“It’s odd when everyone is talking about, ‘Trust your leaders,’” she said. “It’s the kind of thing I’ve heard all my life, so I know exactly where they’re coming from. But now it doesn’t work like that.” – A statement from a college student who had attended Oakwood Baptist Church
I don’t remember the first time I felt safe. Perhaps because safety—not vulnerability—was a norm for me growing up. It was all I knew. My parents protected me and cared for me and there were only a handful of moments when I doubted they loved me—and most of those came when I had done or said something to harm them.
But I do remember the first time I felt unsafe. And the second. And the third.
I remember how each incident imprinted itself on my brain like cancer and how each solidified my belief that men could not be trusted. I remember how each of those moments seemed to offset hundreds of moments where I felt securely under the shadow of those bigger and stronger than I was.
And it would be years before I actually cracked the door to trust again.
Last week I talked about despair. Even reading that word elicits within us emotions of sadness and fatigue, of darkness and longing.
The term “safe” however is wildly different. There is an insistent comfort that tugs at our hearts either for the ongoing reality we experience or the desired state we wish we had.
Too often in the church—in the place where that one word ought to be lifted high as a banner for all to see—the concept has become meaningless.
Because we have too many churches that have embraced a hierachical form of leadership that has isolated the everyday man or woman. Because too many of our leaders have covered up and lied and sinned against their people. Because a young baby is not welcome, a single mom cannot find her place, a divorced woman is looked down upon, a gay man is ostracized, a sex worker is snickered at, a special needs child is not embraced.
Safety is of such value for us because of one thing—it is scarce.
It is, like we read of the Kingdom of God, “a pearl of great price.” It is the reflection of a heart that is in tune with God’s heart. Psalm 91:1 says, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” Psalm 46:1 reads, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
Being a safe place or a safe person takes work and courage.
It takes sacrifice and empathy.
It takes a willingness to evaluate ourselves and to ask where we have gone wrong when it comes to other people.
My heart breaks for all of us who can no longer see the church as a safe place. The unsafe church, frankly, is anathema to God. It simply cannot exist, for as followers of Jesus we are bound to reflect his qualities, one of which is intentionally caring for and protecting those around us, especially those on the margins like the widow and orphan and the poor and the weak.
I have the image of our God shaking his head as story after story comes out of our churches being unsafe. And for every story that comes out, there are countless still persisting under the radar of public scrutiny.
Our God sees. And he isn’t one to sit and watch forever, as scripture reminds us:
- “Now I know that the Lord saves His anointed; He will answer him from His holy heaven with the saving strength of His right hand.” – Psalm 20:6
- “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you.” – Isaiah 43:2
- “You must not fear them, for the Lord your God Himself fights for you.” – Deuteronomy 3:21
God will always be our safety, “our very present help in times of trouble.” That we can be certain of and bet our lives on.
But how in the world do we move forward when we feel unsafe in the place that ought to embody everything that word stands for? Let me offer just a few thoughts:
First, find a safe space. We all need them. This can be a person or a group. It can be a book or a place. It can be a pet or a podcast. When we journey for so long in unhealthy vulnerability and exposure, and when we begin to let fear and despair become our only companions, we are entering dangerous territory.
Several months back, I watched a 60 Minutes episode on the remarkable story of Francesco Lotoro, an Italian composer who is unearthing hundreds of songs created and composed by prisoners of the Auschwitz Nazi death camp. For 30 years, Lotoro has devoted himself to this task. It’s incredible.
Perhaps more incredible, however, were the prisoners, many of whom knew they were going to be murdered and yet still sought solice and safety in something familiar—music. Their musical passion was their momentary safe haven in a place filled with death and evil.
Second, seek safety in the shadow of the Almighty. Read through Isaiah and Job. Immerse yourself in the wonder of a God who hears your every cry and catches your every tear.
I don’t remember the moment I began to actually feel safe again, but I do remember the moment I heard the sweetest words of my life. Bent over crying, I heard God whisper, “It’s enough. You’ve had enough.” And I knew in that moment that though others had tried to steal my refuge, they never could. I was under the wings of the God who created the very concept.
Third, seek inspiration from those who have experienced trauma. This is not necessarily counseling, though it could be. A first step might be to start reading. Some of my favorite books are written by those who have experienced disaster and pain. Navigating the faith journey in light of our pain may, dare I say, be one of the most fulfilling exercises we ever jump into. Below are only a few of the resources that touch on the intersection of faith and walking through trauma:
- Jamie’s Aten’s A Walking Disaster
- Belinda Bauman’s Brave Souls
- Kara Tippett’s The Hardest Peace
- Lysa TerKeurst’s It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way
There are many others. If you know of others, include them in the comments below.
Finally, let me say a prayer for you:
May you find the strength to trust again
When all is shattered.
May you find the courage to hope again
When darkness has covered.
May you find joy to love again
When sadness flows fierce.
May you find rest to be renewed again
From all that has passed.
And may you always remember that where God is,
Safety dwells.
And where God is,
You dwell safely.
You can trust again, friends. The road may be winding and long, but you are never alone. Reach out. I love hearing from you and praying for you.
Much love,
Laurie