Unlearning Church in Order to Cherish People

On homeostasis and the ongoing dignity crisis.

If You Say So, Michel Keck, Original Abstract On Canvas.

Something happens in ‘church’—particularly in the modern West—that is foreign to most traditional norms of community (or village) life.

What we see too often in faith settings is the disposability of dignity. Where abuse and hierarchy is present, many faith communities opt for self-preservation at the expense of one [person or family]. This transactional structure of abuse is not likely taught explicitly, but learned and mimicked. Some of our most haunting questions in the aftermath of betrayal are a bi-product of this unthinkable trade-off.

Why would they cut me off from their life so abruptly?

How could they erase me after years of life shared?

Was I not worth anything to them all along?

What is the basis of a ‘Christian community’ in the first place?

Many of us are familiar with Matthew or Luke’s description of Jesus as the Shepherd who “leaves the 99 for the 1.” It speaks to the value and dignity of one life—and Jesus’ impetus to pursue one isolated, banished, or injured sheep regardless of circumstance. In an abusive faith context, this principle is inverted. The survival and prosperity of the group or organization supplants the dignity of one individual. And for those individuals who are sacrificed, it is hard to articulate the depth of grief.

In my own journey (which others I talk to have also experienced), I consistently have dreams which recall former friends or coworkers. It’s been several years and my body still recounts the memories and relational losses. Every time a new dream registers, I try to pay attention to what it stirs in me. Is there something that needs to be honored? Is there new sorrow to be witnessed by others? Is there an invitation?

Biological vs. Communal Homeostasis

In physiological terms, the human body seeks homeostasis as a “self-regulating process by which biological systems tend to maintain stability while adjusting to conditions that are optimal for survival.”¹ It is our body’s way of maintaining health and balance across its many systems. When one system or part becomes dysregulated, the body signals for correction and a return to stability.

In an ideal world, our human relational systems (families, churches, etc.) would function the same way. But instead of a process that self-corrects and promotes healing, many relational groups seek what is convenient or merely familiar, rather than what is necessary or healthy. In that sense, then, an unhealthy spiritual community promotes its own toxic homeostasis. This is why we use terms like ‘breaking silence’ or ‘breaking patterns’ of harm. It is very difficult to undo relational norms, even if those norms are diminishing everyone in the system (to varying degrees). It is also how otherwise “good people” can become aids or enablers of abuse, perhaps unwittingly. As I’ve said before, sometimes a familiar toxic feels safer than unfamiliar freedom.

None of this excuses anyone (myself included) from complicity. Before my own family realized the severity of problems, we were promoters of the system, and we contributed to its stability rather than its health. When we eventually left (two different churches), we sought forgiveness and repair with individuals who had previously raised concerns, which we had conveniently minimized. Our own healing required our leaving, and repentance required our pursuit of those we once discounted.

Weller’s Fourth Gate of Grief

The norms and habits of the traditional village reveal our impoverishment in the modern West. In this context, author Francis Weller explains that we inevitably encounter various ‘gates’ of grief. One of those gates is referred to as “What We Expected and Did Not Receive.” It is this gate that opened up so much revelation (and loss) for me in the aftermath of spiritual abuse.

When we are harmed in community (especially by one(s) in authority), we expect a compassionate response. We deserve a response. Tragically, what many of us received instead was silence. Exile.

What Weller argues is that all of us were meant to know the intimacy, safety, and belonging of a local village. It is our birthright. Paul, too, understood this collective belonging when he wrote to the Corinthians, “if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it.” In the absence of this community and economy of suffering, we are left to the whims of hierarchy and individual survival. As a result, we experience profound grief.

I’ll end with this excerpt which I have shared elsewhere. I hope it continues to spur our collective lament and revive our imaginations:

Here is a story that beautifully illustrates the link between belonging and how vulnerable we become to shame saturating our psyches. While I was in Malidoma’s village, I met a young woman, about seventeen years old, with an extensive burn scar across her face. This did not seem to make her self-conscious; quite the contrary, she was ebullient, happy, and outgoing. One day I asked Malidoma about the scar. He said, “It was terrible. Her mother threw boiling water on her in a fit of rage.” I asked what happened after that. He said, “The village responded immediately and let this young girl know that what happened had nothing to do with her, that her mother was wrong to do this, and that she was loved and cherished by the people.”

At that point I understood something critical about belonging and shame. Many of us have had experiences of violation and injury, not unlike this young woman. The difference between her experience and ours is that she had a village that immediately responded and dissipated the pain of a shameful act. In other words, what occurred to her remained superficial; it did not penetrate beyond the skin and become a part of her story. She carries a scar, but her soul is intact. Her village could see her value and helped her to remember her essence.

Without a village to reflect back to us that we are valued, these ruptures are interpreted in silence, in a vacuum, and the conclusion we often come to is “I must have deserved this treatment” or “I was somehow responsible for this.” I hear versions of this story often in my practice.²

Lord, have mercy on us.

1. https://www.britannica.com/science/homeostasis

2. Weller, Francis. The Wild Edge of Sorrow (pp. 56-57). North Atlantic Books. Kindle Edition.