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Godspeed

So guess what…I’ve moved.

I am now in the Atlanta metro area, leading worship at a wonderful church with a terrific choir and orchestra. God is good, and I’m so thankful. It is a place made-to-order for both me and my family. But there are a few things I want to get off my chest. Not just so I can vent, but because they are important for anyone to know who’s looked the other way when their church did something awful.

You see, I was fired from my church. Not for doing anything wrong or unbiblical, but for displeasing some very powerful people. They attacked me continually for an entire year, taking non-stop shots at me. I got threatening anonymous letters, notes placed in the offering boxes, with only two people ever talking to me personally. One choir member eventually told me I was “the talk of the town” – from the casual way she said it, I guess she didn’t understand how threatening it felt to hear that. 

Up until now I’ve resisted posting about my wonderful new church, out of fear the mob from my former church would try to ruin my future there. But the word is out, so I think it’s time to talk about what’s happened. Because what happened is important, not because it happened to me, but because it is happening way too much.

Let me start by explaining how all this works, a sort of “Destroying Your Pastor For Dummies” booklet.

First, when people attack a minister, my recent experience has taught me they don’t have to have any Biblical grounds to do so. To them, their disapproval of you is enough proof there must be something wrong with what you’re doing. It’s now their duty to protect the church from you…even if the rest of the church isn’t smart enough to see how awful you are.

Next, when you specifically attack a worship pastor, it’s always smart to start by acknowledging his musical skill as a backhanded compliment. “Oh, he’s talented alright”, they begin. “But the music is all about him”. Did you do something arrogant to make them think this? No, but you are standing on a platform every Sunday, and it doesn’t seem to bother you to be in front of hundreds of people. That must indicate you’re an attention-seeking egoist who values people’s approval more than God’s. 

PRO TIP: it’s not necessary to prove any of this. Enough people resent the attention leader’s receive, so the accusation will surely gain momentum. You simply need to say it often enough until it becomes “common knowledge”.

That’s the next step – “The Campaign” . Use your Sunday school class as a forum to attack him, or  stand outside the sanctuary door just long enough so people realize you’re not going inside to worship. In addition, you can use your local business as a venue to influence any church members who wander in. Also, target choir members and encourage them to stop serving so you can point to dwindling participation in his ministry. 

If you do all this enough, it will cause real dissension in your church while creating the appearance the worship leader is the cause. After your cauldron is brewing nicely, you say, “See, he’s dividing the church”, when really it was you who created the division all along. 

How ironic that In the 1st century church, anyone who caused this kind of “dissension among the Brethren” with their gossip would’ve been disciplined and put out of the church. But in your church, it is the victim of the gossip who’s kicked out instead. 

Don’t worry about your treachery being called out, because EVERYBODY loves to watch a good fight. Even many “spiritual” people won’t be able to resist joining in the gossip. But even those who truly see the damage you are doing won’t call you out on it. Cowardly leaders will stand by watching the carnage while giving in to the wealthy and powerful who pay their salaries. And the vast majority of “good church folks” will stand by, shake their heads, and then go on like it’s none of their business. They did the same thing when the last minister was abused and run off. “It’s just the way things are here”, they’ll reassure each other. 

Funny, they’ll probably never realize THEY are the main reason this is the way things are there. By not asking questions, by not speaking up, they offer tacit approval. “Evil thrives when good people do nothing”.

And no matter how bad it gets, those folks will keep on attending that church long after God has removed its lampstand and moved on to bless other churches. Those folks wouldn’t still be there if they wanted to be part of God changing lives in their community. They attend because it’s where they’ve always attended. They see their friends there each Sunday, and it would too much trouble to go somewhere else where God was actually working. So they’ll be just fine with Sundays devoid of the “activity of God” as Henry Blackwell phrased it. It will never seem odd to them when no one but the occasional small child ever becomes a Christian there.

When you think of it, that was the minister’s real mistake: to assume the people wanted God to work and to see lives changed. What they wanted was, quite simply, what they’d always had. To most of them, that minister was just another busboy at their religious country club. If he keeps serving them what they didn’t like, why shouldn’t he get the boot?

Now that I’ve got a wonderful new position at a church in a large city where the sky’s the limit, they will no doubt take my good news as confirmation my leaving was all for the best. “See”, they will say, “everything turned out ok”. Yes, it did, but only by the active hand of God himself. And only after months of painful silence from many people who said that they loved us with their lips, but couldn’t even bother to check and see if we were ok. 

I’m not proud to admit my hurt made me question whether staying in the ministry was worth it. The open hatefulness I experienced was actually disorienting, since I could never understand what I was doing to cause it. So after the dust settled, I started looking for other things I could do that would avoid being on a church staff. Why risk going through that pain again? 

But in the end, I returned to the basic truth that only God gets to say when I’m done. Not me, and certainly not those who use the witchcraft of their tongues to run their churches.

