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Church Hurts



The church is shrinking, especially in the United States. “Church membership held steady at around 70 percent of the U.S. population from the 1940s through the 1990s. Membership plummeted in the new millennium.” (de Vise) I have lost count with the amount of time I have spent within ministry (whether as a leader or as a faithful volunteer) dealing with the comments about how the church is dying. Guess what? I can’t fix the problem by myself. What would happen if instead of talking about it, there was something done to address problems that may have caused it?


One problem that is a fairly common one is the fact that church hurts. Again, a harsh comment and a comment that may offend someone. Your offense needs to be met with the question: why am I reacting that way? Not every church (in the broad sense) is a bad church. Not every church (in the broad sense) is a hurtful church. This doesn’t mean that hurt cannot happen even in the best of circumstances. A church should be a loving and functional family. With any family there are bound to be hurt feelings, and sometimes those hurt feelings lead to separation and dysfunction.


MY STORY


I am going to dive deep into a story of my own, a story about how both my actions and the actions of “church” folks caused some of the most intense damage that still plagues me today. As a spiritual leader, caregiver and counselor, I am still fighting to maintain the healing I have worked through. When people tell you to “get over it” or to “let it go” it can be damaging as it downplays the emotions, the feelings and the harm you as a person have gone through. When events happen that cause serious reactions to us on any of the physical, emotional, mental or spiritual health spectrums, it doesn’t just go away. That is something that is always carried, always can be triggered and always will impact how you live.


I have shared part of my story in the blog called “Where Words Fail, Music Speaks.” Sometimes more of the story needs to be shared to understand how a person gets to where they are. For 12 years I battled female medical problems that came down to making a hard choice. My marriage was already rocky at best, trying to do what I could to keep it together because I took vows for better or for worse. After not being able to get pregnant, something I so desperately wanted, it was time to check in with my doctor. That doctor made it clear to me that with the issues I had against me, and being highly susceptible to staph infections from artificial hormones, doing any type of IVF would be tricky. There was one method we could try. Too many of the different outcomes involved losing the baby, losing my own life or both. More of the outcomes were bad versus good. I had a hard choice to make. I spent months conversing with my spouse, trying to get him to see what I was facing. He was leaning on the supportive side until a family member of his that outranked me spoke against it.


This particular family member came for a visit. I decided to fill this family member in on what we were facing, hoping to bridge the gap. After talking about everything I have been battling, I thought surely this person would be supportive. Instead I was met with, “I don’t think you need to have surgery. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t try to get pregnant. All pregnancies have risks, it comes with the territory. If it is something you both want, you owe it to give it a shot. Surgery isn’t the answer to this problem.”


The problem was my health and quality of life. I was struggling to work. I would spend hours on the bathroom floor writhing in pain because of my issues. I spent the same months trying to get everyone on the same page with my health working my body to the point of exhaustion at the gym hoping a quick massive weight loss would jump start my body into acting the way it was supposed to. I went from 210 lbs to 170 in a little over 3 months. It didn’t matter. My body was telling me it didn’t want to do what I wanted it to do. I made the decision to have a hysterectomy. When I made that decision, my spouse made it clear he was angry and would be angry for a while.


Day of surgery came. I didn’t have to check into the hospital until almost noon. It was August, gearing up for the school year. Since my spouse was a teacher, and I knew he wasn’t happy with me, I told him if he wanted to work a half day that morning I would support it. He did. I woke up the morning of my surgery, alone. I did my surgical prep that I had been doing for a couple days. I sat in my living room in silence thinking about what that day meant. I looked at the clock, realizing it was about time to go. I grabbed my stuff, and went to meet my spouse in the parking lot. There were few words spoken on the way to the hospital.


When I arrived, my parents were already there. Our pastor arrived shortly after. I was taken back to get prepped before they would all join me in my room. There was a heaviness, a darkness even in the bright lights of my prep room. The air felt thick, hard to breathe. I remember after I got prepped, my family and pastor came back to the room. It was crowded, only making my thoughts and anxiety more present. A friend showed up, trying to make jokes, not realizing that nothing was funny to me that day. My doctor came in, making sure I was okay. Right as they were ready to take me back, my pastor prayed over me and the team. I got a pat on the leg from my pastor and friend. My dad kissed my forehead and walked out. I knew that he was struggling. That engineer's brain that wants to find a solution to every problem was running on overdrive. My spouse kissed me and left. My mom stayed by my side and walked with my bed until she wasn’t allowed any further.


