After attending church for decades, my husband, Jim, and I began staying home Sunday mornings. That season was short lived but felt interminable. What led us to exit the church and what drew us back?

Jim grew up Episcopal and I grew up Methodist, so we began our faith journey by exchanging wedding vows at a United Methodist Church. Three years later, we landed at a local Presbyterian Church. A non-denominational congregation was our longest stint, then we shortened our commute to a Baptist Church. Most recently, an Evangelical Free church is home.

Our pastor holds a weekly round table inviting elders, deacons, and home group leaders to spitball his upcoming sermon. Jim and I loved his obvious humility and curiosity about others’ thoughts. Pastor G. posed the question one day, “Before the others arrive, why did you two leave your last church?” Before a myriad of hurtful stories escaped my lips, Jim blurted out, “Just don’t make her mad, or we’ll have to leave here too!” When I punched him in the shoulder (but considered strangling him), both men burst out laughing, sharing the same dry wit.

In reality, deep hurt, and rarely theological differences, caused us to leave one house of worship in search of another. Isn’t it true that offenses within the church sting to the core? The obvious has been stated, “There’s no perfect church.” How true, as there’s no perfect human. 

On any given day, this thought must run through a pastor’s mind: “I’d love my job if it wasn’t for all the people!” The Christ-like compassion, humility, and accountability required to shepherd the flock could test the purest of earthly saints.

People of faith can be bull-headed, gossipy, critical, and non-committal. Some are argumentative and conflict follows wherever they go. Or the opposite occurs. Avoiding conflict at all cost, non-confrontational people struggle in a different way. Leaving church, their blood pressure rises, and they withdraw or explode to those closest to them about unrelated issues.

Despite our own shortcomings, how often do high expectations of our spiritual leaders crumble and reconciliations never occur?

Pastors who preached those great messages and served us communion, baptized our babies, made hospital visits, spoke at loved one’s funerals, counseled us into reconciliation with others, shared meals, served side-by-side in the mission field, socialized, laughed and cried together and then…their humanity spilled out. 

Following a service, the pastor asked a woman why she was crying. When she said that she missed her friend who had just died three months earlier, he replied, “If you believed she’s in heaven, you wouldn’t be so upset.” 

The decision was made to cancel Vacation Bible school because the noise from the children would disturb the pastor working on his PhD of Divinity. 

Through the years, a gentleman taught adult Bible study classes but was not asked to return and teach. The associate pastor told his wife, “If your husband would show a servant’s heart by working in the parking lot or cleaning communion cups, he may be asked to teach again.”

A couple and their two little boys began attending church at an elementary school. The following year, the pastor asked to see their tax returns to make sure they were tithing appropriately. 

Infidelity of a pastor and parishioner came to light following closed-door counseling sessions.

The volume of worship music became ear-piecing. An audiologist in the congregation brought equipment proving decibel levels were dangerously high. Presenting this fact to the worship leader, the response was, “Too bad. You’re in the minority.”

Our own church began selling books. After a church member purchased one for his daughter, now questioning her faith in college, he was horrified to learn that the book made her more skeptical. It questioned the validity of Jesus’ statement in John 14:6, “I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Sharing his outrage publicly in our couple’s group, he asked why its content had not been vetted. After approaching the associate pastor with the man’s concerns, that pastor never spoke to either of us again.

Jim and I had become weary of  it all and resigned from positions of leadership. We began staying home Sunday mornings, and old wounds festered. Four months dragged by. Jim suggested we try out another church. Refusing, I repeated my mantra, “I just can’t relive Sundays being the hardest day of the week.”

If I caved, I knew how it would go. We would try to be invisible and sit in the back, but the unavoidable would occur. “Please fill out a guest card.” “Are you coming here now?” “You’re going to love this pastor!” We always made a pact to not get involved and participate. If history proved right, that plan would crumble.

In reality, I missed everything about church that was good. Gone was the joy and reverence in gathering together with our faith community each Sunday. We grieved the absence of countless sweet relationships built in Bible studies and home groups. That year, we missed all the Sunday services leading up to Christmas.

Just after the New Year, I was experiencing an internal struggle, a void. Jim walked in the sunroom with his coffee, sat down next to me with his Bible, opened it and said, “Karen, every day this week, I can’t get away from this Scripture in Hebrews." “Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching” (Heb. 10:23-25).

Before the complacency of staying away from church rooted too deeply, God’s Word convicted us to do as instructed. We visited a church and gladly began investing our time, talents, and tithes. Past hurts that weighed me down through the decades lifted. It was always about coming to a place of forgiveness. How freeing to acknowledge that each of the pastors in the churches I previously attended played a significant role in my faith journey. “On this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it” (Matt. 16:18).

I stand in awe of all who have a healthy church life where roots run deep. But for those of us who presently battle hurt or theological differences, move on. When an inability to reconcile takes away your joy and mounting issues become a distraction in your time of worship, could it be the Holy Spirit leading you to another congregation? Changing churches is difficult, but don’t carry the anger with you. Grieve appropriately with a trusted counselor or prayer partner. Speaking publically about pastors who hurt me may have helped me feel justified, temporarily. But critical words and, more to the point, gossip can divide a church, tripping up individuals in their fellowship with God and one another.

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Rom. 3:23). Even pastors. Even me.

FOR FURTHER STUDY

📖 Read: Hebrews 10:23-25; Matthew 16:18; Psalm 37:5-6

🔍 Reflect:

• What emotions do I feel when I think about returning to church?
• Have I allowed past experiences to keep me from God’s best for my spiritual life?
• How can I begin to take small steps toward healing and re-engagement?

🙏 Pray:

Lord, I feel hesitant to trust again, but I don’t want to let past wounds keep me from the good You have for me. Help me to find a healthy, Christ-centered church where I can grow and serve. Heal my heart, and give me the courage to take steps toward community again. Amen.