Deconstructing the Church & Religion

Your story is YOURS to tell. You get to choose if you tell it, how you tell it, and why you tell it….

Hey there, friends! As I navigate all the thoughts and emotions surrounding this topic, this blog has been a real challenge for me. Because of a few roadblocks, it took longer to finish than I anticipated. I questioned whether I should even move forward with it, but I’ve realized that staying silent about the tension between faith and hurt within the church isn’t true to who I am. It’s not that I believe the church itself lacks authenticity — I’m simply trying to reconcile the pain so many people carry in a place that’s meant to offer care, healing, and belonging. My life has largely revolved around the church. My daughter attends preschool there, and I serve on both the worship and production teams. I’ve also been part of MOPS (Moms of Preschoolers) for five years. With enough experience on both sides of my faith journey, I’ve begun to see how my strong faith and my difficult church experiences can coexist — and how they’ve both shaped me.

The church has been a source of some rough experiences for me, which I’ll share later. This piece is essentially about faith deconstruction — reconciling my firm belief in God with painful experiences involving God’s people. Like many millennials raised in the Christian faith, I’ve become disillusioned watching church leaders act in ways that don’t align with who we thought they were. It’s common to see leaders expect behavior from others that they don’t model themselves — the classic “Do as I say, not as I do.” Over time, I’ve realized that many of the wounds people experience in the church aren’t born from theology itself, but from the ways leadership culture can twist it. Too often, leaders surround themselves with sycophants — forming inner circles of close friends and “yes people” who reinforce their authority. Instead of mentoring and developing others, they dismiss or marginalize anyone who challenges them. Volunteers begin to feel more like workers filling roles than people who are seen, valued, and nurtured.

Manipulative leaders often rely on partial truths to maintain control, and favoritism becomes impossible to ignore — a few are elevated, while others are quietly overlooked. In some cases, churches even go so far as to hide sexual misconduct or moral failure in order to protect their reputation, prioritizing image over integrity. The message becomes clear: preserving the institution matters more than protecting the people within it. My observation over the years has been that people placed in leadership positions because of their spiritual gifts sometimes behave as though those gifts grant them a special status. Their personalities are often charismatic, eloquent, and authoritative — traits that can inspire, but also control. Their influence tends to shape the ministry and culture of the church around their own strengths. Volunteers in areas like production and worship are held to extremely high standards, and when those expectations aren’t met, disappointment and frustration can quickly turn into anxiety, aggression, or cynicism.

To some extent, most people — myself included — agree that a leader’s vision should be supported. We often hear phrases like, “We value your feedback,” but that feedback is later dismissed or ignored. A common issue within leadership is the lack of accountability, which blinds them to their failures. It’s easy to be told that you’re an “asset to the ministry” or that you’ll have opportunities to serve, only to have your motives questioned once your service begins to shine. Unfortunately, this pattern extends far beyond personal experience. Take Pete Newman, a camp counselor at Kanakuk Kamps — one of the largest Christian camps in the U.S. — who systematically abused boys for over a decade. When victims came forward, their credibility and motives were questioned. Leadership claimed that reporting the abuse or criticizing the church was an act against Jesus Himself. Similarly, Hillsong New York witnessed a devastating lack of accountability when its pastor, Carl Lentz, was fired after cheating on his wife. The cover-up ran deep — those aware of his actions remained silent to avoid negative publicity, prioritizing reputation over repentance.

It’s a widespread belief among some church leaders that exposing abusers will harm the church, but in reality, it’s the opposite. Hiding the truth may offer short-term protection, but it causes long-term damage — not only to victims, but to the very integrity of the gospel message. In light of rampant unbiblical attitudes and misconduct in church leadership, I’ve found myself asking: Can I still trust my beliefs?  But the more I’ve reflected, the more I’ve realized that my faith in God was never the problem — it’s the systems and structures that claim to represent Him that I’m questioning. Deconstructing the church doesn’t mean abandoning my belief in God; it means separating the purity of faith from the brokenness of human leadership. And while I could continue sharing my personal story, I also wanted to hear from others walking through similar struggles. Empathy grows when we make space for different experiences and perspectives. I interviewed three individuals — none of whom know each other personally — to shed light on what faith deconstruction looks like in different lives.