The next day, when I was more alert, my doctor came in to talk to me. I was validated in my choice. She told me that had I tried to get pregnant there was no way it would take. If by the grace of God it did, it wouldn’t have made it to term. My uterus was so diseased she hadn’t seen anything like it in her 17 years. Her team was speechless during the procedure. Being validated helped get rid of some of the weight of regret. I knew I did what I needed to do. It didn’t change the hurt feelings I was facing.


I was discharged later that day, quite sore yet moving to the best of my ability. My mom stayed with my spouse and I for a week to help since he had to work with school being right around the corner. I remember my spouse saying that two of his sisters and my toddler nephew were coming up for a visit. They couldn’t stay with us since our apartment was full. All I asked was not to have them at the apartment because I wasn’t mentally ready to see my nephew. I loved him dearly. Even now that he is not in my life due to the divorce, I love him. I was half asleep on the couch when I heard the door open. Here comes my spouse with the sisters and my nephew. My mom saw the look on my face and came to help block my nephew from climbing on me. He came by my head, I gave him a kiss. Anytime he tried to climb up my mom found a way to distract. My spouse didn’t want to try and understand what I was going through because in my spouse’s eyes, this was my choice, I needed to deal with it. He was right. I did need to deal with it. No one, not even myself, would know how much I needed to deal with it.


Fast forward a couple months. I was back on my feet, trying to get back into my old items I helped with: youth group, confirmation, praise band, committees at church, etc. I was starting my process in the United Methodist Church to become a certified candidate for ministry to help with school costs as I was applying for my Masters. My mental state was not great, to the point my pastor told me if I didn’t get some help, he would need to ask me to step down for a while from my leadership. Off to therapy I go. It was hard and uncomfortable until I realized I was safe there.


The friend that came to the hospital was now turning into a foe. I take full responsibility that my mental state was not great and I was struggling with reacting in ways that were not helpful to already tense situations. This person had turned against me. Not only had band practice become tense, now youth groups were tense. After I walked out of a meeting before the youth group, it was clear a discussion was needed. The pastor “mediated” a conversation between the two of us. This conversation was one way for the most part. I sat in the library of that church and listened as this person told me what an awful person I had become. I was called a hypochondriac and dramatic. I sat there for 45 minutes and I was torn apart. After so long, I began to just stare out the window because It was all I could do to cope. After 45 minutes the pastor asked me if I was still here. I turned my head and said I was and I heard every word that was being said to me. It was clear that I needed to leave this church, not only because of the conflict between me and my once sister-from-another-mister, because the pastor allowed for this type of interaction to take place and not do anything to stop it. This pastor allowed for harmful conversations that were blatantly wrong to happen and didn’t try to control the tone and interaction. I couldn’t stay here.


I knew another church had been looking for a youth pastor. I asked someone on the board if they would be interested in someone like me. I was interviewed and was offered the job. I loved the two churches I now worked with. I loved the youth and the families. The pastor and the pastor's family took me in as one of their own right away. I finally felt like I had my footing where I needed it to be, or so I thought.


Fast forward another several months: My private life was hanging on by a thread. I was feeling disconnected from my spouse, so broken, I didn’t know what to do. I was talking about it in my therapy. I had convinced my spouse to try therapy so we could then get couple’s counseling. My spouse agreed. My spouse went one time and then didn’t go again. When I figured out my spouse hadn’t been going and I asked about it, I was met with, “because I don’t need it.” I was alone. I was stuck and I didn’t know what to do. I looked in the mirror every day and I hated what I saw. Many days I didn’t recognize myself. I felt like an alien in my own skin. I didn’t feel like a woman, nor did I feel like a person at all. I struggled.


Then a male friend of mine, who saw some of what I was up against, tried to get me to see my worth. I was so broken that I let everything I once believed in when it came to morals and a code to live by go to the wayside. I had an affair. I did that. It didn’t happen by accident. I made that choice. I talked about it with my therapist. I remember telling her I had to tell my spouse. After conversing with my therapist I was told that many folks who deal with affairs, the partner wishes they never knew. I decided to keep it to myself, and try to move one.


My secret got out. The individual made the choice to say something to a friend of mine. This friend confronted me about it and I came clean. I also said I had already been in therapy dealing with it. I explained why I hadn’t said anything to my spouse. I thought it was done. Oh boy was I wrong. Little did I know this friend, went to another friend and said something to her. Without talking to me to verify what was said, they went to the former pastor I mentioned above. Without talking to me to verify what had been said, that pastor and friends took it to another pastor who was my assigned mentor for the candidacy process. Without talking to me, they took it to the District Superintendent. Without talking to me, the DS took it to the Bishop. Without talking to me, the Bishop responded to the DS and told the DS to put me on suspension until an investigation was done.


