For a long time, I didn’t think my own church hurt could have any positive impact—certainly it hadn’t in my life, so how could it foster growth in matters of the kingdom? But there is always an opportunity for growth amid pain. Jesus reminds us, “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives” (John 12:24). Leaving an unhealthy, unsafe church is devastating, yes, but if we can reframe that as God rescuing us for something new, we can begin the arduous process of healing. After we experienced profound pain at the hands of Christian leaders in France on the mission field, one of Patrick’s professors told us, “Nothing significant in the kingdom of God happens unless death occurs.” I can honestly say that God wrought so much growth in me in the soil of France—a soil that felt rocky and like death, but it produced a maturity in me that had been lacking before.

Living eschatologically—in light of the future God is bringing—also helps us navigate the aftermath of church hurt. To do so means to live in light of what is to come. With an eternal perspective, we understand that our work on this earth is never for nothing. Everything we do is chronicled. God captures every tear. And our work here has eternal weight, according to the Apostle Paul, “For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever” (2 Corinthians 4:17–18). God does not waste our pain—he transforms it into empathy, kindheartedness, truth–telling, and tenacity. Those fruits he creates in us through trials remain with us as we navigate the next obstacle we face.

We can also see what we went through as a cautionary tale of what not to do. If we have been poorly shepherded (or worse: maligned, undermined, rebuked, judged, yelled at), we see clearly what a bad shepherd is. One interesting study is to read the entirety of Ezekiel 34:1–8, which details what a bad shepherd does, and then contrast that with Psalm 23 and John 17, which both describe the traits of a good shepherd. In a church world that has bent more toward corporate models of leadership rather than simple shepherding, perhaps we can return to the simplicity of what church is—a called out people (1 Peter 2:9–10) who practice the sacraments together and who are mutually shepherded and loved by each other. And even when people disappoint us, and we are licking our wounds, we can always return to the Good Shepherd who loves us and gave his life for us.

When my husband and I worked through our church hurt, we found we also had to introspect and repent. We saw how we had been complicit in a pain–producing system, and we had to apologize to those we led astray into the system. None of this was easy, but it was a necessary step to untether ourselves from the church and untangle our own role in it. We saw how our own longing for significance was fed by ever escalating numbers in the church. In a way, its success became ours, and we had to repent of thinking the kingdom of God was measured solely by ever–increasing numbers.

One benefit of walking through church hurt is learning to tell the truth about what we went through—not merely for our sakes, but so others would no longer feel alone. Truth begets truth. Paul reminds us, “Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body for him who is the head, that is, Christ” (Ephesians 4:15). To declare truth in a loving manner is to speak the language of the kingdom. It sets people free. And if the church or ministry is abusing people, exposing that (though excruciating) is the right thing to do. God is always on the side of the maligned, hurting, and abused. We see this throughout the Bible when it emphasizes the importance of a quartet of vulnerable people: widows, orphans, immigrants, and the poor. When we serve those who are being harmed or marginalized, we are serving Christ.

Last, when we embrace the weakness that we’ve experienced in the aftermath of church hurt, we understand the very real strength of God. Weakness is the currency of God’s kingdom (2 Corinthians 12:10). Author Chuck DeGroat writes, “In the upside–down economy of Jesus, those closest to the bottom are nearest to grace. Polished and put together, many of us live our lives without a real, palpable need for God. We preach grace. But we’re working really, really hard to avoid hitting bottom ourselves.” In that rock bottom place, all we can do is reach heavenward to receive grace upon grace—even when other Christians have walked all over us.

While no one would want to experience church hurt, its consequences can become the beginning of a growth journey for us. With the help of kindhearted listeners, the grace that is ever present from Jesus who understands betrayal, and moments of introspection and solitude, we can experience new layers of healing—which then can inform our empathy toward others. Perhaps we can move forward toward healthier churches, ministries, and systems that no longer harm their members but cause them to flourish and thrive.