My first story comes from one of my friends who wishes to remain anonymous.

I went to church every week and went to different denominations throughout the years, but church and Christianity are my religious background. There’s some evangelicalism throughout, but not one specific sect of Christianity has been taught. About eight years ago, I stopped attending church meetings because I needed a break. The church leadership’s voices and their words overwhelmed my voice, and I wanted to listen to myself. The language and teachings were drowning out my voice at church, and I didn’t want to go back and abandon her. There was a specific moment when the deconstruction started to vamp into full gear. I lived in a very strained and stressful season, and I wasn’t attending church—but was overwhelmed with college and work. In addition to that, I experienced some very sudden and tragic deaths. That triggered a lot of anger and confusion at a God I had always taught was in complete control and had made all the decisions. This left me dealing with outrage about the world and within my inner life. Sitting in a coffee shop, I thought through all of this and the all-encompassing idea that God was choosing or allowing the suffering I was seeing and experiencing. A question bloomed, “What if you had more control over your life than you had been told?” This was an open-ended, curious and thoughtful what-if question… I couldn’t answer, but I naturally let it wrap around me. Eventually, beliefs fell away, or I pulled them apart. The church and those leaders didn’t necessarily have the answers anymore; I did. I experienced much hurt by the church over the years, but the suppression and containing women inside the church that killed me internally has stuck out. Being told repeatedly to stay in that area, inside these roles, inside those parameters, had been my personal experience. I knew, without a doubt, that there was more to me and the other women I knew than those measly suppressive scraps. We are more capable, strong, and daring than the patriarchal, heteronormative, oppressive, fear-based religious institutions told us we were. As of right now, I would say I’m agnostic. This is the most authentic term to me. I know and believe in some truths about the world, but I cannot say that I know a God does or doesn’t exist. Instead, I live inside what I have experienced to be accurate and genuine. And I’m curious about learning what I don’t know yet. – Anonymous 

Attending church has been a big part of my life from a very young age. Like most who have grown up in the church, I accepted Christ into my heart. Ever since I have always had an intimate connection with Him, as both of my parents served in the church, it was inevitable that I would volunteer my time like them. There was never a time when I felt obligated to attend church, it always felt organic, and I thoroughly enjoyed serving. Being a part of a community with one goal in mind to serve Jesus was incredibly fulfilling and life-giving. For me, it’s so beneficial emotionally and spiritually; that’s why I choose to be a part of the church. Overall, my experiences were very positive, but once I started transitioning from high school into college, some negative experiences caused me to start questioning and deconstructing the church. It seemed like the more I allowed myself to be involved, the more I saw the exclusiveness within the various groups. There was a young women’s group that I was trying to join, but it was tough to fit in and truly feel connected. Fortunately, this one girl was lovely and welcoming to me. She made an effort to engage with me, and for that, I was thankful. However, the struggle continued, and I felt lost within the group. As an outsider, you think the church would be more welcoming and inclusive, but this wasn’t the case. With the small group being a letdown, I thought I’d try to get into the youth choir in hopes that I could find a connection there. But like the small group, it was very exclusive. I came to realize that for the first time I truly started to question the church, and whether or not the importance of attending was beneficial to my overall well-being. Because of this experience, the church was something that I dreaded every week. Like the other churches, I immediately pugged myself in and served alongside my Mom in the student ministry. Unfortunately, because we were both so involved, we saw much of the church’s messiness and politics. There was a lot of mistreatment and disregard for my Mom’s needs and feelings, and it was very challenging for me to lead a group of young girls while also watching this mistreatment and no support from the church leaders. It was heartbreaking to see my Mom go through this, mainly because it was within the confines of the church, and I knew it wasn’t a healthy environment. I finally felt confident enough to cut ties with this church and decided to take a break from attending and searching for a new one. I needed a break to regroup and determine if being involved in a church was healthy for me and if I could find community outside of it. After about a year, I was ready to search for a new home church. Despite the negative experiences mentioned above, I still enjoy church and am proud to call myself a Christian. Going to church can help individuals walk in their faith, but it is the relationship with Jesus that is most important. I’m always grateful for all the many opportunities to serve and be a part of something bigger than myself over the years. I met many beautiful people who have helped me grow more spiritually in my walk with Jesus, and it has helped me open my eyes to the fact that church, like anything else in this world, is not perfect. – Karlyn Whittington 

