Thank You Pastor 'Kelvin'

Pastor Kelvin is called forward to deliver his apology. I watch from behind as Jennifer, seated just ahead of me, seems to draw herself taller, her shoulders squaring with quiet pride as her husband s

I'm writing 'Deep Dive'. I'm up to 'that meeting'... the worst meeting of my entire life - 27.9 2023. I've re-listened to the whole recording. There's so much more that I have to process. But I needed to put this out there.

The Naked Armor Bearer

- Thank you. You displayed unconditional love. You demonstrated the heart of a shepherd. 2 years ago, you were asked to publicly 'apologise' for speaking up. For listening to the damaged flock and calling out the wolf. The wolf we were all loyal to for so long. This is part of my book. And it is important.

(Pseudonyms from Deep Dive used in this post)

Pastor Kelvin is called forward to deliver his apology. I watch from behind as Jennifer, seated just ahead of me, seems to draw herself taller, her shoulders squaring with quiet pride as her husband steps up to the podium. I have no idea what words he’s about to find, but deep in my chest, I carry a fierce gratitude for the cost he’s willing to bear tonight.

Pastor Kelvin's Delivery 27.9.2023:

There are many things I need to apologise for. When I think about loyalty, I know I was loyal — and I still see myself that way — but not everything I did in the name of loyalty to a person was truly loyal to Christ. That is one of my deepest regrets: looking back and seeing the part I played, knowingly and unknowingly, over so many years.

As I stand here to apologise tonight, I don’t want to focus on myself or justify my actions. I believe apologies lose their power when they are accompanied by explanations. Reasons often sound like excuses, and excuses only weaken the truth that needs to be heard.

If people are ever going to heal, they have to hear the apology — and they have to hear it sincerely.

When all of this began to surface, three words settled heavily in my heart: not one more. That conviction has stayed with me every day since.

If I could put it into a picture, I’d say this church was meant to be an oasis, a spring in the desert. But beyond that oasis lies wilderness and scrubland, and I realised I had watched too many sheep — precious people — limping away, wounded and alone, disappearing into the dry places. I heard them go, one by one. And the weight of how much of The Edge Church no longer sat within these walls but was scattered out there in pain was crushing.

It’s hard to describe just how heavy that realisation is, but at the core of it, I knew: not one more. No more turning a blind eye. No more pretending it’s not happening.

As I sat and prayed, asking God what I should do, 1 Peter 3:17 came to mind: It is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. I wrestled with that for a long time.

And then, out of nowhere, a faithful friend sent me a verse they felt the Holy Spirit had placed on their heart for me: Leviticus 19:15 — You shall not do injustice in judgement. You shall not show partiality to the poor nor honour the great, but in righteousness you shall judge your neighbour.

It was as if God Himself was saying, Take your thumb off the scale. Do what is right, no matter the cost.

“You shall not show partiality to the poor nor give preference to the great, but you are to judge your neighbour fairly…”

When I look back over my years at 'The Edge Church', I see it clearly now: my thumb was on the scale. I thought it was loyalty — but by the measure of Leviticus 19:15, it was sin.

I regret that deeply. Alex spoke about the different narratives people have formed around all of this, and he’s right, there have been many. From the very beginning, I knew this would likely be the end of my time on staff at The Edge Church. That conviction has never left me.

So I’m stepping away to do the work I should have done sooner. Blind spots shaped my part in what happened here I refused to see. Someone helping me now calls it the dark side of my gifting. I want to face that darkness head-on. I want to understand it, so that it never has the chance to hurt anyone again.

I want to offer some apologies tonight. My first and deepest is to God. As an under-shepherd, as a pastor, my greatest failure has been this: I did not protect the flock.

I have watched people get hurt. I have known they were being broken. I failed to listen. I turned my eyes away from what I saw with my own eyes. Worse, I encouraged the wounded to go back to the very person who wounded them. I offered polished Christian words instead of truly hearing them and doing what needed to be done.

That is a failure of my calling as a pastor, but also a failure of my role as an elder. At every level of responsibility, I fell short. At first, I thought this was a failure of courage. But now I see it clearly: it was a failure of obedience to what God requires from those who carry His staff.

Alex is right — the standard for leaders is high. Scripture says, “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me,” but a leader who will not stand and defend becomes a liability to God’s purpose. To see now that I have been a liability to His purpose breaks my heart. And for that, I am genuinely sorry.

I see in Christ the true Shepherd, the one who leaves the ninety-nine to go after the one who is lost.

There’s been a rumour going around that I’m starting my own church. I want to be clear: I’m not. That is not happening.

The truth is, I have felt unqualified to stand in ministry for years, because I was doing it without the support of my wife, and no pastor should ever serve without that.

I haven’t been gathering people to build something new for myself. I’ve found myself out there with the ones who were hurt, the ones scattered and limping through the wilderness. They’re out in the scrub and the sand dunes — and when Jesus goes out to find the one that’s lost, He binds up their wounds, He lifts them, He carries them home, He protects them.

