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I posted Friday about not being in church as an institution. I wrote about the spiritual abuse I experienced that led to my departure. Today, I want to be vulnerable and share a way I messed up because I don't want to fall into the same narcissistic patterns that harmed me. And I have nothing to fear in being honest about my own shortcomings. Stories that highlight my anger, pride, and immaturity are embarrassing, sure, but they also highlight my humanity, imperfections, and utter dependence on God. I accept limits, and I accept that I am limited.
Before I begin, I want to clarify that though the claims I listed were not the reason for my departure from the church, I am not saying that those are invalid reasons for the departure of others. I also want to say I’m really not mad (anymore) about everything that happened. I have forgiven the one who spiritually abused me. My forgiveness, though, does not negate the necessity of holding this leader accountable and urging the leader to repent. After I left, I wrote a letter to the leader. I chose the format of a letter rather than an email because I did not want to continue correspondence. The leader wanted to act like everything was fine between us should we see one another in public. I, however, could not pretend like there was not a problem between us. This leader’s actions, words, and accusations broke trust with me, and the leader did little to acknowledge that broken trust or repair the trust between us. The leader’s unconfessed sin made it too difficult to be around the leader. This isn't me holding a grudge. Rather, I am acknowledging that there is division, and I won't pretend like it doesn't exist because that isn't beneficial for anyone. This leader brought harmful accusations against me, spoke damaging things, and pridefully questioned my character and motives. The leader cannot expect things to be fine between us and doesn’t get to decide that things are fine between us. In the letter, I communicated to the leader that there was sin against me and that I was just trying to provide an opportunity to repent and repair. The leader never properly asked for my forgiveness, but I wrote to the leader that should the leader ask for forgiveness in a way that owns and confesses wrongdoing while working to repair the damage done, I will joyfully extend forgiveness. I know some people who don’t understand the full story have criticized me for not having compassion, but I refuse to enable sin and call it Christian compassion. My forgiveness also does not mean that I will never speak of the spiritual abuse. I cannot be silent while others are hurting, too. I hope my boldness leads others to speak up, too. The last thing I want to say about the incident is that I was not asked if there was anything that leadership could do to change my mind or cause me to stay, though the same has been asked of at least one person. In the letter, I stated three things that could be done: 1) Establish an executive board for accountability; 2) Take a sabbatical; 3) Schedule counseling sessions. These three things would be beneficial for the whole church, but they would also aid in the healing and flourishing of the leader as well. After all of this, I still deeply care for this leader and want God’s best for this leader.
Now onto my own failure. I will try to write in a way that protects the identity of those involved who may not want to be identified. This year, I attended an event and acted like a complete jerk. I really did. Throughout the event, little comments were triggering for me regarding men and women and certain interpretations were being shared that I no longer agree with after listening to the Almost Heretical Gender Series. One statement after another piled up, and I got up to leave because I knew I was about to say something louder than the frustration I was already vocalizing to the person beside me. At that point, I was so upset that I knew it would be hard to stay calm if I said something. As I was heading out the door, another sentence was spoken that stopped me in my tracks. I knew I had to say something. I walked back in and sat back down. Then another sentence hit me hard, and I blurted out, “Actually, no,” followed by a rant that reeked of pride before I softened my tone as I was winding down on my diatribe. When everyone was praying, I left, came home, and cried. I told Stephen that I didn’t know what came over me but that I knew I needed to apologize to the people who hosted and to the person I launched a tirade against.
Some people have sympathized with me, knowing that my intentions were never to hurt anyone. Though my intentions were not to inflict harm, I failed to exercise humility. I was full of regret for not coming in with more humility. I wish I had said, “From what I understand after some research on that…” But that’s not what I did. I needed to own where I erred, ask for forgiveness, and try to make things right. All I want from the leader who sinned against me is for the leader to do this, so I had to do the same, regardless of intentions.
I messaged the people who hosted, explained what I had been thinking, let them know I would be reaching out to the person I sinned against, and asked for their forgiveness. I also obtained the email address of the person I sinned against, but before I could email, I saw this person in a local fast food restaurant. Without offering any excuses, I apologized for the lack of humility I displayed and asked for forgiveness. The person hugged me, forgave me, and was such a picture of the grace of God to me. As I reflected on this experience, I responded to a poetry prompt that required me to write a poem about something I consider evil. I wrote a poem about my pride, likening myself to a Pharisee. In early November 2021, I learned that Pharisee should not be used in this way because it is anti-Semitic. Kevin Garcia brought this up in their episode "Bad Theology Kills" on the Broadening the Narrative podcast. In light of this, I have removed the poem and updated the remainder of this post.
I posted Friday about not being in church as an institution. I wrote about the spiritual abuse I experienced that led to my departure. Today, I want to be vulnerable and share a way I messed up because I don't want to fall into the same narcissistic patterns that harmed me. And I have nothing to fear in being honest about my own shortcomings. Stories that highlight my anger, pride, and immaturity are embarrassing, sure, but they also highlight my humanity, imperfections, and utter dependence on God. I accept limits, and I accept that I am limited.
