“It’s Not for Everyone”

One of my biggest rules for myself about writing has always been not to post anything I’ve written while angry.  Don’t tweet, don’t blog, don’t share.  Anger is not an emotion that should be dealt with publicly when at all possible, especially when you are my age and still have universities and potential careers looking at your social media.  So tonight I am writing from a place of conviction, knowing what I believe.  Another one of my major rules for myself is to always speak up when I see things that aren’t as they should be.  The past few months, I’ve let myself down in that regard.

A few months ago, I left my job. While it is true that I was in a place where I physically needed to deal with my health, the reason my health was so bad in the first place was stress-related from my job.  I didn’t speak publicly on this at first, because I hate admitting someone hurt me when I know they do not care.  I don’t like sinking my energy into that when it will not change anything.  But what I’ve realized is that not talking about it has left me feeling like what happened didn’t matter, that the truth doesn't matter, and that my experiences don’t matter. They do. I’m hoping sharing about this will allow people to quit asking me why I left my job, because that question makes me feel sick to my stomach and makes me instantly well up. I loved my students, and I miss teaching them about Jesus’s love more than I can explain. 

I don’t want to do this in an unprofessional manner; I am trying to do this with grace. I will not name names, but I’m not going to try to hide what happened. I’m not going to go into specific details, as it has been months and that will not change anything anyway.  But I am going to talk about the lasting impact this has had on me and how it has changed me.

I thought I knew my pastor, until I realized I didn’t.  Working in a church will leave you with an entirely different experience than sitting in a pew.  At least, it did for me (and has for me each time I’ve worked in a church).  I thought the person I was learning from was ethical and genuinely cared about people – there had been a few comments along the way that had sat with me as uncomfortable, but at first, I brushed them off.  “He’s just tired, or trying to be funny,” I’d say to myself. I should learn to listen to my instincts.

During my interview for the job, I was told to always speak up if there was something I thought felt off.  I was even made to come up with something during that interview. And for the first months at the job, this was normal. Giving sermon notes, mentioning things I heard people complain about, or talking about what I thought we could improve were things that commonly came out of my mouth at staff meetings, as I was encouraged to do so. Normally I was met with an idea or at least a “thank you” for bringing concerns up (granted, usually nothing changed, but I at least felt like I was appreciated for contributing and heard).  Then, one day early this spring semester, something happened that I thought to be completely out of character for this pastor.  It felt unethical and was not something I would have expected from the person I thought I knew.  When I brought it up with him, as was usual, I was not met with the usual response of willingness to change, but a hard and solid disagreement.  Not once would he admit that maybe, possibly, he was wrong. Not even months later. It was a complex situation, and again, I’m not going to go into specifics because it won't change what happened. However, what still sits with me today is the rigid unwillingness to admit there was even a slight possibility that the way he went about what he did was wrong, even when what he called “God’s providence” caused people considerable pain. 

This sits with me every day.  Things come up in TV shows, the news, and in day-to-day life that make me realize this hurt me more than I ever expected. It hurt my mom too, which is tougher for me to reconcile. I truly thought I had found a person to look up to, be mentored by, and more importantly than those, to trust as a true friend and person that cared about me as a child of God.  But he is not the person I thought he was at all.  He was in power, and what he thought was right, was right, and there wasn’t going to be any more discussion on it.  And the power he had let him get away with this attitude, which made it impossible to change.  The person I thought I knew would never do many of the things he did, including some very unhealthy comments made about my mental health.  He just wouldn’t.

I drove by the church today and saw the sermon series “It’s Not for Everyone” on the sign outside.  I felt this feeling I can’t even fully describe: hurt, broken, nauseous, and defeated…the way I’ve felt about this entire situation. But while praying about it, it clicked. That’s exactly the problem. 

It’s Not for Everyone.  I get it in a cheeky way, I do.  It’s our new state tourism slogan and it’s cute and all, but this is church we are talking about. This is Jesus. Yeah, sure, attending church services, understanding theological texts, and posing for photo ops on Sundays and at blood drives might be a bit tough; it might not be for everyone. 

But Jesus? Jesus is for everyone. No sermon series is going to change that. Nothing will. Jesus wants us to do a heck of a lot more than sit and listen to a sermon or understand a theological text.  His focus for us was to love our neighbor as He loved us. Nowhere in the Bible does Jesus say, “This might not be for you.” Nowhere did He say to just pray for someone and not actually try to reconcile or connect with someone.  Praying is great, don’t get me wrong, but faith without works is dead.  And how is saying “it’s not for everyone” being an inviting community?

I did not leave the church because “it’s not for everyone.”  I did not leave the students I poured hours of my energy into because I lacked any faith.  Very little was going to make me leave those kids, and the only reason I put up with what I did for an additional four months was for those students (when you love something, you don’t leave it, but stay and fight for it). I left because I no longer believed God was at the center of the vision and purpose, and I didn’t know how I could honestly lead the students to Jesus in that environment.  I left because I felt like I was being manipulated.  Each conversation I had with the pastor, he ended up talking in circles and I left crying.  I felt like I was being taking advantage of, and my mental health was not being taken seriously at all. I felt like “love always” became a suggestion, and not the core of what was happening.  I left because I learned for them, “let me pray for you,” meant “I’m going to say what I want over you, and not let you talk.”   I left because I was losing my voice, and most importantly, I was losing Christ’s voice. 

I’ve not posted anything about this because I was worried about future jobs.  But I think talking about my experience is important.  Leaving a church always seems to be a sticky situation and I think leaving a church is incredibly painful but not talked about that much, especially if you left employment at a church.  It’s painful and heartbreaking.  The community I had vanished – and the community there was incredible, the real body of Christ.  It’s a shame that one person and a few others that backed him up made me realize that nothing could change.  The other people I worked with and the congregation was supportive and meant a lot to me.  I think it’s a real bummer that ultimately one person had to change that in my life. And that’s why I don’t really care if this one post makes me not get another church job in the future: speaking out is always more important than staying silent. I’ve always found this to be true. If someone is telling you that “It’s not for everyone?” Jesus is for everyone (He literally died on a cross for it). It doesn’t matter who you are: sinner or saint, Gentile or Jew, black or white, gay or straight, someone with idealistic-looking faith or faith as small as a mustard seed that might mess up sometimes.  Jesus is for all people.  And that’s something I’ll stand up for any day. 

This “It’s not for everyone” attitude also sounds a lot like the “love it or leave it” attitude that is being hotly debated in our nation’s Capital this week.  Trying to improve something doesn’t mean you don’t love it.  Trying to stand up for the rights of ALL people is what we are called to do.  I’m deeply sorry about the fact that I did leave in regard to my students. The new direction staffing is going for them doesn’t aim to support them, and that breaks my heart. I pray they find Christ in environments where they learn that Jesus is for everyone. 

“It’s Not for Everyone” should not be a message given about church. I’m heartbroken that in so many of the experiences I’ve had, this is what I have been told. God is for everyone, He sent Christ to die for all of His children.  I’m so broken seeing that isn’t being consistently preached and demonstrated.  Christians? We need to do better.  Christianity is not an exclusive club.  If your attitude is “it’s not for everyone,” that needs to be reevaluated.  That general feeling I’ve had through all of this, that broken, hurt, nauseous feeling? That’s why I wrote this tonight. Just like the Apostle Paul, I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39 NIV).  Jesus is for everyone.

Thanks for reading,

Hannah Michelle