Church Hurt Doesn’t Equal Jesus Hurt.

It’s taken me years to write this. Not because I didn’t have the words, but because I wasn’t ready. The emotions were too raw. If I had written this sooner, I might have said things I couldn’t take back. And the truth is, I needed time—to grieve, to heal, and to rediscover Jesus apart from the place that hurt me.

For over a decade, my family was deeply rooted in our church. It felt like home. We poured ourselves into serving—week after week, year after year. Sundays, Bible studies, worship rehearsals, mission trips, kids’ ministry. Looking back, I see how much of myself I gave, sometimes at the cost of time with my babies. But I believed I was doing what was right. Our pastor often reminded us how he served while raising five kids, so I thought, If he can do it, I should be able to as well. At the time I didn’t realise it was manipulation.

But something shifted…

I began to feel the weight of expectations that never seemed to lift. What was called “correction” felt more like control. When I tried to set boundaries, I was told I was a rebellious Christian. And then one day, my pastor yelled at me—for simply walking into a room. That was the moment I walked out and never looked back.

But what hurt more than leaving… was the silence.

People I had loved like family—gone. No texts, no calls. When we saw them on the street, they turned away as if they hadn’t seen us. Then I heard what was said that first Sunday we didn’t show up: “God is weeding the church.”

And just when I thought it couldn’t sting any more, my husband received a text from our pastor that reduced our ten years of service to nothing: “You have produced no fruit.”

We didn’t want to let one experience steal our faith, so we found another church right away. It felt like a fresh start—until a couple from our old church showed up, too. What followed was painful, and in the end, we lost a friendship. It took years before we could trust again.

Here’s the truth… I have struggled to find a new place, kind of flitting between different places. But what I’ve also found is a deeper walk with Jesus.

Because church hurt doesn’t equal Jesus hurt.

For a long time, I tangled the two together, struggling to separate the wounds people left from the God who never left me. I wondered if I’d ever feel safe in a church again. But in that in-between place—where I wasn’t sure where I belonged—Jesus met me.

I found Him in the quiet, in the pages of Scripture I had rushed through before. I found Him in the prayers I scribbled in my journal, pouring out the hurt, the betrayal, the questions. I found Him outside of a church building, in the moments where His presence was undeniable.

And slowly, I began to heal…

It took time. It took unlearning things I had once accepted without question. It took forgiveness—not for their sake, but for mine. And eventually, it took the courage to try again. To walk into another church, to worship with other believers, to trust that not every place would wound me the same way.

I don’t know where you are in your journey. Maybe you’ve been hurt, too. Maybe you’ve sworn off church altogether. If that’s you, I want you to know this:

Jesus is not the people who hurt you.

He is the One who binds up the brokenhearted. The One who sees every tear you’ve cried. The One who calls you beloved even when others call you unworthy.

And when you’re ready, He will lead you to a place where you can heal, grow, and belong again. Just like He is doing with me.

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” —Psalm 147:3

Love, Sarah x.

Let’s talk about it. Have you experienced church hurt? How has it shaped your faith? Drop a comment below or if you’re a part of The Little Sparrow Loved Crew… meet me in the chat space—I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you know someone walking through this, would you share this with them? You never know who might need the reminder that Jesus never leaves—no matter who else does.