Church trauma is something that comes up often in our culture today. It’s talked about everywhere—and yet, trying to discern which stories are fully true, misunderstood, or somewhere in between can feel nearly impossible.
But regardless of where you land on the subject, we can’t ignore it. And if we’re honest, most of us carry some form of hurt connected to the Church.
What you’re about to read is a glimpse into mine.
Life in your 20s is already full of challenges. You’re discovering who you are, navigating education or a career, learning independence, and trying to build a future. There are highs and lows, but over time, things usually begin to stabilize.
For me, that wasn’t the case.
Instead, I found myself walking through a season where the Church—something meant to be a place of hope and stability—became one of the most destabilizing forces in my life.
After moving out of my parents’ home, I began searching for a new church. A pastor who had discipled me gave me a list of recommendations. When I finally found time in my demanding work schedule, I visited the first church on that list.
It was a small church out in the countryside—down a dirt road, with a cemetery beside it. Not exactly what you’d expect for a growing, thriving congregation. But the parking lot was full. The worship was energetic, the preaching was bold, and an emphasis on revival was compelling.
Needless to say, someone my age at the time yearned for something like this.
“I found myself walking through a season where the Church—something meant to be a place of hope and stability—became one of the most destabilizing forces in my life.”
I would eventually meet the pastor after the service. He shared what God had been doing, and I left feeling confident that this was where the Lord was calling me.
What I didn’t know was that the next several years would become some of the hardest of my life.
Two weeks later, everything changed. The full parking lot was gone. Attendance had dropped significantly. The atmosphere was different. Something was clearly wrong.
When I asked the pastor what had happened, he explained that conflict had erupted after he invited a guest speaker—someone connected to a ministry in the Kansas City area whose theology raised concerns. The situation wasn’t handled well, and the result was division. People left. An unofficial church plant sprang up in a nearby town.
It was messy.
But I didn’t leave.
I believed God had called me there, and I wasn’t ready to walk away. Looking back, I can see how pride and stubbornness played a role in that decision. The red flags were already there—but I convinced myself to stay.
What followed was chaos:
- A sex scandal among church leadership
- Pressure to give money toward large purchases
- Attempts to leave met with guilt and manipulation
- Multiple church splits
- A lead pastor neglecting both his family and the church
- “Misplaced” bylaws that removed accountability
- Ongoing questions about where the money was going
- Deep and unresolved theological conflict
When people hear this, they often ask, “Why did you stay?”
“The red flags were already there—but I convinced myself to stay.”
The answer was and still is complicated: I didn’t feel like I could leave.
I was serving as a volunteer youth pastor. The students I was ministering to were walking through incredibly difficult situations, and I couldn’t bring myself to abandon them.
At the same time, leaving felt like giving up—it was as if I would be losing faith in what God could do in a broken situation.
So I stayed. And it hurt.
One of the worst hurts was trusting my pastor. Time and time again, when an issue came up, I allowed him to convince me that the real issue wasn’t him, but other people because they couldn’t “see what God was doing.” He was smart enough to use God as a convenient way to dismiss what was going on or even sweep things under the rug. His passion and charisma were something I allowed to persuade me.
I would trust him—then it would come back to bite me time and time again. When I had finally had enough, I attempted to leave, but he did something I wasn’t expecting: he used his kids, whom I had come to love in the youth group, against me. If I were to leave, he made it clear it would greatly harm them mentally and spiritually. The circumstances forced my hand—I cared for his kids, especially since he was gone a lot and the home dynamic didn’t make it easy for them.
The weight of it all was overwhelming.
The dysfunction. The manipulation. The instability.
I felt trapped.
Like leaving meant abandoning people I cared about…
but staying meant continuing to be wounded.
“Leaving meant abandoning people I cared about…but staying meant continuing to be wounded.”
But God, in His grace, made a way.
That way was made possible by meeting my wife and embracing the chance to move away. With distance and time, I was able to breathe. Slowly, God began to bring clarity, healing, and perspective.
I didn’t see it clearly then, but of course He was at work the entire time.
Ultimately, that season left a deep wound—one I’m still recovering from.
Even now, I find myself wrestling with regret, trying to reconcile everything that happened. How could the pain cut so deeply…and yet, at the same time, I can look back and clearly see God at work?
Because the truth is, it wasn’t all bad.
- I saw students surrender their lives to Christ. Two of those students were the pastors’ very own children.
- I watched families walk through tragedy and come out stronger in faith.
- I experienced deep, meaningful friendships that still matter to this day.
God was moving, even in the middle of the mess.
“God was moving, even in the middle of the mess.”
I think that’s part of the mystery and the beauty of difficult seasons. Even when pain comes from the most unexpected places, like the Church, God is still able to redeem it. 
In our suffering, He cultivates a deeper understanding of His grace.
In our wounds, He reveals His power to restore.
He doesn’t waste the pain we experience.
Putting words to that season hasn’t been easy. Terms like spiritual abuse and church hurt once felt guilty to contemplate. Now, they’ve helped me begin to process what actually happened with greater clarity and honesty.
And through that process, God has been faithful.
He’s shown me that no wound is beyond His ability to heal.
No hurt is too deep for His redemption.
Even when the pain comes from those who were meant to reflect Him.
“He doesn’t waste the pain we experience.”
So let me ask you:
What has your experience been with church hurt or spiritual abuse?
It may not look like mine. It may not feel as severe, or it may have been much worse than mine. But ignoring it won’t lead to healing. Being real and honest will.
Because when we bring those wounds into the light, we give the Gospel room to do what it does best: restore, redeem, and make whole.
When to leave?
It wouldn’t be appropriate to end this article without exploring a question you might be pondering: when should I leave a church if I am experiencing some kind of abuse?
Every situation is going to be different, and the level of abuse may look different. To be honest, I even feel somewhat hypocritical giving advice on this, but here are some good reasons to consider leaving:
- When a church leader is manipulating you
- When they are trying to force you to stay with language like, “God told me He doesn’t want you to leave,” “Your leaving would destroy others,” or “You just need to trust God” (when, by that, they actually mean, “You just need to trust me”)
- Being pressured into giving large tithes that are questionable in nature
- Having a church leader who lacks accountability and causes constant harm to the overall health of the church
- Lack of financial transparency
You get the point—there can be plenty of reasons.
The thing is, though—perhaps the situation is correctable, and you can stay and be a force for redemption. Or perhaps the situation is wearing you down, and you know for your spiritual health that it’s time to leave. Either way, I encourage you to bring your wounds to Jesus and into the light through safe conversations with trusted mentors.
Ultimately, be honest about your hurts and take these considerations prayerfully, biblically, and with an outside spiritual leader who reflects the heart of Christ for guidance.
