What price will we pay to belong?

When true community is hard to find, we might settle for cheap imitations

We were halfway home from church one Sunday when we realized: one of our kids left her shoes behind. (I still have no idea how she got into the van barefoot without us noticing.)

We turned around to look for them. But as we pulled into the church parking lot where a couple families were still talking, one little girl came running towards us with the shoes in her hand: “Elizabeth forgot these!”

It was a cute moment, but not a little one. We were still new to the church, but someone noticed the shoes; someone remembered that little detail about our family. That afternoon, something shifted for me: we were starting to belong here.

Things are different today. Six weeks ago, we moved to a new city in a new state. Sundays used to mean walking into a building where we knew almost everyone. Sundays were a day our kids looked forward to, when they’d run around with their friends after service and beg us to let someone (or many someones!) come home and play for the afternoon. It meant there were families who knew which shoes belonged to our kids, and vice versa.

Now, Sundays mean walking into an unfamiliar space, feeling anonymous. They mean awkward moments after service, standing around while it seems everyone else is chatting with friends. Sundays mean trying to meet people while our kids take turns pulling at our sleeves — “can we go home now?” People don’t know our names, much less what shoes any of us wear.

I miss the friends we left behind. I miss the gift of knowing we belong.

Photo by William White on Unsplash

What does it cost to belong to a church community? Unlike country clubs or kids’ sports leagues, there’s no required entry fee, no annual dues to pay. You can just walk in, sit down, and sing along.

We spent nearly 10 years in a church that emphasized the idea of “community.” We believed — and new members often told us — that we were a friendly, welcoming place. A true church family, offering unconditional love.

What I didn’t know, until it was too late: this community didn’t come for free. There was a price to belong, but this type of payment is tricky to recognize.

Behave + Believe = Belong

There’s an unspoken contract in some churches: “behave, believe, and then you can belong.” Your belonging depends on whether you conform to the community’s expectations (and especially its leaders).¹

“But wait, isn’t the point of church to gather with others who behave and believe in similar ways?” Absolutely. But Jesus’ way has always been to offer belonging first, so that belief and behavior flow from secure relationship, not fear of rejection.²

The difference between a healthy community and an abusive one is the latter will demand “payment” and punish you if you fail. A healthy community won’t set conditions for your acceptance. It will let you determine whether you belong. If you no longer want to follow their beliefs, you’ll be free to leave, not forced out. And if you break the rules in a healthy community, you will be pursued, called back into relationship, whereas an abusive community withholds affection until you obey.³

We thought we knew unconditional love in our former church, but the abuse exposed the truth: this was a transaction, and we no longer had the right currency.

I accidentally failed both requirements for belonging. First, belief: I posted on social media about a book whose author’s views diverged from our church. It didn’t matter the book was about an unrelated topic, or that I still held the same beliefs as our church — our lead pastor told me I shouldn’t promote the book or the author.⁴ When I questioned this, the pastor got angry with me. I was not allowed to believe — or even to appear I might believe — something he didn’t approve.

Second, behavior: I had been increasingly concerned about the lead pastor, but the above conversation seemed to set him off. A couple weeks later, he removed me without warning from my volunteer leadership role, while the elders launched an investigation based on anonymous and nonspecific “charges” against me. It was a blatant abuse of power. Church members who found out were shocked, outraged, and confused.

Initially, a large group of people supported me. Many met with pastors to raise objections. This made things worse. I couldn’t see it clearly at the time, but the pastors expected me to silently submit to their authority. Because I spoke honestly with others in the church about what was happening (rather than keeping the process a secret), because I questioned the pastors and their methods, I could not belong. I was not behaving. The pastors and their wives, once some of our closest friends, stopped talking to us entirely. Others in the church began to distance themselves. No behavior, no belonging.

As the process dragged out over weeks and then months, we saw there was still one easy path to return to the community we’d loved for nearly 10 years. If I stopped talking about what happened, and if I confessed my “sin” (I never found out what it was) and submitted to a discipline process with an indefinite outcome, we could be accepted again.

“If you just behave and believe, you can belong.” The choice was clear, but I couldn’t pay the price. If I wanted to belong again, I’d need to participate in a lie, covering up the corruption now so clearly exposed in our church and its leaders. I’d need to never question the lead pastor or express differences of opinion around doctrine.

I couldn’t pay that price, but many others were willing. So many.

