Ecclesiastical Banishment: The Journey of One Cast Out

It was in 2008 that I was first cast out from the steps of a church. At the time, I was merely an innocent scapegoat in a dispute between two church factions. I was serving as the priest of that parish. One Sunday morning, when I arrived for worship, I found the church courtyard filled with police and their entourage. As I attempted to enter my church, the police and several others blocked me. Preventing me from leading the service, they expelled me from my own parish. I faced similar experiences multiple times during this conflict. Standing on the other side of that crowd was a priest who was very dear to me—someone who had been a major influence in my journey toward ordination. Though he (who later became a Bishop) was on the opposing side, he was a personality to whom I always felt indebted. Nevertheless, accompanied by shouts and jeers, I descended those church steps that day. My first "ecclesiastical banishment."

Later, in 2010, amidst severe personal crises, I informed the church that I was stepping away from ministry—essentially, I resigned. Consequently, a circular was read in every parish of the church stating that I should not be allowed entry into any church building. Believing that the restriction applied only to my priestly duties and that there was no bar to participating in worship as a layman, I went to the church of a fellow evangelist. However, I was sent away from there with the command: "Do not ever come here again." That was my second experience.

Since all attempts to withdraw my resignation failed, I began ministry temporarily in another denomination—a Kerala branch of a church based in Tamil Nadu (LMS). This was a time when that parish was attempting to merge with a prominent church in Kerala. Amidst the disputes regarding the merger, one person was fatally stabbed, many were injured, and some were remanded in custody. A few weeks later, when I arrived for Sunday worship, the church premises were crowded with vehicles and commotion. Despite being the priest of that parish, I was completely unaware of these developments. That was the day the parish was merging with the prominent Kerala church. The committee members blocked me as I tried to enter. They set a condition: I could enter only if I was interested in continuing as a priest under that prominent church. However, with the conviction that I must remain loyal to the church that appointed me (LMS, Tamil), I walked away with nothing. This was my third experience.

The authorities then advised me to wait a little longer before re-entering my mother church. Desiring not to remain away from God's work during that period, I temporarily joined the ECI. But as the saying goes, "Hell follows the sinner wherever he goes," crises awaited me there as well. After two years, two acres of land adjacent to the church came under the direct control of the Diocese. Once again, the priest became the scapegoat. a powerful faction within the parish targeted me to vent their protest against a Bishop who resided hundreds of kilometers away.

That Sunday service in February was very peaceful. Everyone listened intently to my sermon. I felt a sense of joy and vibrancy. However, the atmosphere changed the moment worship ended. They seized the offering vessel. They entered my room, conducted a search, and threw my clothes and belongings aside. They locked the church and the parsonage and forcibly evicted me. Without a single penny in my hand, and without even a drop of water, I had to stand before a mob for two hours of interrogation. They interrogated me mercilessly. Even the Lord might not have faced such great humiliation during His trial. The fact that I was undergoing treatment for severe anxiety and depression at the time added to the depth of that pain. This was my fourth experience.

Through the intervention of the Diocese, I was able to return that same night. However, the fifth banishment was the most cruel. One Sunday morning in June, during my personal prayers, I sang the hymn "Van Vinakal Vannidukil" (When Great Afflictions Come). While singing those lines, I—who usually do not cry—broke down in tears. I became certain then that a great difficulty lay ahead.

In the middle of that day's service, those same people from the past barged into the worship. They read out minutes stating they were taking possession of the parish. I was commanded to deliver my "final sermon." I used the opportunity to preach. Without much anger, I managed to tell them the wrongness of what they were doing. They recorded my "last sermon" on the small mobile phones of that time. They sent me away with great humiliation, not even allowing me to take my bag. The fifth experience.

There are many servants of God who endure similar suffering without any fault of their own. Truly, in none of these instances did I feel like abandoning the ministry. Nor did I look for evil to befall those who cast me out. It is my view that if anyone experiences evil because of me, it is a lack in my own anointing.

A year later, my mother church showed me mercy, cancelled my resignation, and reinstated me.

Except for that one parish where I walked away of my own accord for the sake of truth and justice, my God has helped me to continue my ministry peacefully in all other parishes.

This testimony is written so that those going through similar hardships may know that God is faithful, and also to serve as a record of sorts.

(Rev. Christopher Shabu, Rajakkad)