Hello friends,
I write this blog post about a sad chapter from my life that has recently resurfaced during the bishop’s election process in the Northeastern Minnesota Synod.
This spring, my name was put forward in the process our synod has to elect a bishop. As part of our church’s commitment to safety and transparency, a disclosure was read prior to voting. That disclosure referenced an incident from 2001 — now 25 years ago — about “horseplay” I engaged in with a youth, her discomfort, and my regret of my actions.
Because the statement was very brief — and it needed to be — I want to provide some additional details here about what actually happened and share some reflections.
In 2001, I took a youth group to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation for a service and learning trip. While there, we visited a high plateau called Stronghold. It is connected to the history of the massacre at Wounded Knee.
After talking about that history, there was some informal time filled with the kind of lighthearted energy that often happens on youth trips. One of the youth, whose family were dairy farmers and well acquainted with pastures playfully threw a dried cow (buffalo?) chip at me. It struck and damaged the cover of my Palm Pilot.
In response, I picked up a cow chip myself and playfully chased her, gesturing as if I might drop it down the back of her shirt. The closest analogy I can offer is this: imagine someone throws a snowball at you, and you chase them, pretending you’re going to put cold snow down the back of their coat. That was the spirit of the moment. That was the spirit of my actions — what was described as “horseplay.”
Admittedly this wasn’t very pastor-like, but youth group work often leads to being playful with kids and at the time it did not seem to cross any lines. Though in hindsight, clearly it did.
Later, after more running around — on her part, not mine — she ran into another leader. His glasses fell off, and she stepped on them and broke them. That shifted the whole mood of our gathering.
We returned to the van. As we were seated, I could see she was upset. I presumed she was feeling badly about the broken glasses. Wanting to offer comfort, I reached over the seat and briefly placed my hands on the crest of her shoulders.
She stiffened immediately. I removed my hands at once and raised them in a clear gesture of withdrawal.
Looking back, I recognize that placing my hands on her shoulders was not a wise action. My intent was compassionate. But the action itself was ill- thought-out in the sense that it would not be experienced by her as comforting. And I own that misjudgment. I do believe the experience made her uncomfortable, and I regret that it did.
The synod’s disclosure of this event suggested that the earlier horseplay made her uncomfortable. That was not my memory of the event. After I feigned applying the cow chip to her, she continued running and engaging others playfully — frolicking would be the word I would use to describe what followed. And I would point not only to my recollection, but also to a signed affidavit in my files from the other chaperone, who at the time described the entire interaction as good-natured and playful.
What matters most to me, however, is this: when she signaled discomfort in the van, I responded immediately.
This matter entered both a formal church discipline process and an investigation by county authorities when we returned. No criminal action was pursued and in the course of questioning, I was given information about some past history that would have been a helpful contribution to the church investigation had I received it in time. But unfortunately the county inquiry concluded after the ELCA’s.
I deeply believe in our church’s commitment to safety and accountability. The protections embodied in our processes matter.
At the same time, in this particular situation, the legal process we followed escalated things in a way that created significant collateral harm that, in my opinion, was inadequately addressed. That harm may have been unavoidable for the sake of safety. That is a judgment call for others. But more follow-up by synod staff is something I believe should and could have taken place. Encouraging that kind of care in our synod’s future leaders is part of my motivation now.
By the time a formal letter was read to the congregation, emotions were high. Relationships were strained. Given the nature of my described offense, many in the congregation wondered how such a serious treatment could arise out of back-and-forth with a cow chip and a brief moment of contact on a shoulder. Many people in our open meeting with the bishop expressed incredulity that this would be included in my permanent record and follow me for the rest of my career — which, indeed, it has.
In the immediate aftermath of our public meeting, a very large number of congregants were openly supportive of me, which I was deeply grateful for. They buoyed me up during my years that followed there. But I was also disturbed, because I knew the families involved did experience significant stigma — and we lived in a very small town. I believe the rigidity of the legal process radically heightened that stigma.
The bishop and synod staff did not ensure that we were brought together for closure in the hopes of reconciliation — something I believe should have happened prior to public disclosure. And despite the support I received from congregants, I experienced trauma that lingered far longer than I knew how to admit — largely unaddressed.
Before going on, I want to say this clearly: it was not my idea to put my name in nomination for bishop. That came from another.
Having said that, I knew beforehand that this disclosure would be made if I became a candidate. And I was given the opportunity to withdraw my name — which would have prevented all of this from becoming so public again.
I knew the disclosure would likely discourage people from voting for me without further explanation. (Not that I think the results were in any way changed by the disclosure.). But I allowed it to proceed for a couple of reasons.
First, because I believe in transparency. I have no secrets about this. If I am to serve the church in any capacity, it must be in the light.
Second, I allowed my name to go forward — and the disclosure to be read — in the hope that something positive might come out of what has, until now, been an entirely negative experience.
I also hope this public disclosure may open the door for my future conversation with our next bishop. There are insights I would like to share from what I experienced. I don’t know whether they will ultimately be helpful to that bishop. But it will help me believe that God might just bring something good from this.
Finally, I hope that this exposure might somehow serve as ministry to others.
Secrets — especially those bound tightly to shame — can have a profoundly negative effect on us. If this disclosure prompts even one honest conversation, or helps another person find a healthier path, then I will be grateful that something good can be named twenty-five years later.
All that said, I do not want to minimize what I learned.
The horseplay was unwise in that context. Even if I do not believe it caused distress, it should not have happened.
The brief physical contact in the van was a mistake. I should have thought more carefully before acting. While I did remove my hands immediately, I should have responded with deeper insight in that moment than I did.
As I sit here now, I don’t know whether I will ever be called to another congregation. But I will — as I have for the past 25 years — remain committed to being a better pastor, a better leader, and a servant of the gospel.
If you have questions, or would simply like to talk — about this or anything else — I would welcome that.
Please reach out.
Thanks for your attention.