When Divorce and Faith Collide

In a home where fundamentalist beliefs shape every aspect of your life, marriage is seen as sacred and unbreakable. Divorce wasn’t just frowned upon; it was treated as an unforgivable sin, branding anyone who chose it with a mark of shame. It wasn’t just a personal failure—it was a community-wide scandal. Whispers followed the divorced like a shadow, and remarriage? That was unthinkable—a second marriage was seen as living in perpetual sin. This ideology wasn’t merely a personal conviction but an unyielding doctrine that shaped how relationships were viewed and valued. The idea wasn’t just about the sanctity of marriage; it was a weaponized morality, often used to keep people—particularly women—trapped in unhealthy or abusive relationships. Leaving wasn’t an option, even if it meant enduring harm. Instead, staying was presented as an act of spiritual strength, a cross to bear, no matter the cost.

I didn’t just witness these teachings; I lived them. Ten years ago, I found myself in a marriage that unraveled in just over six months. My first husband was everything I thought a Godly man should be: loving, committed to seeking a relationship with God, attending church with me each week, and participating in our young-married small group. But overnight, his behavior changed. He started disengaging from those activities, and he became physically and emotionally abusive. I chalked up our struggles to being newlyweds and ignored the red flags. I wanted to believe we could overcome these challenges together, but the reality was much darker. The turning point came when I discovered his infidelity. It was like a veil lifted, and I could no longer ignore the abuse and betrayal. My breaking point came during a terrifying altercation that left me fearing for my life. Physical and emotional survival became my priority at that moment, and I knew I had to leave. I fled to a friend’s house, seeking safety and support. That decision was the first step toward reclaiming my life, but it wasn’t an easy journey. At that moment, I realized that staying wasn’t an act of faith but a surrender of my dignity and well-being.

After I decided to separate from my first husband, we tried to go through counseling, but he wasn’t receptive toward it, and even during this process, he continued to cheat on me. This behavior was the driving force to move forward with the divorce. In learning about this, my family was supportive, given the circumstances, but they were adamant that I should never get married again. At just twenty, their decree felt like a life sentence, as though I was being punished for my husband’s betrayal. I believe my husband broke the marriage the moment he chose to be unfaithful. Many friends and pastors counseled me on this topic and encouraged me that the beliefs and guilt my family was pushing on me were wrong. Suffice it to say that my adoptive family wasn’t happy with how I moved forward, from the divorce itself to my eventual decision to meet and marry my current husband. Their anger and shame over my choices even continue to this day, but I knew deep down that I was following the right path for my life.

As I’ve reflected on those teachings, I’ve come to see how such rigid beliefs about marriage and divorce can be incredibly damaging. Leaving an abusive marriage and seeking safety, whether that involves divorce or even remarriage later, is not sinful. It’s understandable why this topic raises questions—Scripture often highlights the sacredness of marriage. The Bible describes marriage as a covenant that reflects Christ’s love for the Church. Jesus spoke strongly against divorce, explaining that Moses only consented to human sinfulness (Matthew 5:31–32). These teachings have shaped how many Christians view marriage as a union, not to be separated lightly. However, abuse fundamentally breaks the covenant of marriage. It is not just a betrayal but a weaponization of something holy to inflict harm, which Scripture condemns repeatedly. Abuse is, in essence, a form of abandonment—a departure from the love and safety marriage is meant to provide. Recognizing this, the act of leaving an abusive relationship is not a sin but a necessary response to protect oneself and one’s children.

For churches, the mission is simple but vital: to be places of refuge, not judgment—standing with victims rather than blaming women and holding abusers accountable. This means creating spaces where those navigating abuse or divorce can find compassion, safety, and guidance without fear of condemnation. It calls for leaders to take the time to understand the complexities of abuse and divorce so they don’t unintentionally misuse Scripture or perpetuate harm. Offering practical resources like counseling, support groups, and a firm stance against stigmas can transform the church into a haven of healing. At its core, faith communities are meant to reflect God’s love, beginning with walking alongside those in pain with grace and understanding. While we’ve made progress as a community, there’s always room to grow and become more like the refuge God calls us to be.

Churches are essential in supporting victims instead of perpetuating harm by misusing Scripture. Too often, abusers twist biblical teachings to suggest that seeking safety is unforgiving or sinful, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. This kind of distortion is a misuse of God’s Word—a tool meant to bring life, not control or harm. If you’re experiencing abuse, please hear this: you are not bound to endure harm to protect a marriage. Choosing to leave doesn’t make you a failure or a sinner. In many cases, it’s an act of courage and a step toward healing—honoring the safety and dignity God desires for us.

The idea that someone who’s been through a divorce should remain alone forever only deepens the pain. It denies the possibility of redemption and growth as if one mistake defines an entire life. This way of thinking doesn’t reflect the heart of faith, which is built on grace and forgiveness. It’s a stark reminder of how legalism can cloud compassion, turning what should be a source of hope into something heavy and hurtful.

