Self Preservation | Hurting Congregation

Studying to be a therapist has brought a lot of things to the surface for me, things I’ve always felt deep down when it comes to the church and trauma. I’m seeing now, more clearly than ever, how many church leaders have no idea about the damage they’re doing, simply because they don’t understand how trauma impacts the human mind and how deeply pastoral care shapes the human soul. Over and over, I’ve watched pastors and ministry leaders back parishioners into corners, trigger them, and then somehow flip the blame back onto the person who’s hurting. And it’s not just something I’ve seen from afar. I’ve lived it, too.

Earlier this year, I was asked to develop course material for a seminary class on trauma-informed congregational leadership. Through some connections, I sat down with a woman who had spent the last decade dealing with a cold, heartless church leadership team. I planned to include her story as a case study on the abuse of power within church structures, but as I listened, it became clear: this wasn’t just about her church. It was about a system. She was able to name people, nationally, who had been hurt and then silenced in order to protect the institution and its leaders from accountability. She shared how church leaders hide behind the idea that “transparency requires sharing sensitive information,” when what they really mean is, “If we share this, you’ll see who we really are.” What struck me most was how the need for self-preservation had become more important to these churches than the people they claimed to serve. It’s not that these leaders woke up every day determined to hurt people. But somewhere along the way, protecting the institution’s image and power became the unspoken mission, often at the expense of people seeking care, belonging, and spiritual guidance. The church loves to call itself a “hospital for the broken,” but the truth is, when someone’s pain begins to reveal cracks in the system, that person often becomes a threat rather than a patient. Instead of engaging with the hurt, leaders deflect, spiritualize, or silence it to avoid discomfort and the risk of change. This is self-preservation in action. And it’s hurting congregations.

During that interview, I had to pause her story because it hit too close to home. I realized I wasn’t just studying a case. I was watching a pattern I had seen, and lived, play out again and again. She shared how, in these situations, the institution often investigates itself (which, let’s be honest, rarely goes well), sending people who are employed by the denomination, paid through the money the churches they are investing are sending to the denomination, and then reminded me, “Always follow the money.” While I don’t believe most leaders set out to “cover up” wrongdoing, the truth is, many of the stories of harm end with those who have degrees, money, or status in the church somehow ending up on the “right side” of the narrative. They get a pat on the back for handling things “well,” while the people they hurt are left emotionally and spiritually bleeding.

The gut-wrenching reality? Speaking up can often cause more harm. If you resist the institution’s narrative, you’re seen as the problem. One denominational guideline even suggests that when someone resists a process, they should be asked, “Why are you working so hard to avoid something that could be good for you?” without ever asking, “Are we, as leaders, actually seeing this wrongly and causing more harm?” Yikes!

One of the most painful patterns I’ve noticed is how many victims of church harm stay silent for years, sometimes forever. In church culture, speaking up about your pain can feel like speaking against God, against the community you love, or against your faith itself. People are told, directly or indirectly, that raising concerns is “gossip,” “divisive,” or evidence of “bitterness” and “lack of forgiveness.” Many are terrified of being labeled “difficult” or “faithless” if they share the harm they’ve experienced. But it goes deeper than that. For many, the church has been their family, their safe place, their support system. To speak up feels like risking all of that, especially when leaders protect the institution over the people within it. The woman I interviewed shared how she had watched people who raised concerns get quietly removed, labeled, and shut out of the communities they loved. It taught her that silence was safer than honesty.

This is why institutional self-preservation is so destructive. When a church prioritizes its image and power over the people it’s called to serve, it becomes unsafe for the hurting to share their stories. Trauma thrives where truth is unwelcome, and healing is nearly impossible in an environment that punishes honesty. Victims don’t stay silent because they want to. They stay silent because the culture around them has shown them that silence is the only way to survive. Here’s the thing about trauma: when it’s ignored or mishandled, it doesn’t just disappear. It festers. People leave the church confused, ashamed, and carrying wounds they received in the very place that promised healing. I’ve seen it over and over: when churches fear transparency, it’s often because they fear accountability. And when accountability is absent, so is safety. And when there is no safety, congregations hurt.

If you’re a leader, here’s what you can do to break this cycle.

• Choose people over the protection of your institution’s image.

• Listen without defensiveness when someone brings their pain to you, even if it implicates systems you respect.

• Practice transparency not as a threat but as a step toward healing.

• Learn about trauma, spiritual abuse, and power dynamics so you can recognize how harm happens, even unintentionally, under your leadership.

• Ask, “Are we seeing this wrongly and causing harm?” instead of silencing concerns for the sake of ‘unity.’”

• Advocate for what is right and just even if you are the odd one out

  
  

When you prioritize accountability and create spaces where honesty is not punished, you help the church become the refuge it was meant to be, rather than a place of fear and silence. Congregations are hurting, but they don’t have to stay that way. Healing begins when leaders choose to break the cycle of self-preservation and walk in the way of Jesus: protecting the vulnerable, telling the truth, and letting light expose what needs to change.