’t: I confessed our sins.

6/9
Today, I told them that I’m sorry for the many ways we have promised them a better life and then abandoned them while they wrestled to find it.

I confessed that I — and my people — have too often cared more about being right than about the Image of God within them.

7/9
Today, one of the men asked me if I’m still a Christian — since I’m no longer serving as a pastor.

“I’ve never been more of a Christian than I am right now. My trust in Jesus got stronger when I realized I didn’t need to please an organization to get to him.”

8/9
In hindsight, I also don’t think I’ve been more of a pastor than in that moment this morning.

9/9
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