an open letter to the church

Dear Church,

I write this not as an accusation, but as a lament from one who embraced such a place as my spiritual home.  Some of those who bear the name of Christ have built walls not just around their sanctuaries, but around the hearts of those who dare to leave. Like it or not, this practice of cutting off, shunning, or excommunicating those who leave is one of the most telltale signs of a cult or cult-like behavior.  It echoes not the freedom of the Gospel, but the control of a system that fears dissent. And yet, it is backed up with a small handful of Scriptures, twisted like vines to choke out grace.

With this mindset, Jesus is quoted: "Whoever does the will of God, he is my brother and sister and mother" (Mark 3:35). And Paul's words are invoked: "Have nothing to do with them" when speaking of those who persist in sin (2 Timothy 3:5, or perhaps 1 Corinthians 5:11). From these, there is an assumption that anyone who leaves a particular congregation is no longer doing the will of God—as if God's will is confined to a particular brand of faith. As if the vast tapestry of beliefs, woven across denominations, cultures, and personal journeys, narrows to a single thread within certain sacred royal walls. Worse still, there is a presumption that leaving equals sin, branding the leaver as a spiritual outcast without trial or understanding. Some may use these Scriptures to justify cutting off the person for the purpose of convicting them and turn their heart back to God—but this is deeply taken out of context in the world today. In my experience, and in speaking with many who have been cut off, it is traumatizing, painful, and like a death: a repeated loss of those who will no longer speak to them. The damage done to one's faith in some situations is incalculable. And those doing the cutting off look nothing like Christ to those cut off.

To those who have left a congregation and those who remain, we share more with each other than one might willingly acknowledge. As mothers, daughters, friends, sisters, fathers, brothers, grandparents, or grandchildren, we have this in common - we are all wounded. We miss each other deeply. And who is dictating whether we can have a relationship or not? It’s a doctrine, a culture, it's leaders, modern day “prophets”, pastors, and shepherds— those not affected by the ending of these relationships. They are not going to bed or waking up thinking about the severed bonds, the empty spaces where family and friends once stood. Was Jesus’ main message to love or to separate? His life, His words, His cross points to love—love that builds bridges, not separates.

Let’s consider the counterpoints, for the Scriptures that wield separation are dwarfed by those that call us higher. How many times does Jesus command us to love our enemies (Matthew 5:44)? To pray for those who persecute us? He declares it no credit to us if we love only those who love us back or greet only our own kind (Matthew 5:46-47; Luke 6:32-33). What merit is there in a community that embraces only the loyal, the similar, the unchallenging? The parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37) shatters tribal boundaries, urging mercy across divides. The prodigal son's father runs to meet the wanderer with open arms (Luke 15:11-32), not a cold shoulder. And Paul, in his plea for unity, reminds us that love "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (1 Corinthians 13:7)—not severs them at the first sign of divergence or difference in beliefs or church membership.

In my own experience, I've seen this hypocrisy unfold like a tragic script. When I call out abuse—harm inflicted by those in leadership, woven into the very culture of a church—it is labeled as "hate." Spreading division. Being divisive. But hate? Hate is not naming pain; hate is the unwillingness to allow for difference, for another’s experience to coexist with your own. Hate is fueled by an intolerance for varied opinions or lived realities. And hate manifests in subtler, more insidious ways too—gathering together with church communities of people, either in large groups during services or one by one in private conversations, whereby those in authority or positions of respect speak ill of those who have left. Whispering rumors, questioning motives, painting those who leave as threats to the community. That is spreading hate, that is causing division pure and simple.

It doesn't stop there. These gatherings often insinuate, or outright demand, that to prove one's loyalty to the church, members must no longer speak to those who leave or dare to speak out against abuse, harm, or questionable behavior. Aligning in any way with the outspoken—whether through a simple conversation, a social media like, or a shared concern—becomes a litmus test of faithfulness, character, or one worthy of respect. "Choose us or them," the message rings, fostering division under the guise of unity. Shunning, cutting off, excommunicating - these are not acts of purity, love or faith but of trauma. They demoralize, isolate, and wound deeply, whispering that there's only one right way to live, believe, and experience faith. To point out bullying, manipulation, or harm within the ranks? That's heresy. Teaching about the signs of emotional or spiritual abuse? That's mean-spirited.