Of the dozens of people who initially came to my defense, only a handful ended up leaving the church. Some of the most vocal staff members were offered raises or promotions, one by one backing out and growing quiet.⁵ Families who stood with us at first decided it was time to “move forward and forgive;” to “believe the best” of the pastors, even as they continued to lie and abuse their power.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why we were being abandoned and betrayed, over and over. Why so many friends were willing to close their eyes or look away when something was so obviously wrong. We were alone. I was overwhelmed by grief, powerless to stop the pain.

I couldn’t understand then, but I do now. Our friends wanted to belong, and they were willing to pay the price of silence and submission. Belonging was cheaper than integrity.

Now, I don’t think anyone consciously thought, “If I try to speak up, I won’t be able to stay in this church. I’d rather pretend this didn’t happen, so we can stay here and be comfortable.”

But we are always, in every situation and relationship, making subconscious decisions about what we think is valuable, what we’re willing to “pay” in time or attention or emotional effort. The stakes were incredibly high for these families. That church, for so many, was a place of unique belonging. We had so much in common, it was easy to fit in and make friends. The majority of us were white, upper-middle class families with kids. For many, church was our primary social circle. It wasn't just Sundays. It was multiple weeknights — community group, Bible study, youth group — not to mention other informal gatherings, playdates, coffee dates, parties. This was a place of belonging.

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

When true belonging is scarce, we settle for cheaper versions

With the distance of a few years, plus some healing from the trauma, I can see more clearly why our former friends made the choice they did.

Belonging is an incredible gift. And it’s increasingly rare today.

We all come into the world “looking for someone looking for us,” as Curt Thompson says.⁶ We’re born with an innate need for relationships where we are seen, known, and loved. And we don’t lose this need when we grow up. In fact, even shallow connections can help — research has found that our mental health, happiness, and sense of connectedness improves just by having small, friendly interactions with strangers on a regular basis.

Growing numbers of Americans now describe themselves as lonely. Walking into a church week after week and chatting with the same friendly faces can be a fairly superficial type of belonging, but many are starving for even this level of connection.

Once you’ve gone a little deeper — once belonging moves beyond “how are you?” — it’s all the more difficult to let go of. A church community like the one we had can become the center of your social life. You don’t have to text each other millions of times to get something on the calendar: Sundays are automatic, as are any other recurring church events. Before long, your kids are playing on the same sports teams, inviting each other to birthday parties. You’ll have a ready-made invitation list for holidays. Someone will bring you meals after a new baby or a surgery. You’ll know who has a pickup truck you can borrow.

Someone will know if your kid left their shoes behind after church. You’ll know you belong.

Belonging is precious, and it's rare. Humans are willing to pay a high price for anything with these qualities. And when it comes to belonging — something so essential to our health, happiness, and sense of self, well … we might even be willing to give up the truth.

Many of our friends were willing to hand over their integrity so they could continue to belong. They were willing to trust the pastors and not ask questions. And they were willing to let us be cast out because it meant they could stay in. It didn’t matter that the “belonging” they chose wasn’t the real thing. Better to pay the price than risk losing even this shallow imitation of community.

We paid the price for their belonging, and it hurt. It still does, but I do understand the choice they made. Not having somewhere to belong is lonely, and hard.

But what’s harder is the constant effort of working to belong in a group that will drop you if you fail. The price of belonging to an unhealthy community is a debt you’ll never pay off.

As long as our belonging comes with a price tag, our churches won’t be safe places for us, much less our neighbors. I’m holding out hope that our family can once again experience the unconditional love of Christ embodied in a local church. Where people will know who the shoes belong to. Where we can trust, without conditions, that we belong.

1. I came across this phrase in “She Deserves Better” by Sheila Gregoire, but you may have seen it used elsewhere.

2. Jesus, the friend of sinners, scandalized the religious leaders of his day because he offered belonging to tax collectors and prostitutes rather than requiring them to first change their behavior.

3. To clarify, I’m not saying a healthy community won’t have rules or won’t care if you break them. Behavior and beliefs are part of what define a group, but a church defined by Jesus’ grace will have a radically different way of handling “sinners.”

4. The book in question was The Great Sex Rescue, which I continue to recommend wholeheartedly! Sheila’s views on women in ministry were the problem for my pastor. While I was still a complementarian at the time, I’ve since changed my own position.

5. I’m not sure she’d want me to name her, but I want to mention the courage of one staff member. Although she and her family had been deeply involved in the church for years, she was the first to directly tell the pastors, in front of a group of church leaders, “This is abusive.” She later stepped down from her staff role and her family left the church. She paid a huge price for her integrity. I so admire her — and since she’s a subscriber, I hope she reads this!

6. Curt Thompson’s work has been incredibly helpful for my healing. So far I’ve read The Soul of Shame and Anatomy of the Soul. His Being Known podcast is also great.