Pursued

They were scattered because there was no shepherd,

My sheep were scattered all over the face of the earth,

        with none to search or seek for them.

–Ezekiel 34: 5-6

Over the last fifteen years, God placed my husband, Jon, and I and our four kids on a wilderness road running through various forms of oppression at the hands of false shepherds. On this thorn and thistle path, we’ve seen the parallels between narcissistic families and churches; we’ve observed the many faces of narcissistic church leaders; and we’ve battled our own doubt in God’s goodness and compassion. Throughout the years we have cried out with the psalmist, “How long, Oh Lord?” and questioned the wisdom of God’s path for us. Amid one dark church valley after another, we’ve stumbled, fallen, and nearly given up on church altogether, but as a friend of mine shared after losing everything she once held dear, “I thank God that he held me onto my faith.” More than once along the way, we’ve aligned ourselves with those who are “done” with institutional church but not done with Jesus or fellowshipping with other believers. We’ve worshipped in churches of all sizes and structures—from small, to mega, to multi-campus, to new plant, to house church, to online sermons at home with our kids. Together Jon and I have laughed and cried at public characterizations of people who are ‘done’ with church as being lazy do-nothings lounging in their PJs on a Sunday morning because they got their feelings hurt at church and stormed out in a fit of over-sensitive rage. Nothing could be further from the truth, well maybe except the PJ part—PJ’s and online sermons are awesome, especially with teenagers in the house.

About six or seven churches into our wilderness wandering, we began to believe the unifying theme in all our bad experiences was our Reformed Baptist tradition. We naively thought, “Maybe it’s just the Reformed camp that’s messed up.”  So, we ventured outside our tradition and met some folks from more charismatic and Arminian-leaning[1] denominations who’d also been wounded by false shepherds. We realized then that the problem in the American Church went deeper than denomination. We finally understood that bad churches are bad and false shepherds are false because of the condition of their hearts. Denominational leanings and theological convictions influence the specific expressions of the heart, but don’t create narcissistic churches or leaders.

Locating the theme of our bad church experiences inside the human heart opened the door to a muddy wallow in cynicism.  Jon and I knew only God had the power to change hearts, and from our limited view on our wee patch of desert, it didn’t seem like God was doing anything about the darkness in pulpits or the oppressive leaders in religious positions across our nation. For a time, our whole family retreated behind the self-protective mask of cynicism and pointed our collective finger at all the false shepherds sitting in plush armchairs on high stages in front of adoring congregants. Thankfully, God didn’t leave us in that dark pit. Cynicism feels self-justifying for a hot minute but then you realize not only are you alone, but you’re miserable too. In his mercy, God reached down, pulled us out of our cynicism, and focused our eyes on our True Shepherd.

But the wilderness wandering wasn’t over yet. God had more humbling and shaping in mind for us. With every church experience we’d look at each other and say things like, “Well, I think we’ve seen it all. Every face of narcissism that exists out there—been there, done that.” Ha! The naivety of that assumption. We realize now that the expressions of narcissism are as various as humanity.[2]

At one point in our journey, Jon and I got so fed up with the weary length of our desert path that we thought taking our kids on a church history tour might be a good idea. At least we’d see some beautiful architecture and stained glass! We started with a Catholic mass and our kids were fascinated by the robes, rituals, and brevity of the sermon. We had lively conversations about the purpose of liturgy and the downfall of works-based religion. Even our adopted Grandpa Dave—a Jewish Vietnam Veteran who grew up Catholic—joined the conversation to entertain our kids with stories of him and his Catholic football buddies being forced into the role of altar boys and getting drunk on the priest’s hidden stash of liquor. Our three boys roared with laughter as Grandpa Dave described throwing incense and holy water all over the pews and drunkenly bonking parishioners on the head with a metal cross attached to a long pole. Yet our church history tour was short-lived because we longed to be fed God’s word and belong to a church body.

