4 Things I Learned by Talking about Church Hurt
On the first anniversary of the release of “Broken but Beautiful: Why Church is Still Worth It”, I’ve done a bit of reflection. When you write on a topic, you’re basically inviting the world to engage you. So, over the last year, countless friends and strangers have approached me with their stories of pain in the church. People have read the book alone, and others have read it through a church class or college course. These conversations and correspondences have shown me four things.
(1) The hurt is worse than I thought. From 40 years of being around churches and 20 years of being in ministry, I knew stories of pain, abuse, and disillusionment. But after promoting the book for a year, this reality set in. It’s worse than I thought. I’ve yet to meet anyone who doesn’t have a story of church hurt, and the stories are often more long term and tragic than expected. One friend led a class at his church on the book for several months. He said they had to spend several weeks giving space for people to share their pain before they could move on. Many tears were shed. I’ve seen this happen many times. If you lay aside time for people to share church pain, you’re likely going to need more time than you planned.
The nature of the pain is both specific and general. Some have given me names of people who said specific things and did specific things at specific times. Unfair, hypocritical judgments. Gossip and favoritism. Acts of spiritual, physical, and sexual abuse. Faulty and shallow interpretations of Scripture that led to behavior contrary to the example of Jesus. Church leaderships who blamed victims instead of perpetrators. Others have offered a more general angst and rage over “the church.” For these, their experiences have coalesced into a default sense of suspicion and at times trauma towards anything church - buildings, symbols, signs, rituals, language, and even people still participating in church.
I’ve been surprised at how deep the pain runs for many church leaders and ministers. I expected people who left church or remain on the periphery of church to have the most painful stories while those still involved have mild stories or none at all. That has not been my experience. Over and over, I’ve heard intense stories of church hurt from church leaders. Yet, they have stayed and even lead.
(2) Empathy leads to healing. If hurting people feel permission to share, it’s like a crack in a dam. Hurt comes rushing out. It can be overwhelming. It’s often raw and scattered. Several years back, I realized how defensive this could make me. I noticed how quickly I pivoted towards language and postures such as “yeah but that’s not everyone” or “ouch, but probably not everyone meant it like that” or even a well-intentioned cliché like “we’re all sinners but that’s what makes Jesus so great.” My defensiveness always shut the conversation down. Eventually, the Spirit showed me another way in the example of a trusted friend.
One day, while sharing an uncomfortable memory with a friend, he responded with, “I’m sorry.” Reactively, I responded, “Oh, you don’t need to say sorry. You didn’t do it.” With a smile, he said, “I know, but I’m sorry for what you’ve experienced.” Suddenly, I felt a rush of healing within. I didn’t realize how much I longed to hear someone say “sorry” even if it wasn’t the person who had hurt me. This forever shaped how I respond to others. Telling someone “I’m sorry for what you’ve experienced” is not accepting blame or fault but expressing compassion and empathy.
In recent years, I’ve noticed the change this brings when people share their challenges and trauma. Expressing empathy signals to the person that you’re willing to hear more. Expressing compassion show that you’re with them and willing to continue to be with them. Don’t underestimate the power of saying “I’m sorry.”
(3) Jesus remains compelling. The love of Jesus. The peace of Jesus. The hospitality and warmth of Jesus. He still draws people. The intensity of our collective reaction to the failures of church derives from our expectation of who church should be. And that expectation comes from our understanding of Jesus. No matter where I go, people have high regard for Jesus. Even my friends who have questions about his divinity or have concerns about him being “the way”, they still like Jesus. There is power in his name and example.
The ramifications of this truth prove vital. If our experiences of church bring conflict, we can reconcile around Jesus. If our views on church bring discord, we can find unity around Jesus. If our pain from church seems overwhelming, we can find healing in Jesus. Whenever I sense a spiritual conversation going sideways or a dialogue on church growing anxious and unhelpful, I try to turn it towards Jesus. You will notice a change in the room. You will see a shift in people’s faces. Jesus captivates our imagination and brings us together. For those wanting to be honest about the brokenness of church while still believing in the transformative nature of spiritual community, a focus on Jesus is the key.
(4) Deep down, many possess a warm nostalgia for spiritual community. This gave me so much joy over the past year. While friends, family, and strangers shared deeply problematic stories of church experiences, the conversation rarely ended there. That was not the last word. Most everyone shared a good memory they had of church as well. Many teared up describing going to church as a kid and feeling the security of caring, honorable adults. They told me tales of Sunday school teachers and summer camp counselors who remembered their names and cheered them on through mountains and valleys. Many shared the deep faith of a deceased family member who forever changed their life. I heard stories of the consistent presence of church through births and baptisms, weddings and funerals. I heard stuff like, “I don’t know what to make of the church today, but I tell you, I once had this experience, and it changed my life.”
Most people have an experience of healthy spiritual community. It’s not an unknown to them but a distinct memory from their past. In fact, that’s part of the disappointment. They expected to have that time of thing more throughout their life, and those unmet expectations fester the wound. But the good news is this. Many maintain a place in their heart for spiritual family. They don’t trust it anymore, but they want to. They’re closed off for now, but they’d love to be open, if they could. And this gives me hope. I believe a reformation is on the rise. I believe revival is coming. Wounds must be healed. Wrongs must be righted. Amends must be made. But I believe that I will see, in my lifetime, many return to a healthier way of doing church - a way of doing life with Jesus and each other.
