Curious Christian

I follow Jesus in spite of the church, not because of it. That may sound harsh, maybe even a little rebellious, but it’s the truth of my journey. As a kid, I encountered monsters without always knowing it—Christian leaders who were pedophiles. I wasn’t preyed upon myself (and I’m deeply grateful for that), but the knowledge of it, the proximity to it, lodged deep within me. What was even more disorienting was how other leaders, those who could have spoken up, taken a stand, chose instead to protect the institution, the image, the hierarchy. That kind of silence was deafening. It still is.

Over the years, I’ve walked alongside survivors of abuse—sexual, emotional, spiritual. Their pain, their stories, their courage to keep going, it all has left a lasting impression on me. And I’ve seen the damage wrought not just by individual abusers, but by the systems that protected them. I’ve also witnessed leaders drunk on power and influence, people more concerned with building personal platforms than with serving others. It’s hard to feel like you belong in a place that seems more interested in appearances than authenticity.

And yet, somehow, I’m still here. Still following Jesus. Not because the church made him irresistible, but because he stood apart from it. He knew what it was to be hurt by religious leaders. He knew the sting of betrayal, the loneliness of standing for truth when it wasn’t convenient. That Jesus, the one who flipped tables, wept with the grieving, and touched the outcast, that’s the Jesus I follow.

To be clear, I know not every leader is like the ones who broke trust. I’ve met some who live with integrity, who carry the weight of leadership with humility and care. But I’m cautious. Maybe overly so at times. Trust, for me, is a slowly-built bridge, not a free pass. I’ve learned the hard way that charisma doesn’t equal character.

And I’m far from perfect myself. I’ve judged people unfairly, walked away when I should’ve leaned in, and let my cynicism get the better of me more than once. I don’t have all the answers. Most days, I’m just trying to live with honesty, love people well, and not lose hope in the process.

What I long for, and sometimes find, is relational community. Not the kind where I’m just another number, another seat to fill on a Sunday morning. I want the kind of community where I can be known and still be loved. Where justice and mercy walk hand in hand. Where no one is above accountability, and no one is beneath dignity.

Maybe that’s asking a lot. Or maybe it’s just what Jesus was after all along.