By sharing these reflections, I want to challenge the narratives that keep people trapped in shame and judgment. Divorce is not the end of your story; it doesn’t take away your worth or your right to happiness. It’s time to let go of the rigid doctrines that dehumanize and instead embrace a more compassionate understanding of relationships and their complexities. If you’ve faced similar struggles, please know you are not alone. Your worth isn’t defined by anyone’s judgment but by the boundless grace and love God offers to all His children. He sees your pain, resilience, and value, even when others fail to. Isn’t that what faith is about—walking with one another in grace, compassion, and the courage to begin again? Let’s leave behind the judgment that binds us and instead embraces the love that sets us free.

Over the years, it’s ironic that the very people who gave me so much grief about my divorce are now the ones facing divorce themselves. My oldest sister, for example, filed for divorce in the spring of 2024. She once insisted her daughter marry her boyfriend, saying it was better to marry than face temptation. She pressured them into marriage and then forced them to live on her property in an RV—a situation that added unnecessary strain and undoubtedly contributed to the relationship’s collapse. Now, both my sister and her daughter are facing the same struggles they once condemned me for. It’s hard not to see the painful irony in their situations, but it also highlights a deeper truth: the rigid beliefs we grew up with didn’t just hurt me—they created cycles of pain for others. My sister’s harsh judgment of my divorce wasn’t about protecting faith; it was rooted in the same harmful teachings that led her to push her daughter into an ill-fated marriage. Looking back, I can see that those teachings prioritized control and appearances over true healing and growth. They left little room for grace, forgiveness, or compassion that reflects God’s heart.

The hypocrisy in my sister’s judgment is hard to ignore. She once accused me of “cheating on my first husband with my current husband,” claiming that, in God’s eyes, I was still married even after my divorce. And yet now, she finds herself navigating the very struggles for which she once condemned me. It’s as if life has come full circle, not just for her but for her daughter. Both are now forced to confront the harsh realities of their judgments. This reality is a painful yet validating reminder of how rigid beliefs and moral superiority can blind us to our shared humanity.

Looking back, it’s clear how the rigid teachings I grew up with were designed to control rather than heal. Divorce didn’t define my worth; it revealed my strength. It taught me that true faith isn’t about following rules for the sake of appearances—it’s about walking alongside others in love, grace, and humility. The shame and judgment I endured weren’t about preserving the sanctity of marriage; they were about control and fear. No one should have to sacrifice their dignity or well-being to uphold a belief that denies them God’s boundless grace. My story isn’t just about surviving domestic violence; it’s about reclaiming the truth that faith, at its core, is about restoration and redemption for all of us.

My journey through divorce and the pain it brought has profoundly shaped how I approach my faith. Before, I believed in this narrative that if I did everything right, honored and respected my spouse despite abuse, and kept even the worst of things behind closed doors, God would bless the marriage. Blessings from God, I thought, were contingent on how well I behaved or misbehaved—but I was wrong. I was taught to believe that everything bad in my life was a result of my choices or because I was inherently flawed. But I’ve come to realize that’s not how God works. Life happens. Bad things happen to good people. And good things happen to people who’ve made mistakes. Through that process, I had to relinquish control.

During my marriage, I longed to have a baby. Seeing everyone around me build families while my marriage crumbled left me feeling devastated, angry, and heartbroken. I couldn’t help but wonder why it wasn’t me. But now I see how God was protecting me. In that marriage, God had to strip everything away to teach me to surrender to Him fully. It’s been a journey, but I’ve come to trust God in ways I never imagined.

Entering this new marriage eight years ago, I learned the value of trusting God wholeheartedly and relinquishing control. I’ve also discovered how to stand up for myself, communicate more effectively, and recognize what a healthy relationship should look like—one that uplifts, nurtures, and reflects God’s love. In my current marriage, we actively choose to be partners, supporting each other through life’s challenges with grace and understanding. We know marriage isn’t about perfection or fulfilling rigid expectations—it’s about two flawed people committed to loving and growing together. My husband, Alex, has shown me what it means to love sacrificially and to extend the same grace I once needed for myself.

My story isn’t just about surviving domestic violence; it’s a testament to the resilience and grace God provides, even in the most challenging seasons. For those who feel trapped in cycles of judgment or fear, know this: you are not defined by the mistakes or labels others project onto you. You are defined by the love of a gracious God who sees you, values you, and calls you worthy of redemption and joy. As individuals and communities of faith, it’s time to reflect that same love—choosing grace over judgment, compassion over condemnation, and hope over fear. Because true faith doesn’t bind us; it sets us free.

While reconciliation and healing are possible for some marriages, I’ve understood this isn’t always the right path for everyone. In my case, leaving was not just a choice but a matter of survival. My safety and dignity were at stake, and staying in a marriage where trust, love, and respect no longer existed would have only caused further harm. For others, reconciliation may be a viable and beautiful option, demonstrating the power of forgiveness and restoration. But the reality is that abuse, unrepentant infidelity, or abandonment can erode the foundation of a marriage beyond repair. Scripture acknowledges this, offering a compassionate path for those who cannot stay. Whether someone chooses to stay and rebuild or leave to protect their well-being, both choices require courage and deserve understanding, not judgment.