"Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2 (ESV)
The Church has wounded me. And the Church has healed me.
Both statements are true. Both are hard to hold together. And yet, I believe this tension—this paradox—is where grace does its deepest work.
In a world that idolizes individual spirituality and offers endless reasons to walk away from "organized religion," I find myself returning again and again to the broken, beautiful Body of Christ. Not because it's always safe. Not because the people are always kind. But because something holy still lives in the cracked places. There is healing in the Church—not despite its difficulty, but often because of it.
I. The Tension We All Feel
To be part of the Church is to experience both harm and healing. No one is untouched by the pain that people within the Church can inflict. Perhaps you have been gossiped about, unfairly judged, or pushed to the margins. Perhaps a leader abused their power, or a community failed to love you when you needed it most.
I have been there.
Yet, I have also seen the Church embody the love of Christ in ways that pierced the deepest places of my pain. I have been reminded that even in her worst moments, the Church is not defined by her sin but by her Savior. This paradox is summed up well by the early Church Father, St. Augustine:
"The Church is a whore, but she is my mother."
He did not mean this to insult her, but to acknowledge that she is made up of fallen people in need of grace, just like me. And yet, it is within this messy, grace-filled family that God has chosen to make His home.
II. The Healing Found in Difficult People
"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." — Proverbs 27:17 (ESV)
Pain in the Church often comes from the people closest to us, those we trusted to walk with us. But healing also comes through people. The very ones who wound us may be the ones God uses to sanctify us.
John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, recognized this tension. He knew the dangers of a self-centered Christianity and insisted on communal discipleship:
"Christianity is essentially a social religion... to turn it into a solitary religion is indeed to destroy it."
Our spiritual formation requires others. It requires accountability, correction, encouragement, and yes—even confrontation. These things can hurt, especially when poorly done. But when handled in love, they become instruments of healing and growth.
III. The Early Church: A Community of Brokenness and Beauty
"Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it." — 1 Corinthians 12:27 (ESV)
The New Testament Church was not ideal. It was marked by disputes, selfishness, doctrinal confusion, and moral failure. Yet, God did not abandon it. Instead, He poured out His Spirit to sanctify it.
Paul's letters are filled with pastoral anguish and deep affection. He calls out the sins of the Corinthians but reminds them of their identity in Christ. He corrects the Galatians sharply but does so with a father's love.
The desert fathers and mothers withdrew to the wilderness, not to reject the Church, but to pray for her renewal. Abba Anthony said:
"Our life and our death is with our neighbor. If we gain our brother, we have gained God."
Even in isolation, they remained committed to the communal nature of faith. The Church was never an afterthought. It was the place where the life of God was made visible, even through flawed people.
IV. Why Healing Happens in Community
Healing in the Church doesn’t come from a perfect institution. It comes from the Spirit of Christ dwelling within imperfect people who are willing to repent, forgive, and love again.
"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." — Ephesians 4:31-32 (ESV)
Wesleyan theology emphasizes sanctifying grace—the ongoing work of the Spirit in making us holy. And this work is rarely done in solitude. We are refined in the fires of community. The rough edges of our souls are sanded down by real people, in real relationships, in real churches.
There is no fast track to healing. There is no perfect church. But there is a perfect Savior who chooses to work through broken people.
V. Personal Reflection: My Story of Being Wounded and Healed
I’ve been hurt by people who used Scripture as a weapon rather than a balm. I’ve had seasons where I walked away from church buildings, convinced that Jesus might be found anywhere but there.
But I kept coming back.
Sometimes I returned with reluctance. Other times with longing. And each time, I encountered the surprising grace of God through the Church. Through a quiet prayer spoken over me. Through someone bringing a coffee when I was too burnt out to go on. Through a hard but needed conversation. Through communion, where I stood shoulder to shoulder with people I didn't like, all of us in need of the same mercy.
This, I believe, is the mystery of the Body of Christ. We don’t always choose who’s in the Body. But we are called to love them. And sometimes, healing comes not when the pain stops, but when we allow others to walk with us through it.
VI. The Church as a Hospital for Sinners
Jesus said:
"Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners." — Mark 2:17 (ESV)
The Church is not a hotel for the holy. It is a hospital for the broken. We all come limping in. Some of us hide our wounds; others wear them openly. But healing requires vulnerability.
In early Methodism, Wesley's class meetings functioned as healing spaces. People gathered to confess sin, testify to grace, and commit to growth. It was a sacred rhythm of mutual accountability. Not perfection, but presence. Not judgment, but journeying together.
VII. Forgiveness and the Long Road of Reconciliation
Forgiveness in the Church is not cheap grace. It does not mean excusing abuse or ignoring injustice. But it does mean we remain open to the possibility of reconciliation.
"If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all." — Romans 12:18 (ESV)
Sometimes, healing involves leaving a toxic situation. But it never means giving up on the Church altogether. We may need space, rest, counseling, and time. But the goal is restoration—both personally and communally.
John Chrysostom, an early Church Father, preached:
"The Church is not a gallery for the exhibition of eminent Christians, but a school for the education of imperfect ones.
It is in that school that we learn forgiveness. Not just once, but over and over. Seventy times seven.
VIII. Why I Still Believe in the Church
Because Jesus does.
He gave Himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25). He calls her His bride (Revelation 19:7). He promises to build her, and that the gates of hell will not prevail against her (Matthew 16:18).
No other institution has lasted so long, done so much good, and yet remained so imperfect. It is this paradox that convinces me it must be divine.
The Church has survived empires, corruption, schisms, scandals, and sin. And she is still here, not because of her strength, but because of Christ's.
So I remain. Sometimes bruised. Sometimes hopeful. But always rooted in the belief that healing is not found in escaping the Body but in embracing it.
Because when the Church remembers who she is and turns her face again toward Christ, she becomes a place of profound healing.
Not just for me. But for the world.