So to those people who gossiped in Sunday School classes, in hallways, in their local businesses, and to those who watched it happen and did nothing, I’d like to say, from the bottom of my heart…

Thank you.

Thank you for releasing me from a place that wanted my musical gifts, but never bothered to love me and my family. You treated us as outsiders from the very first day. But as a result, when we were cast out we never really lost anything of value. 

Thank you that you made worship all about your own preferences and not about God’s. Leaving a place where God was at work would have been a sacrifice. But leaving a graveyard was much easier. I’d almost begun to think God wasn’t working through my worship leading anymore, until I led the first Sunday at my new church and watched the faces of even senior adults light up (there I go, making worship all about me again!) Thank you for giving God the chance to reaffirm me so clearly.

Thank you for rejecting me before I could pursue the temptation to leave you. As a pastor, I feel responsible for every single person in the church I serve, so abandoning you would have crushed me. But your rejection helped release me from what had begun to feel like a prison sentence.

Thanks to all the people who should’ve come to make sure we were ok. Your glib goodbyes in short emails and texts from a distance made it easy not to waste time saying farewell.

Thanks that even in my advanced years, like a “Caleb” I get to make a difference in one of the largest cities in the world. I’m serving under a dynamic young pastor now who actually discusses the Bible with us in staff meetings. We pray together for each prayer need in our church individually by name. I haven’t experienced such Godly leadership for years. Wow, I’d never dreamed God would still give me such a fresh, Spirit-led opportunity!

Thank you for this glorious six month sabbatical I’ve had to be creative to my heart’s content. I never had enough time before to work on projects that didn’t involve you. But now I’ve completed a powerful new show with a gifted collaborator, I’ve reworked a previous show for a production this Spring, and I’ve started writing a new musical about one of the greatest heroes of our faith. I have been more productive in this half-of-a-year than in the entire last decade, all thanks to God taking what you meant for evil and turning it into good.

I truly don’t mean any of this sarcastically. These words come from the overflow of a heart brimming with gratitude to God. Being with you caused me to doubt God’s ability to work through me anymore. And Satan has recently thrown roadblocks in circumstances hoping to derail our new opportunity. I’m still a little fearful, because I don’t doubt the extremes some of my former church members would go to in order to hurt us: they did all this to us knowing we had just bought a house there. I’m only now talking about this publicly because it is clear we are finally home and with a church family who loves us.

Thank you for proving with your unfaithfulness that the only thing we’ll ever need is God’s faithfulness. He has been so good to us, and the darkness you brought into our lives has only served to make that goodness all the more obvious and shine more brightly in contrast. But when the next minister shows up one Sunday for you to vote him in, ask yourself this question:

Do I really have the stomach to watch this all happen again? Not just to a minister, but to his wife and children too?

If you do, then you are truly in the place where you belong. But if not, then Godspeed…

“And the remnant took his servants, and entreated them spitefully, and slew them. But when the king heard thereof, he was wroth: and he sent forth his armies, and destroyed those murderers, and burned up their city.” – Matthew 22:6-7

***If you’re still reading, here’s more repercussions and the rest of our story…

https://davegipson.net/abducted-by-aliens/

4 Comments

  • Kay Wagner
    Posted February 20, 2026 at 2:24 pm

    As I read this, I truly felt an ache in my heart learning what had been happening “behind the curtain,” of what is supposed to be a church who’s mission is to bring people close to Christ and not mistreat the very ones who serve Him. To know that you, Dawn and the children, were treated as outcasts and not part of the family of God that you served, was too late heartbreaking. I’ve sat under your worship for many years and saw or felt anything but true worship under your leadership..

    Thankfully, God honored you, and you are now in a wonderful place to serve Him.

    I hope to come to your new church when I visit my daughter in Atlanta!

  • Kay Wagner
    Posted February 20, 2026 at 2:26 pm

    And there was a typo in my comment… I don’t know why it said too “late” heartbreaking.. I have no idea why the word late showed up

    Your new church is very blessed to have you, Dawn, and your girls.
    Kay

  • Jeanette
    Posted February 21, 2026 at 10:18 am

    The first time I read your comments, I was too overcome with emotion and sense of loss to reply. Today I can respond. Everything you and your family went through was horrific and hurtful. I don’t know if those who love and appreciate you could have done something more to divert the caustic steamroller that took you from us. What hurt even more deeply was that that it happened so soon after you had opened your new family home to our choir for a celebration of fellowship and mutual love of music in worship. All was well–we thought. In the aftermath, it’s still so hard to qualify or justify! However it did make me think of Joseph’s story and how much he endured for the Lord. In his victorious position in Egypt, he was able to say to his traitorous brothers that they had meant their treachery for evil, but God meant it for good. Praise God for preparing a better earthly place for your gifts and talents to prosper and for your beautiful family to live in peace and joy. Godspeed to you as well!

  • Paula
    Posted February 22, 2026 at 10:53 pm

    I am so sorry this happened! I never went back after the pandemic.

Leave a Reply to Paula Cancel reply

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.