That’s all I have wanted to do: to be where He is, gathering up the broken ones who should never have been driven away in the first place.

This is where I need to confess something to all of you: I have put the fear of man above the fear of the Lord many, many times. That misplaced fear has corrupted my actions at The Edge Church, and for that, I ask God’s forgiveness, and I ask for yours too.

Next, I need to apologise to the one who should have come second only to God — my wife, Jennifer. I did not listen to you when you were crying, when you were carrying the weight of what you were living through. I turned away when I should have turned toward you. To protect my so-called neutrality, I convinced myself I was being righteous. But in reality, I gave grace to the very source of your pain — grace that should have been yours first.

What happened to you was wrong. It happened here. And by my silence, I left you to bear it alone for far too long. Jennifer, thank you for having the courage to be here tonight, for staying by my side so that we can spend the rest of our lives trying to heal this together. You deserved far better than what I gave you.

I also want to apologise to my colleagues and to every member who spoke out over the years and asked me for help. I did not listen when I should have. I turned a blind eye to what you endured. You had every right to speak. It was never gossip, it was not divisive — it was a cry for healing that you deserved to find.

You deserved to see corruption called what it is. You deserved to see something truly godly rise in its place, to see things set right in every way possible. For not fighting for that alongside you, I am genuinely sorry.

Several of you have already sat with me through all of this. Thank you for the grace and mercy you’ve shown me despite my failure. Please know your grace is not wasted, I promise I will not let it be for nothing.

I also want to apologise to the registered members. I believe every Eldership meeting I’ve taken part in since 2015 has been unconstitutional. According to our own rules, staff members are not allowed to chair those meetings — yet I cannot recall a single meeting that wasn’t chaired by either Austin or myself.

We developed a habit, and in some ways, it was a healthy habit, of acting in good faith and choosing goodwill in the moment. However, we allowed that to take the place of proper governance and sound practice. I was part of that, and I ask for forgiveness for my role in it.

I want to apologise in my role as a board member. I never should have allowed my name to be used that way. In reality, we rarely held proper board meetings. I don’t remember receiving agendas or minutes. It was a board in name only, yet it appears on all our paperwork and legal documents as if it functioned properly. It did not — and I share the blame for that. I regret being part of it, and I ask your forgiveness for neglecting that responsibility.

I also want to say sorry to the registered members for my email on May 28th and the video I sent out on June 4th. I won’t offer excuses, because reasons can sound like excuses, and that weakens an apology. The truth is that message and that video caused distress for people who had no warning, no context, and I regret the shock and hurt that caused. I am sorry for that.

I truly believed at the time that authority was being mishandled and misused. In a pastor-founded church like ours, with local governance, there is no higher body to appeal to except the registered members themselves. That’s why I sent that email and made that video. I realise now how much stress that caused, especially for those who had no idea what was unfolding behind the scenes. For many, it must have felt like a sudden shock out of nowhere. I regret that, and I ask your forgiveness — I wish I could say I had another way to handle it, but at the time, I didn’t see one.

I’ve listened carefully to the interim elders’ assessment. While there are parts with which I may not fully agree, I respect what they have shared, and I appreciate what they are asking of us now. I hope that people will find the courage to speak because I believe, wholeheartedly, that the time for silence is over.

Austin — I should have confronted things much sooner than I did. I should have been clearer, more direct, instead of falling back on my natural tendency to handle everything gently and quietly. I should have taken people’s concerns more seriously, back then and even now. But despite everything, I feel hopeful tonight. I’m so grateful for Alex’s wisdom and for the strength coming from the other elders. It gives me hope that real change is still possible.

Cristy — my biggest apology tonight is to you. You have been so lost in all of this, pushed into the shadows while so much swirled around you. I can only imagine how confusing and isolating that has been, not knowing what was true, what was being kept quiet, and having no way to process it all. The weight of confidentiality has been an enormous burden, and I haven’t known how to fix it. But I believe Alex’s plan is the right one — it’s time for the silence to end and for people to finally speak openly about what they need to say.

I pray that in all of this, no one’s life or calling will be lost, yours included. You matter. I will continue to pray for you, stand with you, and do what I can to make things right, with you and with others. I want to see how that unfolds as we walk through this together, step by step.

Tonight, for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of real hope. The joy of the Lord — it dropped back into my heart today, and I trust the Holy Spirit will carry it the rest of the way.

I want to leave you with something from Dr. Diane Langberg that has stayed with me: silence about wrongdoing is often rationalised and dressed up as protecting the name of God. However, such language from leadership only deepens the silence within victims and those who follow.

If there is one thing that must end — and I echo what Alex has already said — it is this culture of silence. We can’t keep pushing things down and calling it faithfulness. We have to speak. We have to listen. We must let the truth be heard, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

Thank you for listening to me tonight. If you would like to speak with me directly and receive a more personal apology, please know that I’m open to that. I don’t bite — I haven’t bitten anyone in a very long time — so don’t be afraid to reach out.

Bless you all. Thank you for giving me this chance to say what needed to be said.

September, 2023