I got the call on a Friday afternoon. My heart sank. Everything imploded in my life that day. That day I had no choice but to come clean to my spouse. Absolutely understandable he was angry and upset. I get that. I truly do. I sat there as I listened to my spouse say things like, “Aren’t you trying to be a pastor? What were you thinking? Get a bag and go stay at a hotel for a couple days, I don’t want you at home.” Again, I heard what he was saying and could get why he felt that way. I betrayed his trust. I betrayed my morals. I betrayed my faith. I betrayed myself. After more talking, he told me I didn’t have to get a hotel, I would just stay in the office on the futon of our apartment.


I packed my gym bag and went to the gym. I needed to work out some of the emotions I was dealing with. After a rigorous workout, I called the pastor I worked for and asked if I could come over because I needed help. When I arrived, my pastor and pastor’s spouse met me at the door with open arms. I was an emotional wreck. The problem was I wasn’t angry I got caught. In a way, the burden that I had been carrying was not so heavy anymore. The reason I was so distraught was because of how I was being treated. If you are reading this there is a chance that at least one of you reading is thinking: “Girl, how did you think you would be treated? You made an awful choice that hurt people.” I hear you! I know that. One of the main things about being a pastor is doing no harm. I was not a licensed or ordained pastor at this time. My actions were appalling, and I never lied or tried to argue my way out of my situation. I was dealing with the reality that the people that were supposed to guide me, help me, minister to me, were the ones that threw me to the wolf. Three different ordained elders in the church had no issue with just moving me along the food chain until I was devoured.


My pastor and the pastor's spouse offered to let me stay. They never once made me feel like a despicable person. I already felt that way anyway, they didn’t add to it. They loved me. They prayed with me. They gave me hope and reassurance that this didn’t need to define me. They were heartbroken for me and my spouse. They wanted to support both of us.


Monday morning rolled around and I had a class on campus. I hadn’t slept in three days. I drove to my school, 90 minutes away. When I walked into class, the friend I normally sat with looked at me and said, “Jeez what happened to you, are you okay?” I said I had a long weekend and I was exhausted. My professor came in, also my advisor, looked at me and said he wanted to see me after class. Internally I remember thinking that maybe he knew. Class was dismissed. I sat down with him and told him about my past three days. He hugged me, prayed for me, and told me he was with me and would be there to support me. I wasn’t the first person in ministry to do this and I wouldn’t be the last. Although it should be reassuring, it only made me feel more gross.


The following day I had a phone call set up with the assistant to the Bishop to be walked through the process of the investigation. I knew the assistant to the Bishop as I had met him before. When he called me, the first thing he asked was, “How are you doing?” I remember scoffing at that question and responded with, “Oh I have had better days.” He started talking to me about the process when I interjected and told him there was no need for an investigation. I told him everything. He was impressed with me being so honest, in hindsight I should have been disturbed at that fact. If others in ministry aren’t being honest when they mess up, isn’t that a big problem? After we discussed the entire story, he asked me if there was anything I had questions about.


This is where the story gets interesting. I explained that I understood the policy to ethical issues as laid out in the book of discipline by the UMC. I expressed that I was in no way and trying to turn the attention away from me. I was guilty for what I did and I accept full responsibility for my actions. The only question I had for him was: Why was I not spoken to by either pastor 1, my mentor, the DS or the Bishop before I was called and told I would be suspended? Shocked was all I can use to describe the reaction to my question. I understood my actions were wrong in more than one way. I wanted to know why this happened in a way that caused the situation to be so much harder on all parties than it needed to be.


It was a good conversation with the assistant to the Bishop. I reiterated several times that I do not expect my question to outweigh my responsibilities. I wanted to make sure that if this situation happens again, the next person is treated with more compassion than I was treated with. I figure if I can help someone else who may one day be in my shoes, that is what I wanted to do. I was reinstated in my position as it was deemed I was not technically clergy, I was not placed there per the bishop or cabinet, and I was honest and had already taken steps with therapy to handle my situation. I never received an apology. To this day, pastor 1, mentor, and DS never apologized for their actions. Within a matter of 4 months, pastor 1 and mentor were mysteriously moved out of the area. It is rare that a pastor is moved mid year. You might be thinking, well, your life is getting better: Incorrect.


