An apology to people I've hurt as a Christian.

The Church may not be sorry, but I am.

And forgive our debts, as we forgive our debtors….

To Amy, whom I told about rapture in nightmarish detail at the tender age of eleven. I'm sorry I ruined your slumber party by trying to save your soul. I'm sorry I told you that any minute your parents could just disappear and all the planes would start falling out of the sky, and Satan would take over the planet. I'm not making excuses, because there isn't one. But there is a reason I acted that way: I was taught that your salvation was my responsibility, and that was a lot for a kid. I loved you, and wanted to keep hanging out. I just didn't want to go poof without you. It took years for me to understand why we never hung out after that. But I understand now. And I'm so, so sorry.

To Christine, my classmate at Carver Middle School. We talked about church at the lunch table. I remember you were eating a Pizza Lunchable when you told me your family was Catholic. You tried to educate me about your beliefs, but I argued that you weren’t a Christian. We fought, you cried, and we never spoke again. If you remember me, please know I am sorry.

To Becca, my precious sister in Christ, who is now a happily married mom. I am sorry, so sorry, for how I responded in that Bible study so long ago. When you told us that you thought you might be gay and wanted to know our thoughts, I had no idea how to respond. So I told you I'd love you "no matter what," and that I'd be praying for you to have clarity. I wish so badly that I could go back in time and smack me in my own face. To insinuate that your very identity was something to be "overcome" in our friendship was an absolute, ridiculous joke. It wasn't my place, and I was wrong in every measure. You are fearfully, and wonderfully made, my friend. Your presence in my life is a gift of grace. I'm sorry it took me so long.

To Chris from the varsity football team, who asked me out to dinner. I am sorry I said God wanted me to be single. He clearly said no such thing, I was just a coward who didn’t know how to politely turn down an invitation to dinner. That was a horrible cop out, and not that it makes this any better (in fact it probably makes it worse) but I learned that nasty trick my freshman grade, when I was dumped by the Presbyterian pastor’s kid. So for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry. Especially since I knew how shitty it felt.

To Thailand, whom I served as a missionary. I loved you with a sincere heart. I am sorry I acted as if the Thai people needed answers from someone like me. The truth was actually quite the opposite. Living in Thailand was a sacred experience, and I was privileged to learn from your culture. It doesn’t matter that my intentions were pure, my message was certainly not. I brought a tourism gospel and a colonizing gaze to a people that were asking for neither. I am sorry for my arrogance, my self-righteous spirit, and my failure to love you well.

To my brother, Ty. I am sorry I begged Dad to make you attend that creepy youth group event in Texas. You were totally right, the church was culty, and I should’ve respected your boundaries. Thank you for loving me through all my weird phases, the new theologies, the revivals, the insistence that YOU HAVE TO COME THIS SUNDAY, IT’S SUCH AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE. The message was fine, and you were fine to miss it.

To every old person at the nursing home in Dothan, Alabama (I don’t remember the name, but First Baptist Church was always going for field trips). Oh my Lord, I am sorry. There are no words sufficient for the crimes I committed in God’s very own waiting room. I am sorry for singing the Batman verse of Jingle Bells during the Christmas trip. I’m sorry for drawing a pooping dog on your card from the 5th grade Sunday school. And I am most sincerely sorry for asking if you’d let Jesus into your heart, with the very heavy insinuation being that you were not too long from meeting Him. The full court press for salvation was gross. I know this apology should be forwarded to Heaven, since this was about thirty years ago. So if you remember me (the knock-kneed, pony-tailed, brown eyed girl who asked if you’d ever met Jesus) please know I am sorry, sincerely sorry, for treating you like some pound puppy with an Adopt By date.

To every classmate whose yearbook I signed with “Philippians 4:13!!!” I’m sorry. That was over the top, and super churchy, and I hope you had a really great summer.

To the audience of the High School Talent Show that had to listen to my original “Christian” song that was written about 9/11, just two months after it happened. No, you weren’t crazy, it was way too soon, and the bass was a bit much for the content. Sorry I sucker punched y’all with that cringe-worthy performance. Thanks for not laughing me off stage. Also, sorry I acted shocked when I didn’t win. And I’m even more sorry for being convinced that I didn’t win because y’all hated Jesus. I never said it out loud, but I thought it, and that’s bad enough to merit a confession. Anyways, sorry about that. All of it. But especially the pop song about domestic terrorism. That was…awful.

I am sorry to every church that I ever criticized for worshiping differently than me. Except for the ones who hurt the oppressed (you know who you are, and I’m not sorry).

To the cheerleaders in high school who were honest about having sex, and who trusted me not to judge you, I’m sorry for that passive aggressive invitation to my church for a True Love Waits rally. (I went, and it was really traumatic.)

To the LGBTQIA community, the non-believers, the marginalized. I am sorry you were made to feel unwelcome. I’m sorry your leaders lied to you. I am sorry for the heartache, the trauma, and the oppression you experienced in the name of Jesus. God is love and love shouldn’t hurt. It sure as hell shouldn’t leave scars. But for far too long, and for far too many, that’s exactly what church has become: an injury.

I am sorry, so sorry, to anyone I hurt by wielding an unloving gospel. My queer friends, my friends of differing faiths, my friends who were not believers.

To anyone who flinches at the hand of the church, I am sorry for the role that I played in that trauma.

Which brings me to my final apology, to the person I injured most. Whose childlike faith was chewed to bits in the jaws of an angry church.

To myself.

I am sorry we didn’t get out sooner.

I wish so badly I could reach back in time to hug you and offer some comfort. Things got worse before you finally left. You should never have been in that position.

I cannot help but think back to all those years ago, when you first walked into a church–not because your parents were driving, but because you were excited to be there. You wanted to know God, and have fellowship with His people. You were looking for love and community. But the child that walked into that church was not the same one that came out. You walked through those doors with hope for healing, and came limping out, hurt and afraid. Afraid of hell, of other Christians…afraid of even your own faith. 

For that, I am truly sorry.

I am sorry for all the times you felt pressure to be perfect, pure, and obedient. I am sorry for the teachings of purity culture that made you question your worth. I am sorry for the patriarchal culture which taught you to distrust your instincts.

I am sorry for every oppressive ritual which required your participation. I’m sorry your sense of agency was lost in the name of “godly submission.”.

I’m sorry damnation was used as a tool to control and manipulate you. I’m sorry you were convinced that tool was useful for the reaching and teaching of others.

I am sorry that the pastor you trusted so much turned out to be such a big jerk. I’m sorry he spiked the punch bowl of church with those nasty, divisive politics. I am sorry you heard it, sorry you believed it, sorry you had to leave.

I’m sorry that leaving was made so hard by other gaslighting, hurtful believers.

I am sorry the church failed when you needed support. That you were judged and rarely shown grace. I’m sorry that instead of inclusion and love, you were thrown into distrust and chaos. I am sorry you suffered from abuse in church, and that the church covered up that abuse. I am sorry you learned that your body was a problem, and your nature was inherently evil. I’m sorry for the self-loathing, self-sacrificing things you tried in the search for atonement.

And I’m sorry that when the church broke our heart, we blamed those injuries on Jesus.

Jesus, the very embodiment of love, compassion, forgiveness, and grace. Jesus, the shepherd of every lost soul. Who never abandoned His sheep. Jesus was standing there all along, wanting our broken pieces.

I’m sorry for listening to the accusers. For letting the gate-keepers in. Their barbs cut deep, my anger grew, and those wounds began to fester.

I'm sorry that instead of healing my church hurt, I let it behind the wheel.

Hurt was a really bad driver.