What is a Prodigal Pastor?
Listen: “Lost” Coldplay/Jay Z
Caveat: I will be sharing my story from my perspective. I realize that some of you may have been disappointed or even deeply hurt by my actions. If this is the case for you, I truly seek your forgiveness and would encourage you to reach out to a professional therapist to process those issues. If you and your therapist think it would be helpful, I would be willing to make personal amends.
For those of you who do not know me, I am Fred Herron. You will learn much more about me if you follow me on social media, but here are few facts for now. I was the founding Pastor of Vineyard Church in Kansas City, Missouri from 1990 to 2019 (foundation to my resignation). The church grew from a few people to several thousand people whom I greatly loved. In 2019, due to a series of bad choices, I lost my 37-year marriage, my vocation, my church community, and in some ways my faith. (Read The Second Mountain by David Brooks for some perspective.) Through blogs and podcasts I will begin to unpack this story.
I can’t define “Prodigal Pastor.” It’s just a name I procured for myself, and I will describe what it means to me. The definition of “prodigal” has two nuances: (1) is the reckless or wasteful use of resources and (2) is the giving of something on an extravagant scale. The Bible contains a classic story called the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). It’s about a son in the ancient Near Eastern culture who asks for his inheritance early (very inappropriate) and spends his inheritance on wild living. He winds up slopping pigs (about as low as you can go in Jewish culture) and decides to return home. His father sees him, runs to him, embraces him, and throws a party for him (extravagant and inappropriate for social norms of the period); however, the prodigal’s older brother is disgruntled. The older brother has obeyed all the rules and his father has never thrown a party for him. He resents his brother and he resents his father. The story is a classic because it reveals how grace can restore a wayward life; it reveals the extravagant heart of God towards wayward children; and it reveals how the “rule-followers” are wayward in their anger, resentment, and self-righteousness. (See Prodigal God by Tim Keller.)
I was a prodigal teenager when, at sixteen, I encountered Jesus and felt called to be a pastor. I never imagined I would find myself in a second prodigal story in my fifties, but I did. As a pastor of a progressive Evangelical mega-church, I always had a heart for people outside the church regardless of lifestyle or belief systems. I never really felt above them or superior to anyone, but I did feel like I had something to offer them—specifically Jesus and a faith community. However, in my darkest moments I lost this confidence.
By late 2017, I was a mega-church pastor of a growing faith community and yet I felt lost. By lost, I mean I felt disconnected from God, my wife, my vocational calling, and myself. Utterly lost. In November of 2018 I was “sent off” to Georgia for 120 days of rehab because of prescription Xanax and alcohol abuse. I also confessed to sexual unfaithfulness to my wife. When I returned to Kansas City in March 2019, I was full of shame, embarrassment, and anger. I felt shame concerning my failures, shame because I had potentially hurt several thousand people, shame concerning my broken marriage, and shame concerning my infidelity, my misuse of alcohol, and my lack of faith in what I had always believed and taught. I was an emotional wreck and in a very dark place. (I’m guessing there are pastors reading this who can identify with this description.)
In the midst of my journey of recovery, why do I still call myself a pastor, even a prodigal pastor? I actually tried to run from this identity when I got back from rehab. It was hard. I grew up in Kansas City. My parents and sisters and brother-in-law’s and nephews and nieces and great nephews and nieces attended Vineyard Church. I had people in my church with whom I went to elementary, junior high, and high school. I preached my first sermon in Kansas City when I was seventeen and was ordained at my home church at eighteen. Tens of thousands of people in Kansas City knew me as a pastor. Even though I haven’t done anything publicly or on social media until now, I would bump into people every day who would ask, “How are you doing, pastor?” People would meet with me and relate to me as a pastor even when I explained to them how lost I felt. I also found that I still cared for people in a pastoral way even though I felt so wounded. I was a wounded shepherd who still cared for wounded people. I was still concerned for people and their hurts, health, and wholeness. For example, during the first rehab I tried to disguise my identity as a pastor and by the end of the thirty days the most outspoken atheist asked everyone to read the gospel of Matthew in my honor and consider Jesus. (I was in two rehabs back to back, a thirty day and ninety day.) I only revealed my pastor identity and spoke of Jesus when directly asked and then reluctantly. Running from my pastoral calling wasn’t working, so I thought, “What kind of pastor am I?” Maybe a prodigal pastor.
A prodigal pastor should probably believe in God, but I was questioning everything. Every value and belief I’d ever had was coming under scrutiny by me. If there was a God, I hoped he/she/it was an extravagant God of grace. I needed it. In the Bible story, the father puts aside his dignity and runs to greet his wayward son with unconditional love—beautiful no matter what your belief system. I needed some unconditional love.
This brings me to my final thought (for now) about this “prodigal pastor” description. Perhaps a prodigal pastor identifies with prodigal people in need of a Prodigal God. This doesn’t mean I have all the answers. I am less certain about so many things. The consequences of my actions shattered everything for me and the losses were staggering. Now I find myself with doubts and questions. I still read broadly and I listen to people from all walks of life and spirituality. I’ve listened to drunks and addicts and prostitutes and atheists and rabbis and pantheists and Buddhists and doctors and prisoners and homeless and LGBTQ peoples. I’ve realized that everybody is spiritual and I have been inspired by every type of person as they wrestle with dignity, with the issues and questions of life. I have found courage and hope in the strangest places. So while I am less certain about many things, I am still extremely hungry to experience life fully. My new mantra is brutal honesty about everything. So I am on a journey of honesty and spirituality. I hope you will follow me on this journey, even if you feel like you know all the answers. We might learn some things and grow together.
©realfredherron 2020
