I’ve wrestled for days about whether or not to talk about this. I’ve drafted multiple versions in my head of a post for Instagram or Facebook. Ultimately, I decided: yes, the hypocrisy of loud Evangelical spaces is worthy of being called out; but no, a social media post won’t do justice to the nuance of what needs to be said.

I’ll start with the punch line and work backwards: A megachurch in central Indiana posts a clip of the pastor saying, “This might sound intolerant…this might sound unloving…but religions that don’t point towards Jesus are cults…that the worldview behind them is evil.” (Dear Reader, if you have to qualify that what you are saying ‘might sound’ unloving or intolerant, it is, indeed, unloving and intolerant) I question in the comments: “Which religions? Islam? Judaism?” A second megachurch pastor from South Carolina chimes in to clarify, “Yes, they would be cults.” Someone else chimes in asking, “Why does it matter?” “It matters because his comments lack humility and curiosity about what is in the hearts and minds of other people,” I say, including Jews and Muslims. Shortly thereafter, my comments disappear, and I am blocked from the church Instagram profile.

I can’t say I was surprised. I have sparred with this pastor on Instagram before, calling out his misogynistic treatment of women in his sermons. Apparently rattled by this interaction, he even mentioned engaging in social media debates in his following sermon. So, when I called out the hypocrisy of claiming that ‘all are welcome’ on their website, but then calling everyone not subscribed to his brand of Christianity a ‘cult’, it felt predictable that they would simply remove my questions and silence my voice. (I could easily convince myself that the church’s social media team is protecting the pastor from the temptation to spar with me again, but I have no direct evidence of that.)

I have struggled with the angst I feel about this particular pastor and church. Why? Why am I so hung up on this church? And this particular pastor? It’s very personal.

I have written before about my experience with this church during COVID and how I discovered, only by accident, that women are not welcome in leadership. (Because they don’t claim it in their statement of beliefs, they just exclude women, and we finally caught on. They call it ‘complementarianism’, which is just a fancy made-up churchy word for patriarchy.) We left the church a year or so before we left the city, after I, as a physician, begged the church leaders to encourage attendees to wear masks for a service during the peak of COVID in late 2020, and they refused. I was hurt and confused. As I watched this church, and many others, become more extreme in their conservative Evangelical beliefs, I felt duped; shame that I ‘fell’ for the lights and smoke machines and worship music and power-preaching that has a strong patriarchal, warrior ethos, and divisive undertone. I felt sadness for the friends I had made and had left, and I worried about their continued exposure to what I had come to see as theology barreling towards Christian Nationalism.

I know that I have done some deconstructing…a concept that this megachurch pastor admonished as evil, instead of recognizing it as healthy curiosity about finding Jesus himself over organized Americanized religion. I have had some significant changes in my understanding of complex issues such as abortion, LGBTQ+ inclusion, and the treatment of women. I have softened my legalistic beliefs and found my true north in the love Jesus requires of all of us towards everyone. That paradigm shift has changed my approach from certainty to comfort with uncertainty; from militant evangelism to humble curiosity; from literal translation to contextual understanding of biblical text.

It’s probably a blessing that this church blocked me on Instagram. I no longer see the reels and posts that are filled with spiritual warfare language that induces unfounded anxiety. It’s probably best that I don’t see the pastor who has cozied up to controversial Christian Nationalist figures like Josh Howerton. It’s probably for good that I don’t have daily reminders of the hurt I am still healing from in a place that was supposed to show me the love of Jesus, but instead reminded me that my voice, especially my voice as a woman, is unwelcome.

They may say ‘All are welcome’, but the experience is less than welcoming if you have questions or don’t fit their mold. I just want those I know and love who remain in that space to know that they can leave, too. There is incredible peace and love and joy on the other side.

Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.