We are, and always have been, a world at war, and the casualties are not only lives lost, but lives upended. Ongoing crises in Ukraine, Syria, Afghanistan, South Sudan, and other countries have displaced millions from the land of their birth. Refugees face an uncertain future as they struggle to find not only what they need to survive but also acceptance, belonging, and a reconstructed identity.
In a metaphorical sense—with no intention to minimize the lived realities of those named above—many contemporary Christians are also “refugees” from their home churches and traditions, displaced by conflict. This includes disillusioned believers who have served on pastoral staffs or who grew up in pastors’ families. Their experiences range from disappointment to outright trauma. Often, they’ve had enough of the church. Hopefully, through it all, they’ve retained their faith in God. Some even come to seminary, searching and questioning, or they may even still be exploring a call to ministry.
Take pastors’ kids (PKs) as an example. Many years ago, in a committee meeting, I mentioned the research I was doing on PKs. One of the committee members, a trustee, spontaneously voiced what he thought the typical PK might say: “I want to be in ministry, just like my parents!” He smiled as if expecting my confirmation. I paused before responding, “Actually, for many, it’s more like, ‘I want to be in ministry, but not like my parents.’” The truth of most PKs is that they’ve seen both the best and the worst of congregations, an insider’s view of a drama to which few are privy. On one hand, they’ve witnessed phenomenal acts of love and compassion. On the other, they’ve also witnessed pettiness and politics, manipulation and maneuvering. Some PKs have been inspired by their parents’ commitment to Christ and his body. But they may also have struggled with feelings of jealousy when they only received the dregs of their parents’ time and attention. They’ve internalized the expectations of others, sometimes to the point of feeling unknown and unseen. And they’ve watched their parents prayerfully strive to remain faithful in an environment where ministers were habitually overworked and underappreciated.
Not all seminary students have seen as much of the inner workings of congregational leadership, and some seem naïve to the pressures. I remember one student who attended a seminar I was teaching. As I told stories about the expected but intrusive demands clergy face, his eyes widened and he sat back in his chair, as if to distance himself from what I was saying. At one point, he raised his hand and said in a tremulous voice, “You’re freaking me out right now.”
By contrast, many seminary students either are on staff at a church or have been. They may have witnessed senseless battles or served in a system where boundaries were vague and power was used in oppressive ways. These students have suffered what has come to be known generally as “church hurt,” or at the extremes, spiritual abuse. In recent years, I’ve begun calling these students “ministry refugees.” Some students have found that the term validates the sense of displacement that comes from leaving a conflict-ridden congregation. On the one hand, their very presence in seminary is a sign of their resilience. But on the other hand, if we are to preserve their unique potential for leadership, that resilience must be nurtured.
The academic study of theology can deconstruct students’ existing thought-worlds. While this can serve worthy ends, it can also leave seminarians feeling rootless, and the risk may be more acute for ministry refugees. What they need is a theological education that makes sense of past pain and helps them navigate the social dynamics of the congregations that lie in their future.
At a minimum, this would entail that they internalize both a realistic ecclesiology and a robust eschatology. By the first, I mean a clear-eyed biblical realism about both the potential and the pitfalls intrinsic to ministry. We may idealize the post-Pentecost euphoria of Acts 2, reading the story through the lenses of our longing for community, and downplaying the ethnic tension that led to problems as early as Acts 6. Even when we intellectually acknowledge such tensions, we may still privately harbor our own wish to someday find “the right church” to lead or join. It’s the ecclesial analog to searching for your soulmate: looking for a congregation that has all the warmth of Philippi without the internal strife of Corinth or the theological confusion of the churches in Galatia.
Paul’s letters to the Corinthians, however, teach a different lesson. The Corinthians were a confused, emotionally reactive, and fractious bunch. But Paul was still certain that the Spirit was active among them, and even dared to refer to them as “Christ’s letter” (2 Cor 3:3, CEB). Such a realistic ecclesiology can help ministry refugees come to terms with a complicated truth: For all its brokenness, a contentious congregation is still a local manifestation of God’s church.
Such an ecclesiology, however, needs its hopeful twin: a robust eschatology. It’s one thing to accept that we all, individually and corporately, have a long way to go to reach the “fullness of Christ” (Eph 4:13). But it’s another to intentionally attune to the signs of future glory that come alive even in the chaos and conflict of the present. There are moments of selflessness even in the most selfish of congregations, and times of integrity, compassion, and justice in the midst of hypocrisy, indifference, and injustice. Such moments can be read sardonically as mere happenstances. Or they can be seen as signs of hope that the Holy Spirit is alive and well.
People who have been hurt by the church may need help envisioning the role they may yet play in the life of a congregation. In organizational terms, it’s less a matter of positional power than of influence. They don’t have to be pastors to make a difference. Instead, with the wise hindsight of their experience, they can discover creative and courageous ways to nudge Christian communities toward shalom.
Cameron Lee is professor of marriage and family studies and has been a member of the Marriage and Family Therapy program faculty since 1986. He is a licensed Family Wellness Trainer and a member of the National Council on Family Relations. Dr. Lee is also a teaching pastor and licensed minister in the congregation where he is a member, and he teaches and preaches regularly in church settings. He has authored and edited multiple articles and books, including Marriage PATH: Peacemaking at Home for Christian Couples.
