I went to Bible college. I mention it, because I went there expecting to be trained for ministry. I came out of there believing that most, if not all, who call themselves Christians have a heart to serve the Lord, and serve Him honestly. I left believing that like a bunch of friendly, non-communist comrades, we’d all be working hard until Jesus comes to take us home. We’re the army of Christ! The Church, with a capital C! I left believing that we all believed Jesus was coming, even if we didn’t all agree exactly when—pre, mid-, or post-Tribulation. I left believing that we all would apply wisdom and be discerning of our mutual enemy, the devil.
I did not learn that some Christians are not going to be raptured, but I distinctly remember having that revelation for myself a few years ago. I did not leave with a warning that churches could become trapped under a demonic cloud, and be unwilling to ask themselves why—well, maybe, they know why. I didn’t leave Bible college with an understanding that some people want to serve the Lord poorly. While He asks of us 100%, some are happy and proud to give 50%. They’ll brag about doing a bad job. Wild to me! I didn’t leave understanding what an idol money can be for ministers. I knew the Bible tells that you can either serve God or Mammon, but I didn’t realize churches willingly CHOSE Mammon. I didn’t leave realizing that churches would be happy to lie about anything and everything.
We recently left our church. We faithfully served and regularly attended. When it was time to go, we wrote a note to the pastor and his wife. We were invited to meet with the pastor, but we weren’t comfortable doing that. We didn’t want to talk about the reasons why, or listen to him try to convince us to stay. There’s no biblical grounds for having a meeting before you leave a church, so we politely declined the sit-down. Then, on our last Sunday, the pastor’s wife came to me saying that they knew we didn’t want to meet, but would we be willing to just meet after church? Me, already dealing with a lot of emotions because of how challenging behind the scenes at this church had been, and because some people there we were genuinely going to miss seeing, decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, they just wanted to give us a formal goodbye. I dreaded the very thought of this meeting. I asked my parents if they would attend with us, because I wanted a third party there.
End of service comes, and we are approached in the middle of the sanctuary, between the foyer and the sanctuary. Typically, a meeting with someone would be held off to the side, and before things start I tell them that I want my parents present. This is disregarded, and they immediately begin. The conversation started with the four of us, but Tim got pulled away by friends saying their good-byes.
“Are you leaving?” “Why?” “You were doing so much.” “I thought we had a relationship.” (We had one meeting with them in our whole time there.) “Sometimes people leave because they don’t want to resolve conflict.” “I thought we could convince you to stay.” Until that day, there was no conflict to resolve. We wanted to get out before that changed. Several times, at least four times, I would interject and say that if we’re going to continue talking, I wanted my parents present. They continued to ignore my requests. Before the final time that I asked for my parents to join this “meeting,” my husband was completely pulled away. I was left alone, cornered by the pastor and his wife—the pastor standing very close, towering over me, with a demeanor that was anything but pastoral. I have never before felt afraid in church, but my heart was racing as I had to look into that man’s face. His wife standing by, doing nothing to pull him away or stop him. She let him intimidate another woman, in God’s house. After the last time I time I protested what was happening, he asked me why I wanted my parents there. This entire time I had carefully chosen my words and tried to hold my tongue to keep myself from saying things that would open doors I didn’t want to walk through, opening cans I didn’t want to open, but I finally told him directly:
“I’m not comfortable.” I don’t remember what he said, but I had to repeat myself. “I’m not comfortable talking to you.”
That’s the last thing I remember saying. He said more, and eventually the conversation-turned-confrontation ended. After they let me go, I watched him walk over to my husband with a friendly smile and handshake—night and day from my encounter. My heart was beating out of my chest. I raced downstairs, my brain rapidly processing what had just happened. I had to pack up some ministry supplies I had brought to the church. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. When I got to the basement, I unexpectedly burst into tears. Trying not to be loud, I told my parents and whoever else was there what had happened. “They cornered me! They cornered me and I had to talk to them alone, and it went exactly how I knew it would and I was alone! I was alone!”
My mom started to tell me to write the district. Then, she vanished. I was able to calm down enough to grab a couple bags, and head out.
When I got upstairs, the pastor’s wife came after me, trying to block me from leaving the church. She was the only person I could see. It was like everything in my peripheral vision was in shadows; I could only see in front of me. I knew other people were around, but I couldn’t see anyone.
“Did you tell your parents what happened?” “Why would you lie to them? We didn’t corner you, Tim was there!” As I got to the door, I turned and don’t even remember seeing her face, but I know that I did. I told her that when two people surround a single person, that’s cornering someone. Then, I left. I didn’t go back. I stayed in the car, until we finally drove away.
I didn’t know what happened when my mom left. I learned later that they had defended me to the pastor and his wife. Confronted the pastor about confronting their daughter. You all would be so lucky to have parents like mine.
Later that day, I received a “heartfelt apology” text from the pastor.
“I didn’t know you were offended, until your mother came upstairs and berated me.”
I have a lot to process. More than I thought I did.
The only thing that has given me any peace is knowing that God sees it all. He sees me, He sees everyone else. He saw what happened that day. He saw it all. And, long before that day even came, He has always told me, “I see it, and I will handle it.” So, I trust Him. I struggled with sharing this, because I felt like it was an underhanded attempt to handle it on my own, but it’s not. It’s just a record, for my sake.
The Lord taught me a lot during my time there. I wanted to honor the Lord when things got hard, so I learned to seek God in a new way. He carried me through. And, I’m trying to do that now. It’s just…hard. I’ve not been through anything like that before; it’s new to me. And, frankly, I barely have a minute to really think about it and let my brain process it. Writing it out has helped. I feel like I’m lying about it, because it is so unreal, but I’m not. I feel like I’m committing a church crime by honestly sharing my experience, but I’m not doing that, either. “Hush, you don’t speak bad about pastors.” If it was a lie, that’d be different. That would be wrong. Church culture is just very hush-hush about these things. We don’t want to gossip. We blame ourselves. We make excuses for the bad behavior. But, people just keep getting hurt. Our silence doesn’t help anyone. I don’t want more people to get hurt. I wish the people who left this church years before me had spoken up. I feel betrayed by people I barely know.
I don’t expect my little blog will make any difference in this big picture, but at least for myself it’s out. It’s out of my head. For posterity’s sake, it’s recorded. Maybe, someone else can get out before they get hurt, too. Or, before they get hurt, again.
I hope we all do what’s right.
a different kind of woman 
Wow.
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