Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? Overcoming the Pain of Church Hurt

Some wounds cut deeper because of who gave them.

Pain from the Church — the very place that’s supposed to bring healing — is one of those wounds.

I’ve lived it. I know what it’s like to be hurt — not by strangers — but by people in the pews. People in leadership. People who passionately follow Jesus. People who should have known better.

And I know I’m not alone.

If you’ve walked that road — if you’re still limping from it — I want you to know: Jesus sees you. He knows the story behind your scars. And He’s not done writing hope into your life.

When the Place of Healing Becomes the Place of Hurt

For those who don’t know me — I’ve been around the Church my whole life. Church kid. Youth group. Volunteer. Ministry leader. Eventually, pastor.

I’ve seen the beauty of the Church… and I’ve seen its brokenness.

My first encounter with pain inside the Church came in 1983. I was 12 years old — attending the largest church in Phoenix at the time. It was my whole world. Until my parents got divorced.

And in 1983 Baptist circles, divorce might as well have come with a scarlet letter. Almost overnight, my best friends’ parents stopped inviting me over. Events I’d always been part of… gone. I was suddenly "less than" — not because of something I did — but because my family didn’t fit the mold anymore. This is when I needed the Church the most - as I struggled with watching my father leaving. But instead, those within my church compounded the hurt. I didn’t just lose a father, I lost my best friends. 

I didn’t tell anyone at the time — but that was the first time in my life I wanted to end it. Yes, at 12 years old. I felt invisible. Abandoned by the only community I’d ever known. I didn’t want to live if I lived in a world surrounded by rejection.

But even then... I prayed. I clung to my faith. Because even when the people of God didn’t see me — I believed Jesus still did.

Hurt in Ministry Hits Different

Nobody warns you that ministry can break your heart. Not from the outside—those wounds are expected. But from the inside? From people you prayed with, wept with, trusted with your soul? That’s a pain no seminary ever prepped me for.

For my wife and me, this wasn’t drama. It wasn’t church politics or bruised egos. It was rejection. Real, raw, relentless rejection. Wounds that didn’t get the chance to heal because they kept getting reopened—sometimes with a smile and a “God bless you” on the way out.

See, the Enemy doesn’t need to storm the gates when he can corrode the foundation from the inside. For me, that corrosion came through subtle silencing. Every time the Holy Spirit stirred me to speak boldly, the culture around me whispered, “Tone it down. Be safe. Be quiet.”

And the worst part? We loved our church. We weren’t bitter critics—we were faithful builders. I pastored there. We raised our kids there. I gave everything I had: emotionally, spiritually, and yes, even physically. I broke down crying during our exit meeting with leadership—not out of rage, but grief. Grief for a dream we didn’t want to end.

But here’s the thing about God: He’s not in the business of keeping us where it’s familiar—He’s in the business of leading us where we’ll be faithful. And staying would’ve meant staying wounded.

So we walked away. And in walking away, we walked into something better. Unexpected. Unscripted. Uncontainable.

God gave me an unpopular voice I wasn’t allowed to use in a church striving to be popular. God gave me a platform I never asked for. A community I didn’t even know existed—but deeply needed.

Today, my wife and I call ourselves “church nomads.” Not because we’re flaky or avoid commitment—but because, for now, we’re called to listen more than settle. To obey more than blend in. We don’t sit in pews to consume—we sit in rooms asking, “What does obedience look like today?”

And here’s the ironic twist: The platform God has given us since leaving? It reaches more people than the multi-site megachurch we once bled for. Not because we tried to grow it. But because we finally stopped trying to protect what God was trying to transform.

That’s not a flex. That’s a testimony.

God used church hurt to move us. To refine us. To yank us out of comfort and into calling. And yeah, it hurt. It still does sometimes. But if God hadn’t allowed the wound, I might’ve missed the whisper:"You're not rejected. You're redirected."

Why Does This Happen?

Pain in the Church happens because the Church is full of people — and people are messy.

Jesus never promised the Church would be perfect. But He did promise He would build it.

"I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it." (Matthew 16:18)

Scripture reminds us that the Church is a body (1 Corinthians 12) — made up of different people, with different gifts, working together in unity… and sometimes in dysfunction.

What Do We Do With The Hurt?

1. Acknowledge The Pain — Don’t Minimize It

Some Christians love to say, “Well, no church is perfect.” True. But that doesn’t mean your pain doesn’t matter. Jesus never dismissed hurting people — He moved toward them.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)

Feel the pain. Name it. Bring it to God.

2. Guard Against Bitterness

Pain is inevitable. Bitterness is optional.

"Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger... Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." (Ephesians 4:31-32)

Bitterness keeps you chained to the very thing that wounded you - and keeps you away from what God has for you next.

3. Discern Whether To Stay or Go

Sometimes healing comes from staying and working through the pain. Other times, healing comes when you step away. For us — leaving was necessary. Not because we disliked the Church. But because God was closing a door we wouldn’t have shut on our own.

Looking back now? His fingerprints are all over it. He had something better waiting. He always does.

4. Remember Who The Church Belongs To

The Church isn’t mine. It’s not yours. It’s His.

Jesus loves His Bride — even when she’s messy. Even when she gets it wrong. Even when we do. But our ultimate hope was never supposed to rest in pastors, platforms, or programs. It rests in Jesus.

He’s the cornerstone. He’s the Shepherd. He’s the one who sees what people miss. He’s the healer of wounds that nobody else can fix. When church leaders disappoint you — Jesus doesn’t. When people leave you out — Jesus welcomes you in. When others fail — Jesus remains faithful.

Final Thought: The Question We All Need To Ask

The title of this post borrows a line from Culture Club’s Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?

It’s a question that echoes in every heart that’s been wounded by the very people who were supposed to love them.

And here’s the reality — most of the people who hurt you in the Church? They probably didn’t mean to. In fact, they may not even know they did.

Oftentimes, our deepest pain comes from the well-intended.

If you’ve been wounded by the Church — hear me: Jesus sees you. He knows the pain behind your smile. He knows the tears nobody else saw.

And while His people may fail you — He never will.

Lean into Him. Trust His timing. Let Him lead you to healing.

And maybe — just maybe — to something better than you could have imagined.

He did it for me. He’ll do it for you.