I knew this family from another church.
They were the kind of people you’d want on your team – dedicated, faithful, always showing up when someone needed help.
The husband served as a deacon. The wife led the women’s ministry. Their kids were in youth group, and they volunteered for everything from vacation Bible school to the church potluck.
But then something happened that broke my heart.
The pastor’s wife decided she needed to control every aspect of church life. When my friends tried to suggest a different approach for the women’s retreat, she shut them down.
When they offered to help with the budget, she made it clear their input wasn’t welcome. What started as small conflicts grew into something bigger and uglier.
Eventually, my friends left that church. Not because they stopped loving Jesus. Not because they lost their faith.
But because the very people who were supposed to shepherd them had wounded them so deeply they couldn’t stay.
The Reality of Wounded Healers
Here’s what I’ve learned: churches are hospitals for broken people, not museums for perfect saints. Every person sitting in those pews – including the ones behind the pulpit – carries wounds and weaknesses.
Sometimes those wounds make us compassionate healers. Other times, they make us hurt others.
The pastor’s wife in my friends’ story wasn’t evil. She was probably scared. Maybe she’d been hurt before and decided control was safer than vulnerability.
Maybe she’d been told her whole life that good Christian women keep everything neat and tidy. But her fear and need for control became weapons that wounded people who trusted her.
It’s heartbreaking because it happens everywhere. The youth pastor who plays favorites. The elder who gossips under the guise of “prayer requests.” The worship leader who creates drama behind the scenes. These aren’t monsters – they’re broken people in positions where their brokenness can do real damage.
Jesus knew this would happen. He dealt with religious leaders who cared more about rules than relationships, more about appearances than hearts.
When they brought the woman caught in adultery to Him, ready to stone her, Jesus saw right through their self-righteousness. They weren’t protecting holiness – they were using religion as a weapon.
My friends experienced that same weaponizing of faith. Every time the pastor’s wife questioned their motives or dismissed their ideas, she was essentially throwing stones. “You’re not spiritual enough. You’re not submissive enough. You don’t understand how things work here.”
The pain is real when church people hurt us. It cuts deeper than other kinds of rejection because we expect better. We expect the people who talk about love and grace to actually show love and grace. When they don’t, it feels like betrayal.
I watched my friends struggle with questions that probably sound familiar: “If this is what Christians are like, do I want to be one? If church leaders can be this cruel, can I trust any of them? Maybe I’m better off on my own.”
Those questions are valid. The hurt is legitimate. And anyone who tells you to “just forgive and move on” doesn’t understand how deep these wounds go.
But here’s what I’ve also learned: giving up on God’s people means missing out on God’s plan for healing and growth. Yes, churches are full of broken people. But they’re also full of people being healed, people learning to love better, people who will surprise you with their kindness.
My friends almost missed that. They almost let one woman’s brokenness steal their connection to the body of Christ. They almost let her fear-driven need for control convince them that all churches were the same.
But God had other plans.
Finding Jesus in the Mess
The turning point came when my friends realized they’d been looking at the wrong person. They’d been so focused on the pastor’s wife – her control, her harshness, her need to dominate – that they’d forgotten about Jesus.
That’s what church hurt does. It makes us confuse broken people with our perfect Savior. We start thinking that because some Christians act badly, Christianity itself is flawed. We let wounded healers convince us that God is distant or cruel or manipulative.
But Jesus is nothing like that pastor’s wife. When He had power, He washed feet instead of demanding worship.
When people challenged Him, He responded with love instead of control.
When religious leaders tried to trap the woman caught in adultery, He protected her instead of condemning her.
My friends started reading the Gospels again, not looking for church doctrine or theological arguments, but looking for Jesus’ heart.
They found a Savior who was tender with the broken, fierce with the proud, and patient with the confused. They found someone who understood what it felt like to be hurt by religious people.
Jesus knew the pain of having His motives questioned by spiritual leaders. He knew what it was like to have His words twisted and His actions criticized.
The very people who should have recognized Him as the Messiah were the ones who crucified Him.
So when my friends brought their church hurt to Jesus, He didn’t minimize it or rush them through it.
He sat with them in their pain. He validated their disappointment. And slowly, gently, He began to heal what had been broken.
Healing didn’t happen overnight. My friends had to learn to pray for the pastor’s wife who had hurt them – not because she deserved it, but because bitterness was poisoning their own hearts.
They had to set boundaries, deciding what kind of treatment they would and wouldn’t accept in future church relationships.
They also had to take the scary step of trying again. After months of healing at home, they visited a new church.
The pastor there reminded them of Jesus – humble, kind, more interested in serving than being served. When conflicts arose, he addressed them with grace and wisdom instead of control and manipulation.
It took time to trust again. My friends were cautious, watching for red flags, protecting their hearts while staying open to community.
But gradually, they discovered that not all churches are the same.
Not all leaders use their position to control and hurt. Some actually model the heart of Jesus.
They learned to separate the message from the messenger, the truth of the Gospel from the failures of those who preach it.
They discovered that Jesus’ love isn’t diminished by His followers’ mistakes, and God’s faithfulness isn’t dependent on human faithfulness.
Most importantly, they realized that staying isolated wasn’t protecting them – it was robbing them of the community God designed them to need.
Yes, being in relationship with other believers involves risk.
People will disappoint us. Leaders will fail us.
But that’s also where we experience grace, forgiveness, and the kind of love that can only come from Jesus working through His people.
Your Heart Matters to Him
God sees your church hurt.
He knows exactly how deep those wounds go, and His heart breaks when His children wound each other.
You don’t have to pretend you’re fine or rush your healing.
Take small steps toward community when you’re ready, and trust that Jesus will meet you there.