The collective moment of prayer for the man on stage was good, even ideal. And yet my nerves were tingling, tense, agitated. Tears welled up in my eyes. I knew I was triggered, and it only took a second to know why.
“Anointed”
Playing out before me was almost an exact replica of a scene that happened two decades earlier. Except then, I was the one on the stage being prayed for, “released” and “anointed.” Nothing compares to having a multi-generational, multi-ethnic family literally surrounding you, speaking into you, touching you, welcoming, blessing, affirming, and calling out all the good God has placed inside. You might call the practice of “anointing” strange, but it cultivates a beautiful confidence rooted in community and God. Nothing compares. That day it was just lovely.
Until I was dropped like a hot potato, only half-a-year later with no communication. It might have been the first time something like that happened to me in church ministry, but sadly, it wasn’t the last.
I’m guessing you also know why they call it “church hurt.”
*Hint* it is in the title!
Ghosts
Ghosts of old wounds always hurt
And still my presence is a buffer
For things you've forgotten,
Drawn up by the sword
Pierced by the past
Innocence reawakened
After
Stolen
Stolen away by a sufferin’ man
They were broken
Each of them
All who hurt you
Abandoned
Let go
Neglected
Spiritually abused
You are free!
Oh my dear,
You are free.
Healing
As uncomfortable as it is, part of me prefers not to get into topics like church hurt and spiritual abuse. But if I’m being authentic here (the goal), I must. I’m slowly pulling out writing on these topics that have largely been sequestered away, for my healing process might also help you know you aren’t alone. I’m beginning to believe that seasons of withdrawal and healing are simply part of the unfortunate but necessary rhythms of the healthy Christian.
I ran across another poem titled the not-plural “Ghost,” by Ryan Ramsey from Fleeing Tarshish. This poem also addresses church hurt as well, but from a totally different perspective—we who left, were betrayed, were hurt—have now become the ghosts. And no wonder, one of the greatest markers of hurt is feeling invisible.
El Roi
That morning I was triggered, I was a numb observer. I felt forgotten and obsolete. And even though I did pray blessings over the man on stage, my emphasis was on his protection from spiritual abuse and that he wouldn’t be too disappointed—that his hope would be centered on God first.
And yet I wasn’t invisible—nor was the ethereal specter was haunting me from my past.
I found myself next to a woman who I trust, yet who had no idea of what I was feeling that day or why. Although our interaction seemed as random as a gust of wind within our context, it was anything but. She started praying over me “anointing” from my head to my toes. Then she proceeded to tell me that I wasn’t meant to be forgotten.
She didn’t know she embodied the God Who Sees, but that day, she was him.
I see you. I know you don't feel like you fit. I saw you pierced by the past, being anointed once before and left high and dry. I wanted to bless another, and yet while doing so, I also didn't forget you. I knew you’d be triggered, but you sought me and heard me speak to you in your sadness. I see your wounds and set you free.
Similar post:
Follow me on Instagram @AuthenticallyElisa