As I sit in my thirties, I never dreamed I would be at a place deconstructing my faith and questioning everything I believed in. I figured I would have it all together and ultimately be that next generation taking up the torch and leading the church—like what was told to me in those many youth conventions I attended. I thought I would have my elders’ support, love, and mentorship. Unfortunately, as I transitioned into my mid-twenties, I found out that my elders refused to mentor me and instead decided to spread lies that I was stupid and not submissive enough to my peers and church leadership. Shockingly, my peers followed suit and were malicious, stabbed me in the back, conjured up lies, and slandered my character. Furthermore, they murdered the only social structure I had ever known with hate in their eyes, and this was something I had never experienced before. Why was I in this place? It was all I had ever known. My parents started attending a United Pentecostal Church when I was three years old, and I participated in this church until I was about twenty-four. At that age, I had met some Independent Fundamental Baptists, thus leaving me to take almost a year of questioning them before I decided that I wanted to prove them wrong about the apostle Paul speaking in tongues. To my dismay, I proved myself wrong and them suitable for the gift of salvation. I was part of this denomination for several years. The spiritual abuse was unbearable during those several years, leaving me to struggle with my mental health for the first time since I was part of this denomination for several years. The spiritual abuse was severe in those years. This left me struggling with my mental health for the first time since experiencing some traumatic events in my childhood. As a result, I hated life and worked to prevent myself from ending it all. I finally took a stand for myself and expressed to my husband that emotionally I could not handle going to this church. It was killing me inside, and I couldn’t take life anymore outside of that. I tried out the Southern Baptist Convention for a short time. However, it came out that the former pastor was arrested for sexually abusing a child. Because of that, I decided to quit attending this church structure. I tried out a group called Recovering Fundamentalists at the time, but I saw some red flags and similarities in the UPCI, the IFB, and the SBC, but I decided to give them a year or two. During that time, they seemed to have changed their beliefs a little concerning some rules about the religious organization, but they didn’t fully let go of the hierarchy display of leadership. Moreover, the authority and devotion did not accurately reflect the Bible or Jesus Christ’s life. As I dived deeper into the Bible and the culture and the times within scripture, I found that the church of America didn’t depict the complete picture of the body of Christ written in the scriptures.

While I believe there are kind, well-meaning people in every church, I’ve encountered more business-minded individuals than I had Christ-like individuals. The concerns seemed to be focused on how good or bad the church looks rather than loving and caring for the hurt and broken. The lack of love for those whom the church has hurt is astounding to me, and they continue to pile on the pain by victimizing these individuals. Moreover, the church slanders and blames us for the hurt and dismisses our experiences. This hurt is one of the reasons why I started questioning the foundation of my faith while being a part of the United Pentecostal Church International, Independent Fundamentalist Baptist, and Southern Baptist Convention. Overall, the American church started my deconstruction because of the repetitive behavior that left me in pain.– Nichole Vaccaro {Instagram} @kup_a_tee

Many church leaders believe that exposing abusers will harm the church. In reality, that’s a short-term gain that leads to long-term damage.

