My church history journey has lead me to a place where I must unpack my church trauma. It may seem like a leap, but growing into new ideas, which are actually old ones, comes at a price. It comes with judgement. It comes with misunderstanding and misinterpretation. It comes with hurt.
The other day a trigger popped the trauma bubble and all the emotional gangrene exploded.
This isn’t going to be a “look how far I’ve come” post. This is going to be “look how sick I am.” Look at the disease I’ve carried. Look at it. It’s toxic and I am not the only one who’s been deliberately or accidentally poisoned by it.
The first time I was the topic of a public rebuke I was 18 years old. I just returned from my first mission trip with the preacher who baptized me and his daughter. A church publication warned of the dangers of this named minister taking females overseas. It’s a slippery slope they said. What next? Will they be preaching?
I was pretty buoyant then. I was a young Christian full of life and zeal and ready to share the one who rescued me.
Then I married a not-so-status-quo man who would become a preacher. After a six month internship an elder and his wife sat in our home accusing Daniel of greed and impure motives because he no longer wished to preach without receiving support for our growing family.
I was angry but I just packed that in a box and left for a church where I hoped we would be treated with more grace. And we were. For a while.
We left on good terms with their support to preach in a different country. It was lovely, until that husband of mine extended a hand of fellowship to brothers who were “liberal.” An old preacher was called in to set my husband straight. It was beginning of the end of our time there.
I put that in a box and moved it back to Ohio with us where we would start a church plant in a new town.
Remember I said new ideas, which are old ones, come at a price? That hit us hard. We were young and probably ill prepared, but our hearts were pure. We just wanted to serve God and our community.
We raised the support from churches and private donors to make the work possible. All seemed lovely again until we did things in our non-denominational church that didn’t look quite enough like the churches that supported us.
Instance after instance, rumors, lies and gossip led to our income being cut, often without a conversation to even verify the truth.
My box started getting heavier so I just pushed it farther into the back of the closet.
The next few years had some bumps, as all years do. We lost a dear sister and co-worker in the Lord to the world which rippled throughout the body. I agonized over mistakes I made and how I hurt her. I eventually had to put that in the box too.
Then the nuclear bomb of my life was unleashed. My son died. I couldn’t have survived without my church family or the prayers of saints all over the world. So many people wove a net and carried me to Jesus just like those friends who dropped the paralytic through the roof.
But there were others who judged. They judged the way we conducted the funeral. They judged the way we expressed grief. They judged the way we praised.
And then my husband shared a moment with the world. While he was in the ER and a sister held him up, he shouted, “MY SON DIED!” Then he heard, “Mine did too.” His racing heart slowed and his breathing calmed. He heard the voice of God speak in the storm. The sister watched his posture change.
You want to see the worst in humans, share that story with people who deny the work and indwelling of the Holy Spirit. Articles were written. Sermons preached and put online. He became the focus of public shaming. Can you imagine being a wife watching that?
We lost more income in the weeks that followed.
The Lord miraculously opened my womb. And we began the process of adopting two more children.
Six months into the valley of death, we were summoned to a church out of state, to discuss issues they had with Daniel’s position on the board of a local homeless shelter and his means of fundraising.
I know this is a Christian blog, but here is only one word I can think of to describe that trip. It was a crap show. Our income was withheld until we arrived. Daniel was called the wrong name by the local preacher whose introduction was, “I’ve heard a lot of things about you and nothing good.” After the meeting they decided to cease financial support effective immediately. We had 7 children and I was pregnant. We didn’t even have the money to get back home.
I was going to need a Uhaul to carry the boxes.
We cruised along for a few more years and then the church hurt of all church hurts marched in like occupying enemy forces. COVID.
So much trauma from Covid. I hate even typing the word. That’s the season I lost my closest confidant, my sister and my friend, not to death but to differences in ideology.
I don’t mind disagreement at all. Disagree with my theology, my lack of social distancing or my hugging during a global pandemic, but do it to my face. Let me do me and I will let you do you. But that didn’t work. I became the topic of social media chatter, my motives were impugned and ultimately I was betrayed for a political ideology and the church was fractured.
I wanted to quit life. Morning arrived with little rest or motivation for the day. Obsession over the loss grew. It occupied a vast space in my mind and body. I didn’t smile. I was a walking zombie.
That’s when I found Care for Pastors and began processing the loss.
I found a group of pastor’s wives of all denominations who provided a safe place for me to be heard and heal. And I have been healing some parts for some time.
But here’s the thing about trauma, when it wants to come out of the box it will.
Another betrayal occurred closer to home this week. The past 30 years of trauma erupted. I yelled. I cried. I felt abandoned, vulnerable, rejected and scared.
A couple days later I am yelling less, still crying, and still not sleeping.
Today I called a religious trauma therapist. It’s time to unpack these boxes and send the wounds back to hell where came from.
Stay tuned…
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:10