I was working with my therapist for a while and worked on healing. My spouse and I were working on rebuilding. I was staying in school and working. Things were okay, for a moment. During a fundraiser the youth were doing, I brought in two friends, with the permission of my spouse, to help while my spouse and I had service to do. I was preaching this day and my spouse was playing piano for the praise team. One of the two friends that came in to help happen to be the one whom the affair was with. Hence, needing permission from my spouse. The kids would be in the kitchen and I needed folks that would help them out. My spouse was not hesitant in saying he understood and agreed they would be the right people to work with the youth.


Trouble in paradise, but not between my spouse and I, was about to ensue. The DS decided to stalk my social media and realized who was involved in the fundraiser breakfast. The DS decided to call the board chair at my church and stir the pot, then requiring me to come into a meeting. When I was called for this meeting, I was told I could bring my spouse for support but I wasn’t told why I was being called into the meeting. I told my spouse I bet it had something to do with the two friends. I quickly got defensive when the bomb dropped at the meeting that I was right in my fear. I found out that the DS did indeed call the board chair to express concern due to previous issues between the two of us. Not only had the DS stalked my social media, now she also broke confidentiality and told the church board about a situation they should not have been made aware of. After discussing the situation and me pointing out several issues along with my spouse standing up for me, we were asked to step out while the board made a decision about whether I still had a job or not.


While out in the hall my spouse held me and tried to console me. I was so done. I couldn’t believe what I was dealing with. This should have been behind us, now I knew moving forward this was going to haunt me. My spouse told me to go, he would wait and talk to the board and let me know what they decided. He saw I was mentally done. They let me keep my job, for what reason I don’t know.


When it came time just a few months later for pastors to potentially be moved around, my pastor was one of the pastors that would be moved. Again, my heart was broken. I felt it was because of me. My pastor nor the family ever made me feel like it was my fault. I just couldn’t help but notice every person involved in my situation over the past 9 months would now be out of the area except one: DS.


Friend 1 who told friend 2 came to me when the “case” was closed and apologized for what she had done. I walked her through everything I had been put through. She sent me emails, messages, etc of what she was told was happening, which was the polar opposite in many cases of what actually happened. I had previously written a lengthy letter to the Bishop with emails, messages, letters from others involved, pointing out to the many lies and deceit that had happened in my situation. I got a call from the DS and was asked to come for a meeting. I brought a member from the church as I didn’t feel safe being alone with the DS having taken into account stunts that had been pulled. The DS asked me if I read the letter the bishop sent. I was puzzled. She got up and was out of the room for several minutes before returning with a letter from the bishop affirming my gifts as a leader, yet stating I was an untrusting person and I needed to work on that. This meeting was heartbreaking and left me uneasy, including the church person that was with me.


When the new pastor came to the church, my job started shrinking. This person took away things that I had been doing because he wanted to do them. I was struggling to do my job because he didn’t want me to be part of what I had been doing. After a discussion with a board member went nowhere, I decided it wasn’t worth my spiritual decline to stay in a place I was not wanted anymore. I resigned.


I spent 3 years away from a church. I only attended when I went to see my parents. Between school, working full-time, divorce, and trying to bounce back in life, I didn’t travel often. Church was a place of hurt for me for several years. Even when I went with my parents to their church at the time, I felt a mixture of peace of the Holy Spirit and anger and hurt because of previous experiences. It was very difficult. I did my own ministry in weird places like coffee shops and bars. I was trying to get a new footing in a place of hurt and destruction. I don’t blame everybody else. I caused my own hardships. I made my choices. The people in the position to minister made their choices. Their choices added to the pain that I was already going through.


In my mind no one cared. No one cared that for years I struggled going into a store. No one cared that I would be in a store, with a basket full of items, herding the cry of a child and having a panic attack that sent me out of the store with nothing in tow. No one cared that I was battling physical, emotional, mental and spiritual warfare. No one cared that I was cutting at my stomach every night trying to remind myself that I was still alive and I was a creature God created and only the pain of that cut could get through my head. No one cared that I was trying to rebuild my life I destroyed while battling forces that should have been encouraging, not destructive. No. One. Cared.


I give thanks to God every day that he gave me the strength to keep one foot in front of the other. I give thanks to God every day that he brought people into my life that helped me heal. I thank God every day that I was reminded that he never gave up on me, even when I wanted to give up on myself.


The anger I once held onto is gone. The burden I once carried is gone. You may be thinking, "If you wrote this, clearly it isn't." Just because I have processed everything and have been able to move forward; it doesn't mean I have forgotten what I have done and what I have been through. If you have been hurt by “the church,” please know you are not alone. We are not all bad people. People make mistakes. People make awful choices in life. *see above story again!* God uses the broken to heal other broken people. It takes us pulling the colored shards of our broken lives together to create a beautiful mosaic. You are not alone!


 
 
 

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