Betrayal, Solidarity, and a Sinkful of Shamrocks
{the pain is inevitable, but so is the relief}
Whew, I’m still recovering from last week’s Substack about how (and why) we left our beloved neighborhood church of 14 years. The response was staggering - by far my most widely-read piece. Thank you to everyone who shared. For those of you who related, I’m so sorry. Thank you for making me feel less alone.
I remembering sitting in the pastor’s office ten days after we became aware of “the situation,” pleading with him to make a different choice, to take the danger seriously, to see things as they were. Before we walked out of his office, I said with a shaky voice, “I love this church. I don’t want to take it down. I don’t want to take you down.” I looked each of the two leaders in the eye and said, “I love you. And I love you. And I am terrified that we will end up having no choice but to leave. It breaks my heart even thinking about it.”
The truth is, I hoped we could unite around our shared love for our community. I hoped we could collectively err on the side of humility. I hoped it would be enough. And I already knew it wasn’t going to happen. Almost five months later, my gut feeling would prove itself.
In hindsight, that meeting was like Kid’s Hour at the library. Compared to the rest of the story that would seep out over time (we still don’t believe we have the complete story…), the emotional warfare that would be leveled against us, our physical responses to the ongoing trauma… it was almost quaint.
From that very night, as someone who processes my world through words and has written about our church in all three of my books, I knew one day I would write about how it all came to ruin. There are still so many questions I can’t answer. But I do know that on an ordinary March Tuesday, the fire inside grew to the point that I had to find the release valve. It was time.