This posture dismisses the hurt, the marginalized, the silenced. Those intimidated, insulted, or gaslit by the very leaders they once entrusted with their souls. It's a clear double standard: If a pastor, leader or elder stumbles—engages in questionable behavior, displays a pattern of harm, or reveals a glaring character flaw—there's grace aplenty. Patience. Excuses. "We're all human," “They do so much, they endure so much” "Pray for them." But let a common member question, challenge, or leave? Their life is dissected under a microscope. No grace, no mercy. Their past sins are dredged up and projected into their future, as if their every flaw defines them eternally. Assumptions about their existence fill the void of curiosity: "They must be in rebellion." "They're living in sin." Devastating, isn't it? For those who've left, or those teetering on the edge, wondering if the pain will ever end.

There may be those who, in my opinion, are so traumatized, wounded, frustrated that anger seeps in. Underneath anger are many emotions—hurt, fear, sadness, betrayal, disappointment, helplessness, grief, shame, and rejection—each one a layer of unhealed pain. Rather than be alarmed at the anger of an individual or appalled at their name-calling, volume, or language, consider what may lie beneath the outward actions and look at what may be fueling it. These deeper emotions—hurt from betrayal, fear of further isolation, sadness over lost community, betrayal by trusted figures, disappointment in failed expectations, helplessness against systemic harm, grief for shattered faith, shame imposed by judgment, and rejection from once-close bonds—correlate directly to the wounds inflicted. Is there an opportunity to consider that what they are saying has validity? Is there an opportunity for the church to take some responsibility for where this person is, to own up to it—to acknowledge the role the actions of leadership, or inactions, played in their suffering? What role might have been played by obedient, loyal members in the lives of those deemed hateful and divisive for calling out abuse and harm? They are, in fact, doing the will of God. The Scriptures abound with calls to be a voice for the voiceless (Proverbs 31:8-9), to defend the oppressed and help the hurting (Isaiah 1:17; Psalm 82:3-4). Jesus Himself overturned tables in the temple, calling out corruption and hypocrisy with righteous indignation (Matthew 21:12-13; John 2:13-16). 

As Racheal Green Taylor, ICF Coach provides these thoughts to ponder:

•  “Jesus honored truth over tradition. He confronted spiritual abusers. He defended the vulnerable. And He never required silence to keep the peace.”
•  “If ‘honor’ costs you your safety, your sanity, or your God-given identity—it’s not honor, it’s bondage.”
•  “Using God to control is abuse. Period.”
•  “This is not about preserving someone’s image; Your job isn’t to preserve someone’s image. Your job is to walk in the light.” 
•  “Let’s stop confusing “honor” with enabling abuse and start calling it what it is.”
•  “Honor doesn’t mean staying silent while someone mistreats you or someone else,”
•  “It doesn’t mean protecting their reputation while your soul is bleeding.”
•  “If we excuse abuse in the name of faith, that’s not holy—it’s harm dressed up in Scripture.”

It’s past time to end the excommunication, the cutting off, the marginalizing. Can we set aside our differences and be willing to have a conversation—an opportunity to listen, hear, empathize, apologize, own our mistakes, and be real? As it says in Ecclesiastes, there is a time for everything under the sun: a time to mend, a time to heal (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). Having relationships based on one’s own beliefs or ways, with an unwillingness to allow others their own opinions—is that really a relationship? Are you allowing others to be who they truly are, or are you silencing them, cutting off parts of them, forcing them to live in silence for the sake of a false peace? 

The prophet Isaiah warned, “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20). When will it end? How long is long enough? When does it stop? Is there hope for restoration—of relationships, of meaningful conversations, of a genuine willingness to understand? So much of family and friendships is destroyed or dismantled for the sake of loyalty to an institution, tearing apart the very bonds God intended. This division of families—parents from children, siblings from one another, spouses caught in the crossfire—leaves scars that run deep. And what remains in the hearts of those who internally long for the connection and relationship of the ones they no longer speak to? God created us for connection, community, and relationship; nowhere in Scripture does it say "If you are a member of this or that place" should you be or not be in relationship with someone. Must there be only one way to live, think, feel, and experience life? If someone names a leader’s hurtful actions toward them or someone else, is that “spreading hate”? Should they fear retaliation of some kind? Is it impossible for someone with a title—pastor, elder, modern-day "prophet"—to be mean, flawed, or wrong? And because I speak it, must I be condemned as hateful, cut off by family and friends who remain loyal to the institution, the building, the man or woman at the pulpit?

Loyal members of such churches: hear this lament. Those who claim to follow the One who dined with sinners, touched the untouchables, and forgave from the cross—where is your resemblance to Him in this?  Tear down the cultish gates. Open your arms as wide as His. For in shunning the leaver, the one who dares to question or call out harm or abuse, you shun the very image of God they bear. And in silencing the wounded, the cry for justice is silenced that echoes through the Word of God.

With a heavy heart, and a prayer of hope -