I may not even have that email any more.  But I remember writing it and sending it and the silence that echoed in response.

Somewhere in the midst of that excruciatingly long decade of  condemnation . . .

Somewhere in the midst of my confusion and fear and pain . . .

Somewhere in the midst of shame so heinous that it was unspeakable – to the point that even I could not be told what horrible crime I had committed . . .

Somewhere in the midst of the shunning and ostracism, the meetings, the phone call, the sidewalk conversation saying, “You can’t serve . . . I can’t tell you why . . . ”

Somewhere in the midst of the ignored greetings and averted eyes . . .

I realized.

God had gone missing.

And so had I.

I couldn’t hear Him.  I couldn’t sense Him.  I couldn’t see Him.  I couldn’t read His word.  I couldn’t sing or even listen to Christian music.  I couldn’t play my guitar or my oboe or my flute or my saxophone.  I couldn’t pray.  I couldn’t even close my eyes while others prayed.

And I realized.

That in all of the conversations that I had been invited in to . . .

The conversation where I was told I could no longer be involved in worship ministry . . .

The conversation where I was told that I couldn’t attend the final Spiritual Gifts class because I wouldn’t be able to use my gift of music in the church . . .

The conversation where I was told that I would not be allowed to serve in leadership . . .

The conversation on the sidewalk . . . “You can’t do anything in the church except attend services.  We can’t tell you why . . . ”

Not one person had mentioned God. Or Jesus. Or the Holy Spirit. Or faith. Or grace. Or forgiveness.  Or reconciliation.  Or restoration.  Or penance.  Or anything at all about any of the things that every one of them would preach about when they were on the platform on Sundays.

Not one person.

That realization prompted me to write an email to the senior pastor.

An email stained with the blood of my wounds.

An email pleading for help.  For grace.  For healing.

For a chance.

“Please!”

“Please speak Jesus to me!”

And the silence was deafening.

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Comments
  1. Scarlett says:

    I know, dear sister, I know…..Please read this. It was taken from a comment by Michael Clark as he ministered to a precious friend of mine that had just been “kicked out” of her church by the pastor. She is in so much pain and humilation right now.
    This has happened to so many of us, who have also been beaten up and wounded in “the house of our “friends”.
    http://awildernessvoice.wordpress.com/
    I hope this will give you some comfort and understanding as to why these insane things happen to some of us.
    Grace and peace,
    Scarlett

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