Along the way Jon and I made more than one blunder as we learned how to wisely navigate the tricky relational dynamics of narcissistic churches and leaders. As the more impulsive, faster thinker between the two of us, I had more than my fair share of open-mouth-insert-foot kinds of moments. In one small church we attended, the pastor’s wife had a history of personal trauma, loss, and abandonment by her father. My heart went out to her in her pain and suffering. Yet, Jon and I watched in dismay as she yelled at her husband in the church foyer, called him names, and openly demeaned him as a father and husband.  In the women’s bible study I attended, the pastor’s wife went so far as to openly criticize other women in the church. Everyone, elders and their wives included, walked on eggshells around the pastor’s wife.  Jon and I chose to overlook it all as insecurity and immaturity and sought to love the people where they were at. The only “feedback” I gave, if you can call it that, was to suggest that we include prayer in our women’s bible study time. Then one Sunday morning the pastor’s wife interrupted a conversation I was having with another woman in the church foyer and began openly mocking me in her words, attitude, and gestures.  She was so over-the-top that I simply watched in fascination while the woman I had been speaking to shifted uncomfortably and opened her mouth to defuse the awkwardness of the moment: “You are being really . . . really . . .”  As she fumbled around for the right word to describe the bizarre actions of the pastor’s wife, I filled in the gap with: “Plastic!” The ensuing silence was deafening. But it fit—the pastor’s wife along with the rest of the church felt like some kind of Barbie-and-Ken charade where the people played church while overlooking real-life issues. The irony of it all is that after we left that church, they updated their website with these words: “We are a genuine, authentic church family.” To quote Shakespeare, “They doth protest too much!” Sadly, this wasn’t the only time we witnessed leadership covering up disturbing behaviors and cruel remarks under the guise of “authenticity.” When friends of ours who attended that church asked why we left, we told them the pastor and his wife needed help. That no one was getting them help but instead enabling destructive patterns of relating. That overlooking the stark reality of the glaring mental health issues of the pastor’s wife was neither loving nor wise.

More than once in our journey, Jon and I found ourselves asking, “Is something wrong with us that we can’t find a healthy church?” Even well-meaning souls triggered shame with comments like “Good grief! You guys must be commitment-phobes or something. There’s no such thing as a perfect church, ya know?!” Yes. Thank you. We know that all too well.  In moments like those I’d clam up and slink away. I didn’t even bother to defend myself since I knew from experience it wouldn’t do any good. No one understood. Or so I felt. At one point my despair echoed that of the prophet, Elijah, as he ran for his life from evil leaders and hid in a cave: “Lord, we have served you as well as we could! But the American church is full of false shepherds and fakes that seek to destroy and silence us. We are ready to give up and call it quits!”

One of the most unsettling themes running through our church experiences was the consistent message that analytical, questioning souls are not welcome in the American Church. Several churches in, my husband sought out the head of a large church planting organization to ask about the state of the wider church and the mission of that church planting organization. Jon had observed that many of the new church plants popping up across our local landscape appeared to be rather ‘niche’ oriented. He was concerned that these ‘niche-specific’ churches, whether intentional or not, ended up ostracizing certain people groups based on socio-economic status, school district, and other non-essential factors. The leader’s response: “People like you are what’s wrong with the church. You aren’t supposed to ask questions, just do what the leaders tell you to do.” Jon’s jaw nearly hit the floor. The leader saw nothing wrong with dismissing his voice—and value—as a fellow brother in Christ. In another church context, the pastor and his wife pegged Jon and I as “analytical”; that is, observant, cautious counselors who don’t just take life and people at face value. Throughout our time at that church, from the pulpit to small group settings, to unplanned public encounters, we heard consistent digs at “analytical people.” One time I ran into the pastor’s wife at a public pool, and she followed me around while speaking in rapid-fire sentences about “analytical people from Minnesota (Jon is from Minnesota) who are too serious, think too much, aren’t very fun, and ask too many questions.” Wherever I swam—underwater, over, and across—there she was, yapping in my ear about the evils of analytical people.

Good counselor-friends of ours encouraged us with these words in one of our lowest moments: “I’m thankful God has kept you.” There is really no explanation for why we haven’t given up on church other than Jesus. He has kept us and held us onto our faith. He’s taught us that because we belong to him, we are safe no matter our circumstance, and we hold onto his promise that he will yet do good in the American church.[3] As pastor Tim Keller said in a sermon on Ezekiel 34, false shepherds have always been around and always will be. There’s nothing new under the sun. Perhaps at this cultural moment we are experiencing a flushing of false shepherds and fake sheep from the church on a grand scale. Why? As Ed Welch, a wise counselor and former professor of mine once said, the answer “is simple, not simplistic, complex but not complicated.” James helps us when he says “What causes fights and quarrels among you?  The desires of your hearts!” Perhaps our individualistic, materialistic, performance-oriented American culture has contributed to the churches’ collective superiority complex. Perhaps, like Mike Cosper asserted on his popular podcast “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill,”[4] narcissistic pastors reflect the heart desires of the people in the pews.  Perhaps We the People liked narcissistic pastors because their success and charisma somehow made us look and feel good about ourselves.  Perhaps both false shepherds and wounded sheep need to remember that life and flourishing is found in humbly loving and reflecting our True Shepherd, Jesus.

