When Leaving is a Holy Act
Photo by Ian Tinneberg
I don’t do well pretending.
Maybe because I’ve grown up in “the system,” I’ve seen “behind the curtain,” and feel comfortable to call BS. Maybe because I was born to be a skeptic and a questioner. I don’t know.
But, this is ultimately why I had to leave church.
Keeping my thoughts to myself and trying to go with the flow and smiling those fake smiles was splitting me apart inside. I had already dropped out of leading stuff because obviously, my heart had left the building. I was crying quiet tears on the way to, during, or on the way home from the Sunday services — NOT because I felt “convicted” or “moved,” but because I couldn’t be myself. I was surrounded by people but felt alone in my head. And no one knew the depth of my struggle because… how could I possibly explain it? They were all so “in,” while I was 99.9% OUT…of that version of church, anyway.
The funny thing was, I hadn’t stopped believing any of the essential dogmas of Christianity; that’s not what made me an outsider. It was the questioning of “familiar certainties” (and their routine maintenance) that showed me I didn’t belong.
Sermons made me cringe and fidget. My blood pressure rose as I sat and listened (with heads nodding all around) to topical preaching that used scripture as proof text (rather than teaching it in context), encouraged Christians to separate from “the world,” pitted science against faith, and edged out intellectualism and any diversity of thought. It all sounded like nails screeching down a chalkboard in my head!
In meetings and conversations, I found out again and again that there was no space for my discontent. No space to ask “why?” No space for critical reflection. No space for my questions and doubts. And thereby finding, there was NO SPACE for me.
I was hungry — STARVING — for something of substance, something honest, something transformative— a faith worth my time and devotion. And I wasn’t finding it in the white evangelical church. I was walking in empty, and leaving even emptier.
So, constantly on edge,
with gritted teeth,
I couldn’t pretend anymore.
I was burnt out,
feeling claustrophobic,
the walls were closing in.
I HAD TO GET OUT.
It was a rip-the-Band-Aid-off moment.
Had to do it, for sanity’s sake,
regardless of the repercussions
or what anyone thought.
And so, my husband and I left.
We left the church,
and we left the ministry.
That was almost 4 years ago now.
My Healing Process
In her illuminating book, I Bring the Voices of My People, Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes includes a chapter entitled “Reconciliation Begins with a Curse.” As a clinical psychologist, theologian, and minister, she sheds light on the persisting problem of racial abuse in the church. But, I found her work (in religious trauma and reconciliation) to be instructive to my own story, as well.
To be clear, I did not experience capital “T” Trauma or anything close. There are horror stories out there, and mine is NOT one of them. I have nothing but appreciation for the churches I grew up in, fond memories from my conservative Christian college, and love for my family and the pastors I served alongside in ministry. I don’t believe anyone along the way was “out to get me.” Many of the ideas I eventually found myself questioning were not taught to me directly, but absorbed via osmosis from the pop-Christian culture — a culture we were ALL unconsciously formed in and by.
That’s why, I don’t hold any one person, or any particular institution, responsible. My complaint is not personal; it’s cultural.
Not to mention, I’m fairly certain I fit the exact description of that thing called “burnout.” But. The process Dr. Walker-Barnes lays out for victims of abuse WAS my healing process too. I intrinsically knew, as she says, that “Healing necessitates liberation. And in this case, liberation necessitates leaving.”
I could no longer sit content with the simplistic, regurgitated “Sunday School” answers. I couldn’t stomach any more clichéd content from the Neat and Tidy fundamentalist voices. I couldn’t sing the songs ANY. MORE. TIMES.
My world no longer fit in those boxes or that polished paradigm. I had to leave what was toxic for my soul. I had to. There was no other option for me. As Dr. Walker-Barnes says of Celie leaving her abuser in The Color Purple, I too declared for myself: “Her leaving is a holy act…”
Another Holy Act
But I don’t think leaving is THE “holy act,” for everyone. I think there is another holy act, potentially even more so. That is: TO STAY.
For some of us, staying is not an option. We will wither and die, or explode into a million pieces. But, if your soul and survival are NOT at stake, if you don’t require that clean and clear break, perhaps you’re right where you need to be, to lead the Church toward genuine reconciliation.
