The Letter I Never Wanted to Write
I didn’t want to write this.
I fought it. I wrestled with it. I prayed over it for months.
Honestly, I was afraid of what it might cost—how people would react, how it might be misunderstood, how it could stir up old wounds.
But even more than that, I was afraid of stepping into the role of “that guy”—you know, the one who speaks up when others stay quiet. The one who tells the truth when it would’ve been easier to just… move on.
But silence wasn’t an option anymore.
What you’re about to read isn’t about bitterness. It’s not gossip. It’s not revenge.
It’s a plea for truth. It’s a call for accountability.
It’s a painful but necessary look at a church culture that so many have experienced—but far too few have ever named.
This is The Letter I Never Wanted to Write.
When Ministry Starts to Break You
I served in this particular ministry during two different seasons of my life.
When I came back the second time, I did so with hope. I believed in the mission. I loved the people. I came back to serve—to pour out.
But what I didn’t know… was just how much I’d end up losing.
There were moments of genuine ministry. There were real relationships. Lives were impacted.
But over time, cracks began to show.
And those cracks weren’t just cosmetic—they were foundational.
The Red Flags I Tried to Ignore
Let me be transparent: I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.
But it got harder and harder to ignore things like:
A lack of accountability for leadership decisions
A board that didn’t operate independently, but as an extension of the senior pastor
Leadership changes made without staff input or conversation
A continued shift toward political messaging from the pulpit
Increasing reliance on YouTube “prophetic voices” rather than rooted biblical preaching
A growing pressure to conform, stay silent, and not ask too many questions
What used to be a place of spiritual life began to feel… spiritually unsafe.
The Meeting That Changed Everything
In the summer of 2023, after returning from a family vacation, I was blindsided during a staff meeting.
A leadership decision that directly affected my wife—who was also on staff—was announced publicly. A particular role of hers had been altered, and her responsibility reassigned… to me.
No heads-up.
No conversation.
Just a decision, made without collaboration, dropped in front of the whole team.
I followed up with questions and did my best to communicate respectfully. But instead of being heard, my concern was interpreted as resistance. Even though my intentions were sincere, the conversation didn’t unfold the way I had hoped.
Let me pause and say this: I’m not above correction. I know I don’t always get it right.
And yes—I responded with frustration. I spoke out of hurt.
But instead of being given a chance to process and repair… I was summoned before the board.
What followed was one of the most dehumanizing experiences of my ministry life.
I sat in that room and was told, again and again, that the problem was me.
That I was prideful.
That I needed to step away.
And when I asked what the “restoration” process would look like?
I was told by the Pastor, “That’s for me to decide. The board is here to advise me, but I make the decisions.”
That wasn’t restoration.
That was a power play.
Writing the Letter
So I did something I never expected to do.
I sent a letter to both the District Office overseeing the ministry and the National Office as well.
And now, to you.
Because I couldn’t sit by while others were being harmed in the same system that had quietly pushed so many out.
In that letter, I described what I had experienced:
A culture of control, not collaboration
A leadership structure built around one family, with little to no checks and balances
A pulpit increasingly used for political narratives, not the gospel
Prophetic voices used without accountability
Board members selected for loyalty, not biblical discernment
And a trail of wounded staff and families who had quietly, and some not so quietly, walked away
I’ve seen staff members leave. I’ve seen families disappear. And I’ve watched people question their faith—not because of Jesus—but because of how badly Jesus was misrepresented.
Why This Hurts So Much
I want to say something that might surprise you:
I didn’t want to leave.
I loved my calling.
I loved the people.
I didn’t leave because I gave up on ministry.
I left because staying would’ve meant surrendering my integrity.
And as hard as it was to walk away… it was harder to stay silent.
Why This Matters
This isn’t just about one church. This is about a pattern we’re seeing across the Church at large.
It’s the slow, silent erosion of pastoral integrity.
It’s the normalization of dysfunction.
It’s the confusion of spiritual authority with spiritual entitlement.
And it’s hurting people.
When shepherds fail, the sheep scatter.
And the wounds they carry?
They don’t always heal.
Some walk away from church altogether.
Some stop trusting pastors.
Some stop trusting God.
But hear me:
God didn’t do this. People did.
And God is still good—even when leadership isn’t.
If You’ve Been Hurt
Maybe you’re reading this with tears in your eyes.
Maybe you’ve experienced something eerily similar.
Maybe you’ve been carrying the weight of church hurt in silence for too long.
Let me speak this over you:
You are not crazy.
You are not alone.
You are not rebellious for wanting clarity, safety, or truth.
You are not prideful for walking away from dysfunction.
You are beloved.
You are seen.
And you are welcome at the feet of Jesus—always.
What’s Next
This post will be a part of a larger conversation—one I will be continuing through my podcast, Faith In Context.
Each episode will unpack a different piece of the story:
The toxic traits of unhealthy church culture
The misuse of prophetic voices
The consequences of unchecked power
And—most importantly—the path to healing and hope
I invite you to listen. To share. To heal alongside me.
Because while some shepherds fail… the Good Shepherd never will.
