I was about fifteen when I saw her stand up in the church business meeting.  I was sure what she was going to say would be interesting.  The topic of discussion was the children's music programs in our church - and I didn't know all the details since I had spent most of the meeting scribbling on an old bulletin - but my ears perked up when her name was called.  I expected a new idea, support for the current program or perhaps a request for more funds.

She was a woman I admired, someone I had worked with on music productions, a friend, and somewhat of a mentor.  I had spent time in her home - flipping through music to play and sing.  On more than one occasion we had played piano duets or put together singing groups.  I felt like she was a peer - not an adult who looked at me like every other teenager.

Business meetings are the necessary evil of running a church.  It's amazing to me how some churches handle them so graciously, and others make it into an ultimate fight competition -- just see who can hold out the longest and you'll get your winner.  I've wondered if God was to visit our church, what would He think of the way we run the business?  Would He look at us, hold His hands out to the sides, tilt His head and say, "Really?  Really???  THIS is how you decided to spend time in church?"

I know it says in I Corinthians to do things decently and in order.  While I’m sure God didn’t set up Robert’s Rules of Order, I think He is pleased when things are not chaotic.  The order is there in most meetings.

It was there when she stood up.  What was missing was the decent part.

My stomach dropped as she began to talk. I realized she was blatantly, without regard to feelings, suggesting she should take over the children’s music ministry.  In a very self-serving way, she began to discuss a new direction for the kids ministry which would clearly push the current leader, Jeannie, out of the picture.  Her words were critical and cutting - like a politician running a negative ad campaign.  She didn’t care about the ashen face of Jeannie, who was supposed to be her friend sitting two rows over.  I looked over at Jeannie,  another woman I respected, one who had put a lot of time and energy into all of us kids.  It was clear she was close to tears, although she kept her arms folded across her chest and looked straight forward - only occasionally glancing down at her feet as if by wishing it she could crawl through the floor.

I wanted my friend to stop.  To smile and say, “just kidding!”  I wanted her to turn to Jeannie and thank her for the many hours she had put in - to tell her that she just wanted to help.  I held my breath as the entire congregation was still.  It was ugly.  It was mean.  No one wanted to be in that moment.  I looked around at the other adults in the room, wondering who was going to stand up in Jeannie's defense.  My hands were clenched into fists as my friend kept giving her case for change by tearing down the current program.

I wish I could say it turned out well.  As with most surprises, the person planning it controls the outcome.   After a few uncomfortable comments and efforts to smooth things over, it was agreed that my friend would take over and Jeannie would step aside.  Jeannie handled it with extreme grace and maturity, but everything in me ached for her as she stood up to leave.

This was wrong.  I knew it.  For the first time in my life, I was disappointed in my church.  I was furious with the other adults who, in my opinion, had just let it happen.  Unfortunately, it was when I saw grown-ups just as they can be - struggling people who make bad decisions and hurt each other.  I expected that when I was four and fighting over a toy.  At ten I knew my girlfriends would be unfair and do things selfishly - we all did.  As a young teenager I was used to the petty and unkind behavior passed around in the school hallways.  But something in me just assumed that we would grow out of that.  I wanted to think that we would all come to our senses and realize that hurting other people brought little satisfaction, even when you get what you want in the end.

I’m sure Jeannie forgave my friend long before I did.  I’m sure most people in that church don’t even remember the meeting.  And I’m sure that my friend had no idea that twenty-two years later her young protégé would still carry the weeds of skepticism she had planted.