Church Hurt

Jesus, I walked through those doors still shaking, Bible in my hand, every last nerve breaking. I thought a shepherd would hear the weak. He lowered his eyes. My wound learned to whisper. I brought dates, names, evidence—damage in rows, No sleep in my head, still I carried the load. Trauma in my blood, still served every week, Trusted men who loved truth when the truth stayed meek. “We are praying for you”—then nothing was done, A holy-sounding exit when the hard part comes. The smoother voice spoke, so the smoother voice won; I was “crazy,” “out of control,” and easy to shun. I came there to live, not divide up a church; You protected your peace while I swallowed the hurt. Every nod without action pushed me back in the dark. You heard the whole warning—and hardened your heart. You asked me for patience while danger stayed fed. Asked me to forgive what you would not confront. Then called my survival rebellion and pride. You wanted me faithful enough to stay quiet. SHEPHERDS OF SILENCE DEMAND THE SILENCE OF LAMBS— NO BLOOD ON THE CARPET, NO TRUTH ON THEIR HANDS. “LOWER YOUR VOICE. FORGIVE. UNDERSTAND.” WHILE THE WOLVES KEEP THEIR TEETH AND THE WOUNDED GET BLAMED. SHEPHERDS OF SILENCE—YOU KNEW, AND YOU RAN. YOU DON’T GUARD THE FLOCK WHEN YOU SILENCE THE LAMBS. Called abuse “conflict,” called a cage “marriage strain,” Put “both sides” on the wound so the strong stayed unstained. Doctors saw danger you refused to see; Then called my leaving sinful when leaving saved me. Months after the warning, you finally moved, Clean hands, closed meeting—still hiding the truth. If it mattered at the ending, it mattered at the start; Delay was a decision while you watched me fall apart. Don’t call it weakness when silence was chosen. Don’t blame the devil for the door you held open. Grace is not a pass for a leader afraid. Forgiveness never means the evidence gets erased. You demanded my silence. God received my cry. You protected the image. God uncovered the lie. No more weaponized mercy. No more “wait and see.” If you fed me to the wolves, Don’t preach peace to me. Jesus, don’t let their cowardice counterfeit You. Don’t let their pulpit impersonate truth. Judge what they buried. Heal what they broke. Burn every lie—but keep hate from my soul. You stayed with the crushed when their courage withdrew. Teach me to love without choking the truth. The church is still Yours, though they guarded their names. Make Your house safe for the wounded again. They demanded the silence of lambs. But the Lamb who was slain is opening every hidden thing. Jesus— make Your house tell the truth.