Exodus: Why I walked away

My time in the evangelical church was not just about attending the Sunday services or the occasional Wednesday night service. I was a devoted, and often blindly, follower of the stadium church I attended for almost 20 years. I volunteered and even worked at the church. I taught Sunday school for more than 16 years, to say that I was involved seems like an understatement.

I sat idly by as I watched people be disfellowshiped for divorcing their spouses. I sat complicit when people were fired from staff when they came out as gay. I rubber-stamped harmful political rhetoric that proliferated from the pulpit. I voted yes as a congregate to a $45 million state-of-the-art building. I listened and heard the game plan to make America a theocracy. I rolled my eyes at prophetic word after prophetic word affirmed the church's positions and the political direction the leadership wanted it to go. I prayed with the congregation for power for republican presidents, but prayers to silence the democrat ones. I bit my tongue when the church hosted large-donor-focused dinners. I was in the room when people showed their true motives of money and power. I sat silently as racist speeches were given from the pulpit under the guise of "we aren't racist, but." I sat with a smile while my pastor said we were not bending to the culture under the veil of multimillion-dollar lights and fog machines. I laughed every time "the end" was predicted, and the pulpiteers looked like utter fools. I was deafened by the silence on social justice issues plaguing our community and nation. I rolled my eyes as the pastoral staff started amassing luxury vehicles and homes in exclusive neighborhoods. I was the victim of senior staff that had no accountability lied, and manipulated the truth to make themselves look like true heroes. I stayed even after I was told that I was not welcome. I was a member of the country club of the privileged. I drank the bitterly sweet Koolaid.

Then I woke up. After tithing was compared to a gym membership, I knew this wasn't the place for me any longer. I started reading the Bible with context and saw things I had never seen before. Like Jesus' work in social justice. Take just the woman at the well. When you read it in context, you see that Jesus cared deeply for this woman, while I heard from the pulpit that she was nothing but a "used up" whore. I thought this was not the space/place for me.

The Holy Spirit and prophetic voices were often used to manipulate and control. Increasing political rhetoric and panic were spewed from the pulpit leading up to the 2019 election. I remember thinking about all the people who were vilified for asking questions and calling out the hypocrisy of seeking power and wealth. I kept feeling like a frog being slowly boiled in the water. I remember a couple of months before we left when I wrestled with the idea of leaving this institution. It's not easy because we allowed ourselves to build friendships, serving our community and community in the same church. Leaving meant leaving friendships that would say nothing would change but then knowing they would. We had seen it play out over and over in our time there. It was the moment that I started hearing about power and money over love and mercy. So on Easter of 2019, it was a goodbye. The irony is not lost on me that this was the weekend we chose to leave. I woke up the following day and unfollowed all the pages and social media accounts. It felt so good to unshackle myself. I did send an email to the only person on staff I respected at that point to let them know we had left. And that was that. I haven't looked back until I went to therapy in 2020 to unpack all the trauma this space caused.

It wasn't that long after I left one evangelical church I started attending another. It was refreshing and very healthy. None of the Holy Spirit woo woo stuff that I had seen and seen it terribly done. It was new, and the people were real. The pastor pulled me aside after being there for a couple of weeks and asked why would over 20 couples from the church I had just left come to their church for marriage counseling. I gave him my reason, which I will keep private, and his face got very sober. “That is exactly what they all said.” I knew I had made the right decision. Then I was asked to be in a discipleship group. We studied the Discipleship Essentials by Greg Ogden, which examines core tenants of the Christian faith. Each week for nine months, we walked through one topic; they included things like grace, redemption, justification, adoption, justice, love, and witness. In the study, I started to see what I was missing was the liturgy of our faith. I knew subjectively about these topics, but studying them in the depth we did blew wide open a hole in my faith. It blew up the superficial faith I had been practicing while opening me up to the desire to be part of a larger tradition and more profound spiritual journey.

This was me being confirmed into the Episcopalian Church.

This was the moment I began attending an Episcopalian church. I immediately began to see that I needed to be part of a tradition that could be traced back to the first-century church. I needed a place where I could go with tough questions and wasn't met with accusations of rebellion but grace and understanding. I will admit that attending the first time was tough because churches with ancient rituals, liturgy, and scripted prayers were labeled godless in evangelical spaces. It couldn't be further from the truth, but it was a hurdle I had to jump over. It was actually the Episcopal church that exposed all the abuse that I had let happen in the evangelical spaces. I never knew how much I could love a church instead of just attending, so I wasn't the Sunday lunch gossip. I will be honest, I sat in the church for the first few months and wondered when people began to be rude and hateful. I waited with bated breath when the priests would become beacons of political rhetoric. It just didn't happen. It felt uncomfortable how kind and sweet people were (that was just trauma talking). I immediately connected with the traditions even though they were foreign to me. I found comfort in the holiness of the Eucharist instead of the casual nature of communion in Evangelical upbringing.

But before I became an Episcopalian, I had to deal with the church trauma. I walked with my counselor through all the toxic programming and the belief that "satan" was behind every corner. I had to come to terms with myself and shed the things that were not really who God was. I had to examine and inflate the Truth from the lies. I started to think about how much tithing was used as a manipulation carrot, and how much I loved giving but hated the rhetoric over being "blessed" to tithe. The bubble gum gospel just didn't cut it anymore. It was a tumultuous and arduous process but similar to a long run, VERY cathartic. In my life, I have had moments where the undeniable presence of God was physically experienced. These experiences were the driving force in rectifying my faith. I started to see that Genesis one was an allegory, not literally how creation was accomplished. I may have shed the toxic, but I never lost sight of Jesus and His work on the Cross. I also saw how the “end time” mantras we’re a really easy way to not care about your neighbor, or the planet , or anything for the matter. I would also argue that church life and culture are not necessary for your life to be good; for me, it creates a community that I want in my life at the end of the day. I dug right into the six scriptures commonly used as a weapon for LGBTQIA+ folks. I wrestled with God and understood that it wasn't Him that was the issue but the programming.

I represented my church at the Pride Festival in town this year. There were tears, lots of tears, hugs, lots of hugs from people who thought the church had left them. There were questions to see if we would love and accept them. They melted when I explained what we believe as an open and affirming church. It cemented my belief that I was in the right place. It also felt like I was beginning the restorative work on much of the pain and suffering I was complicit in. This is the church, love without ceasing and without any of the buts.

Peace be with you.

P.S. I know that if you're reading this and we served together, there might be a tendency to dismiss me; please don't let yourself do that. Let it examine you.

P.P.S. I am happy and have joy that I never knew I could have. I want that for you too.

P.P.P.S. Systems of oppression will never show up for you, and an abused person will come back to the place of their abuse until they are healthy. Be healthy my friends.