In retrospect, I had probably overused the term “dysfunctional” before being appointed to Las Vegas Trinity. What I probably should have regarded as “not optimally functional” paled by comparison to the profoundly aberrant conditions I discovered at Trinity. Thus far in this autobiographical venture I have proceeded chronologically, but to detail accurately and truthfully what was going on at this church that a colleague would later identify as “evil” requires that I temporarily take an alternate route that focuses on the cast of characters. The names are not being changed for the protection of the innocent because there are none, and because it is one of the luxuries of exposing this lurid tale in the relative privacy of a rarely read blog.
Don Smith was darned near a cartoon character. From his pudgy, effeminate waddle to his softly-spoken circuitous homilies, Don was the epitome of the milquetoast pastor that would never take a position on anything for fear of drawing attention to himself. After bouncing around from one small appointment to another, he truly had found his utopia at Trinity where he seemed to have fallen off the conference radar. Trinity was a relatively young church that—much as Trinity Heights in Flagstaff—had come to idolize its founding pastor and the glory days of starting from scratch. I’m reasonably certain that Don saw Trinity as his last appointment before retiring, and the means to that end consisted of not doing anything that might stir the waters. If this meant fudging on membership numbers (a remarkably common practice among UM clergy) or juggling the books (again, unfortunately, not that uncommon) to preserve his ability to remain in his private home on the outskirts of the city, then so be it. It didn’t take me too long to begin to understand what had been “wrong” with John Cox in this scheme, and to realize that I was going to be another “wrong” choice—at least from Don’s perspective—for precisely the same reasons.
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