In Closing

I think we need more empathy, humility, and compassion in how we engage with those who are questioning, hurting, or deconstructing their faith. Sometimes the most faithful response isn’t having all the answers or insisting on certainty. Sometimes it’s being willing to say, “I don’t know,” listening without judgment, and seeking truth together. Deconstruction doesn’t necessarily come from rebellion or a desire to abandon God. Often, it comes from deep curiosity, grief, difficult experiences, and trying to reconcile what we’ve been taught with what we’ve actually lived. When people don’t feel safe asking questions, expressing doubt, or sharing their experiences without fear of judgment or rejection, I think the church should be willing to ask why rather than responding with condemnation.

Those who are deconstructing aren’t necessarily trying to destroy their faith. Many are simply trying to understand it, work through what they’ve experienced, and figure out what they truly believe. I also think it’s important to recognize that our relationship with God and our relationship with the church are not the same thing. It’s possible to love God while questioning religious institutions, disagree with certain teachings while still holding on to faith, and recognize the good within the church without overlooking the harm that can happen there. Everyone deserves the space to question, process, and work through their beliefs without being made to feel ashamed for doing so.

I’m not against church participation, and I recognize that no church or individual is perfect. I know meaningful relationships, genuine community, and beautiful expressions of faith can exist within the church, even when there’s a disconnect between what’s taught and what’s practiced. That’s part of what makes this journey difficult. Walking away can mean losing relationships and a sense of belonging, but staying doesn’t necessarily guarantee peace either. I’ve experienced both the goodness of church community and the disappointment of leaving feeling hurt, even when I came in with an open heart and good intentions. I can acknowledge that people are imperfect and extend grace while also recognizing that forgiveness doesn’t mean ignoring harmful behavior or continuing to place myself in situations where the same hurt keeps happening. We each have to decide what we’re willing to tolerate and what we’re not.

As I teach my children to stand up for themselves, establish healthy boundaries, and walk in truth, I want my own life to reflect those same values. I want them to understand that loving God doesn’t mean they have to ignore their convictions, sacrifice their well-being, or remain somewhere simply because they feel guilty about leaving. They don’t need organized religion to demonstrate their love for God, and neither do I. Through all of this, one thing hasn’t changed: I believe in God and His goodness. I’ve experienced His faithfulness in so many seasons of my life, and my struggles with the church haven’t changed that. Leading worship has always been one of the ways I’ve expressed my love for Him, but I’m also learning to hold that calling with open hands. My heart will always be one of worship, even if leading within a church setting isn’t what that looks like right now. Worship takes many forms, and as I’ve worked through my hurt and released bitterness, I’ve found more space to experience my faith in ways that feel life-giving rather than exhausting.

I’m proud of my friends who have found the courage to speak out, ask difficult questions, and share their stories, especially when doing so hasn’t been easy. I know these experiences can be painful, complicated, and sometimes isolating. Each person’s journey looks different, and none of us can say we’ve fully arrived or have everything figured out. We’re all learning, growing, healing, and trying to make sense of things along the way. I don’t believe we have to agree on everything or reach the same conclusions to show one another kindness, understanding, and respect. We can listen to someone’s experiences without having to agree with every conclusion they reach, and we can offer compassion without compromising our own beliefs.

And to anyone walking a similar path, I hope you know that you’re not a bad person for questioning what you’ve been taught, setting boundaries, leaving a church, or even stepping away from Christianity because of hurt, abuse, hypocrisy, or spiritual manipulation. Your experiences matter, and you deserve the opportunity to work through them without being shamed, pressured, or made to feel that your questions somehow make you less worthy of love or belonging. I think the church has an opportunity to reflect on how it responds to people who are hurting, because listening, acknowledging harm, and being willing to take accountability can go a lot further than condemnation or simply telling someone to forgive and move on.

At the end of the day, I don’t think any of us have all the answers, myself included. I’m still working through my own thoughts and feelings about the church, what community looks like, and how to move forward in a way that reflects both my faith and my values. I want to continue approaching people with grace while also being honest about the things I can no longer overlook. I believe we can recognize the good, acknowledge the harm, and make room for different experiences without turning every disagreement into a judgment of someone’s faith or character. Whether you stay or walk away, my hope is that we continue to honor one another’s stories with grace, compassion, and love.