As Dr. Walker-Barnes describes,
“…reconciliation is not a destination or a fixed point in time, but is rather a developmental process — a journey — that requires
(1) confrontational truth-telling;
(2) liberation and healing for the oppressed;
(3) repentance and conversion for the oppressor; and
(4) building beloved community.”
For the last 4 years, I have been in “spiritual detox” mode. I’ve had to set boundaries to protect my mental health. I’ve had to surround myself with LIFE-GIVING voices and leaders. Truth tellers. And, slowly but surely, my bitterness toward the church has subsided, my identity has been resurrected from the rubble of my decimated faith, and I’ve been restored to greater wholeness. But, did I mention it’s been 4 years?
And, in talking to others who have gone through a similar “leaving" process, I’ve found that I’m one of the lucky ones. I moved through my baggage and anger relatively quickly (though, it did not feel that way!). One big thing I owe this to is finding a spacious and healthy Christian community to hold me while I sat grieving in the ashes of my old faith…
And that “Beloved Community” exists because someone stayed.
My pastor and so many others, who continually choose the journey toward genuine reconciliation!
In the Footsteps of Brave Leadership
If your “holy act" is to STAY, I hope you will choose this journey as well! I hope you will follow in the footsteps of brave leaders like Archbishop Oscar Romero, who was targeted in El Salvador for speaking out against the violent acts of the regime toward those most vulnerable.
Ironically, Romero received his role as archbishop precisely because he was considered the conservative, “safe pick” (according to the corrupt government). He was expected to be politically passive, as he had been throughout all of his previous ministries. But, when Romero’s dear friend (a Jesuit Priest and devoted advocate for the poor), Rutilio Grande, was shot down by gunmen, Romero’s world flipped upside down.
In his own words: “When I looked at Rutilio lying there dead I thought, ‘If they have killed him for doing what he did, then I too have to walk the same path’” (Truth and Memory).
And his “philosophy” of ministry took a 180-degree turn from passive to ACTIVE; rational to EMBODIED; silent on matters of injustice to CONFRONTATIONAL in its truth-telling.
My favorite quote of his goes like this: “That is what the church wants: to disturb people’s consciences and to provoke a crisis in their lives. A church that does not provoke crisis, a gospel that does not disturb…a word of God that does not touch the concrete sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed — what kind of gospel is that? Just nice, pious considerations that bother nobody — that’s the way many people would like our preaching to be. Those preachers who avoid every thorny subject so as not to bother anyone or cause conflict and difficulty shed no light on the reality in which they live…” (The Scandal of Redemption).
When Staying is a Holy Act
Pause and ask yourself: Does my life (or ministry) disturb consciences, provoke crisis, and shed light on the reality in which I live?
What kind of “gospel” am I proclaiming? The same one Jesus declared: Good News for the poor, freedom for the captives, sight for the blind, healing for the oppressed (Luke 4)?
The one that requires Repentance of the oppressor (a.k.a. the non-oppressed…a.k.a. the privileged…a.k.a. me)?
Or is it some Other News I picked up from somewhere/someone else?
. . .
After 3 years ministering in this outspoken manner, Romero, the formerly “safe pick," was assassinated WHILE PERFORMING A MASS. Like his friend Grande (& like his friend Jesus), compassion for the harassed and helpless had gripped him to the core, and he sacrificed his living, breathing body, for their good.
Moments before the shot rang out to end his life, he said, “…[Many people] think Christianity should not get involved in [the true liberation of our people], but quite the opposite is true. You just heard the Gospel of Christ: we must not love our lives so much that we avoid taking risks in life that history calls for” (The Scandal of Redemption).
I don’t know your situation, but I hope you will commit to one or the other with intentionality:
Is Leaving or Staying YOUR Holy Act?
Either way, may you take the embodied, actionable, and confrontational risks “that history calls for,” and make space for reconciliation in its most genuine form.
References
Hayes, Michael, A., and David Tombs, editors. Truth and Memory: The Church and Human Rights in El Salvador and Guatemala. Gracewing Publishing, 2001.
Romero, Oscar. The Scandal of Redemption: When God Liberates the Poor, Saves Sinners, and Heals Nations. Plough Publishing House, 2018.
Walker-Barnes, Chanequa. I Bring the Voices of My People: A Womanist Vision for Racial Reconciliation. Eerdmans, 2019.