We are, and always have been, a world at war, and the casualties are not only lives lost, but lives upended. Ongoing crises in Ukraine, Syria, Afghanistan, South Sudan, and other countries have displaced millions from the land of their birth. Refugees face an uncertain future as they struggle to find not only what they need to survive but also acceptance, belonging, and a reconstructed identity.
In a metaphorical sense—with no intention to minimize the lived realities of those named above—many contemporary Christians are also “refugees” from their home churches and traditions, displaced by conflict. This includes disillusioned believers who have served on pastoral staffs or who grew up in pastors’ families. Their experiences range from disappointment to outright trauma. Often, they’ve had enough of the church. Hopefully, through it all, they’ve retained their faith in God. Some even come to seminary, searching and questioning, or they may even still be exploring a call to ministry.
Take pastors’ kids (PKs) as an example. Many years ago, in a committee meeting, I mentioned the research I was doing on PKs. One of the committee members, a trustee, spontaneously voiced what he thought the typical PK might say: “I want to be in ministry, just like my parents!” He smiled as if expecting my confirmation. I paused before responding, “Actually, for many, it’s more like, ‘I want to be in ministry, but not like my parents.’” The truth of most PKs is that they’ve seen both the best and the worst of congregations, an insider’s view of a drama to which few are privy. On one hand, they’ve witnessed phenomenal acts of love and compassion. On the other, they’ve also witnessed pettiness and politics, manipulation and maneuvering. Some PKs have been inspired by their parents’ commitment to Christ and his body. But they may also have struggled with feelings of jealousy when they only received the dregs of their parents’ time and attention. They’ve internalized the expectations of others, sometimes to the point of feeling unknown and unseen. And they’ve watched their parents prayerfully strive to remain faithful in an environment where ministers were habitually overworked and underappreciated.
Not all seminary students have seen as much of the inner workings of congregational leadership, and some seem naïve to the pressures. I remember one student who attended a seminar I was teaching. As I told stories about the expected but intrusive demands clergy face, his eyes widened and he sat back in his chair, as if to distance himself from what I was saying. At one point, he raised his hand and said in a tremulous voice, “You’re freaking me out right now.”
By contrast, many seminary students either are on staff at a church or have been. They may have witnessed senseless battles or served in a system where boundaries were vague and power was used in oppressive ways. These students have suffered what has come to be known generally as “church hurt,” or at the extremes, spiritual abuse. In recent years, I’ve begun calling these students “ministry refugees.” Some students have found that the term validates the sense of displacement that comes from leaving a conflict-ridden congregation. On the one hand, their very presence in seminary is a sign of their resilience. But on the other hand, if we are to preserve their unique potential for leadership, that resilience must be nurtured.
The academic study of theology can deconstruct students’ existing thought-worlds. While this can serve worthy ends, it can also leave seminarians feeling rootless, and the risk may be more acute for ministry refugees. What they need is a theological education that makes sense of past pain and helps them navigate the social dynamics of the congregations that lie in their future.
At a minimum, this would entail that they internalize both a realistic ecclesiology and a robust eschatology. By the first, I mean a clear-eyed biblical realism about both the potential and the pitfalls intrinsic to ministry. We may idealize the post-Pentecost euphoria of Acts 2, reading the story through the lenses of our longing for community, and downplaying the ethnic tension that led to problems as early as Acts 6. Even when we intellectually acknowledge such tensions, we may still privately harbor our own wish to someday find “the right church” to lead or join. It’s the ecclesial analog to searching for your soulmate: looking for a congregation that has all the warmth of Philippi without the internal strife of Corinth or the theological confusion of the churches in Galatia.
Paul’s letters to the Corinthians, however, teach a different lesson. The Corinthians were a confused, emotionally reactive, and fractious bunch. But Paul was still certain that the Spirit was active among them, and even dared to refer to them as “Christ’s letter” (2 Cor 3:3, CEB). Such a realistic ecclesiology can help ministry refugees come to terms with a complicated truth: For all its brokenness, a contentious congregation is still a local manifestation of God’s church.
Such an ecclesiology, however, needs its hopeful twin: a robust eschatology. It’s one thing to accept that we all, individually and corporately, have a long way to go to reach the “fullness of Christ” (Eph 4:13). But it’s another to intentionally attune to the signs of future glory that come alive even in the chaos and conflict of the present. There are moments of selflessness even in the most selfish of congregations, and times of integrity, compassion, and justice in the midst of hypocrisy, indifference, and injustice. Such moments can be read sardonically as mere happenstances. Or they can be seen as signs of hope that the Holy Spirit is alive and well.
People who have been hurt by the church may need help envisioning the role they may yet play in the life of a congregation. In organizational terms, it’s less a matter of positional power than of influence. They don’t have to be pastors to make a difference. Instead, with the wise hindsight of their experience, they can discover creative and courageous ways to nudge Christian communities toward shalom.
Cameron Lee is professor of marriage and family studies and has been a member of the Marriage and Family Therapy program faculty since 1986. He is a licensed Family Wellness Trainer and a member of the National Council on Family Relations. Dr. Lee is also a teaching pastor and licensed minister in the congregation where he is a member, and he teaches and preaches regularly in church settings. He has authored and edited multiple articles and books, including Marriage PATH: Peacemaking at Home for Christian Couples.
Oscar García-Johnson and Marcos Canales share how a trip to San Cristóbal de Las Casas gave them a renewed perspective on church and mission.