Before I begin, I want to clarify that though the claims I listed were not the reason for my departure from the church, I am not saying that those are invalid reasons for the departure of others. I also want to say I’m really not mad (anymore) about everything that happened. I have forgiven the one who spiritually abused me. My forgiveness, though, does not negate the necessity of holding this leader accountable and urging the leader to repent. After I left, I wrote a letter to the leader. I chose the format of a letter rather than an email because I did not want to continue correspondence. The leader wanted to act like everything was fine between us should we see one another in public. I, however, could not pretend like there was not a problem between us. This leader’s actions, words, and accusations broke trust with me, and the leader did little to acknowledge that broken trust or repair the trust between us. The leader’s unconfessed sin made it too difficult to be around the leader. This isn't me holding a grudge. Rather, I am acknowledging that there is division, and I won't pretend like it doesn't exist because that isn't beneficial for anyone. This leader brought harmful accusations against me, spoke damaging things, and pridefully questioned my character and motives. The leader cannot expect things to be fine between us and doesn’t get to decide that things are fine between us. In the letter, I communicated to the leader that there was sin against me and that I was just trying to provide an opportunity to repent and repair. The leader never properly asked for my forgiveness, but I wrote to the leader that should the leader ask for forgiveness in a way that owns and confesses wrongdoing while working to repair the damage done, I will joyfully extend forgiveness. I know some people who don’t understand the full story have criticized me for not having compassion, but I refuse to enable sin and call it Christian compassion. My forgiveness also does not mean that I will never speak of the spiritual abuse. I cannot be silent while others are hurting, too. I hope my boldness leads others to speak up, too. The last thing I want to say about the incident is that I was not asked if there was anything that leadership could do to change my mind or cause me to stay, though the same has been asked of at least one person. In the letter, I stated three things that could be done: 1) Establish an executive board for accountability; 2) Take a sabbatical; 3) Schedule counseling sessions. These three things would be beneficial for the whole church, but they would also aid in the healing and flourishing of the leader as well. After all of this, I still deeply care for this leader and want God’s best for this leader.
Now onto my own failure. I will try to write in a way that protects the identity of those involved who may not want to be identified. This year, I attended an event and acted like a complete jerk. I really did. Throughout the event, little comments were triggering for me regarding men and women and certain interpretations were being shared that I no longer agree with after listening to the Almost Heretical Gender Series. One statement after another piled up, and I got up to leave because I knew I was about to say something louder than the frustration I was already vocalizing to the person beside me. At that point, I was so upset that I knew it would be hard to stay calm if I said something. As I was heading out the door, another sentence was spoken that stopped me in my tracks. I knew I had to say something. I walked back in and sat back down. Then another sentence hit me hard, and I blurted out, “Actually, no,” followed by a rant that reeked of pride before I softened my tone as I was winding down on my diatribe. When everyone was praying, I left, came home, and cried. I told Stephen that I didn’t know what came over me but that I knew I needed to apologize to the people who hosted and to the person I launched a tirade against.
Some people have sympathized with me, knowing that my intentions were never to hurt anyone. Though my intentions were not to inflict harm, I failed to exercise humility. I was full of regret for not coming in with more humility. I wish I had said, “From what I understand after some research on that…” But that’s not what I did. I needed to own where I erred, ask for forgiveness, and try to make things right. All I want from the leader who sinned against me is for the leader to do this, so I had to do the same, regardless of intentions.
I messaged the people who hosted, explained what I had been thinking, let them know I would be reaching out to the person I sinned against, and asked for their forgiveness. I also obtained the email address of the person I sinned against, but before I could email, I saw this person in a local fast food restaurant. Without offering any excuses, I apologized for the lack of humility I displayed and asked for forgiveness. The person hugged me, forgave me, and was such a picture of the grace of God to me. As I reflected on this experience, I responded to a poetry prompt that required me to write a poem about something I consider evil. I wrote a poem about my pride, likening myself to a Pharisee. In early November 2021, I learned that Pharisee should not be used in this way because it is anti-Semitic. Kevin Garcia brought this up in their episode "Bad Theology Kills" on the Broadening the Narrative podcast. In light of this, I have removed the poem and updated the remainder of this post.
Y’all, I am the most prideful person in the room. Always. And when I forget this, which is often, I puff up with additional pride and attempt to escape correction and instruction. Even as I write this, I know there is someone I need to apologize to for an impatient response I gave a few weeks ago. I’m not always the victim, but I’m also not always the villain. I think of the lines from Propaganda's song “Made Straight” - “Life is not a comic book/There are no perfect victims or villains, just us.” I realize I can be the villain, and am, in some situations. But the times that I need to confess for acting in ways that harmed others don't absolve those who have hurt me of the responsibility to own where they've erred. Knowing that there is something I need to repent and repair does not release others of repenting and repairing their sin against me. We’re siblings, which means we will hurt one another, but then we all must be willing to apologize and work at the relationship until we get it right. And when there is power at play, the one with power must be humble enough to not lord that power over others and listen to the one who does not hold the power until the relationship is restored.
So there you have it. I fail, too, which you already knew, and I am fully aware that I have numerous shortcomings. I am also aware that I need my siblings, their insights, perspectives, and corrections. Here’s to not fulfilling Proverbs 29:1 - “One who becomes stiff-necked, after many reprimands will be shattered instantly - beyond recovery.”
Grace and peace.
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