What I know for sure is the sheep have been scattered far and wide. Many genuine, wounded souls “done” with false shepherds and narcissistic church cultures have been quietly living out their faith wishing they knew a safe church community to call home. To these scattered sheep I say—you aren’t crazy, you aren’t alone, and God sees you. He sees that you have become prey for false shepherds, and he will put a stop to their abuse. He will rescue you from all the places where you have been scattered. He will bring back the strayed, bind up the injured, and strengthen the weak. The fat and the strong he will destroy and feed them justice.[5] Our Good Shepherd will once again lead us to green pastures and quiet streams.

We will not remain in the desert forever.

During our wilderness wandering, it helps to know we aren’t alone. Sometimes the heat of our little desert patch wrings us dry and we long for oasis: perspective, fellowship, and direction. When sweltering in the heat of trial, meeting other sheep clinging to Jesus in their suffering brings comfort and hope. In our own journey, God provided just enough support from other sheep to persevere, but not so much that we’d forget Jesus. Our wandering years squeezed and propelled us into finding home in the saftest place of all—our Good Shepherd.

Reflection

To begin grieving and healing from church trauma, it’s important to tell your story. Writing your story on a timeline noting significant events, conversations, and characters helps bring clarity regarding what happened and what you are grieving. If you were silenced and told not to share, speaking the details of your story helps you reclaim your God-given voice. For those of you stuck in endless ruminating over painful details, writing out a timeline of events can help you step out of that cycle with a clearer focus for healing and recovery.

Begin with a timeline that captures a “bird’s-eye-view” of your experience(s). Note significant facts and events only. Skip deeper reflection questions that feel “too much.” Go back through a second time—when you feel ready—and fill in more emotional weight and color. Each person begins telling her story from a different place along the healing path. Some of you may be ready to dive into deeper waters while others may need to begin in the shallow end. There is no right or wrong here—go at your own pace.

Example of “Birds’-eye View” Timeline

As you begin writing your story, keep these things in mind:

• It may be helpful to frame your story through the lens of Psalm 23—a walk with your Good Shepherd. He was with you before, during, and after your painful experience. Your story of church trauma stretches through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It’s dark in the Valley, so don’t forget where you are headed—safety and home with Jesus.
• As you jot down notes on your timeline, you may find yourself wondering: “Jesus, were you really there? And if so, did you care?!” These questions are moving towards the “deep end” of your experience. Write them down. Express the grief, anger, sorrow, guilt, shame as it creeps to the surface. You aren’t too much for Jesus. He invites you to speak it all.
• Throughout this journey of story-telling and healing, if you struggle with doubting God’s care you may find this truth helpful: Jesus led his people through the storm like a flock by the hand, though His footprints were unseen (Psalm 77). Jesus hears you and is with you, though it may not feel like it just yet.
• Pacing—this is not a race. Go at a pace that feels comfortable to you. Begin writing your story at the beginning, the middle, the end—wherever you feel ready to wade in—and fill it in slowly. If you are writing and begin to feel overwhelmed, walk away, breathe, pray, talk to a safe person. Come back to writing when you are ready. Healing is a process, not a destination.

You can find the next post in this series here.

---

[1] Reformed doctrine places a heavier emphasis on God’s sovereignty in salvation, whereas Arminianism places a heavier emphasis on man’s choice to receive God’s gift of salvation. For a more complete discussion, you can listen/read about the differences here: https://www.desiringgod.org/interviews/watershed-differences-between-calvinists-and-arminians

[2] Chuck DeGroat (LPC, PhD) author of When Narcissism Comes to Church makes a similar point in his chapter “The Nine Face of Narcissism.” He says, “Because many tend to associate narcissism with the grandiose politician or the megachurch pastor, it’s crucial that we expand our perspective, paying particular attention to the broader range of narcissism we see in our daily lives and in the church” (45).

[3] Paraphrase of Psalm 27:3 “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”

[4] “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill” is a podcast series produced by Christianity Today. “Hosted by Mike Cosper, this podcast takes you inside the story of Mars Hill Church in Seattle – from its founding as part of one of the largest church planting movements in American history to its very public dissolution—and the aftermath that followed. You’ll hear from people who lived this story, experiencing the triumphs and losses of Mars Hill, knowing it as both an amazing, life-transforming work of God and as a dangerous, abusive environment. The issues that plague Mars Hill and its founder, Mark Driscoll — dangers like money, celebrity, youth, scandal, and power—aren’t unique, and only by looking closely at what happened in Seattle will we be able to see ourselves.” https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/podcasts/rise-and-fall-of-mars-hill/

[5] Ezekiel 34:11-16, my paraphrase.