A woman came to my office and told me about a church where she and her husband had hoped to find belonging.

They had started attending because some friends went there. As they grew older, they were looking for companionship and a place to deepen their faith. At first, they found both. They began attending regularly, bringing snacks for coffee time and helping wherever they could. She knitted little prayer shawls for people who needed comfort.

Then she joined the weekly Bible study.

She told me that one woman in the group repeatedly challenged her in ways that left her feeling small. When she shared a thought, the woman questioned which Bible she was reading, insisting it was the wrong one. She talked over her and used complicated language that made it difficult for her to respond. Discussions about scripture became political speeches, with harsh judgments about other Christians and anyone considered too liberal.

As I listened, she described how those encounters had slowly taken away her joy. Week after week, she became more hesitant to speak, more worried about being corrected or embarrassed. This continued for a year and a half, until she stopped going to Bible study altogether.

Now she and her husband were considering leaving the church.

What saddened her was that even Sunday worship no longer felt peaceful. She found herself anticipating another hurtful remark. The place where she had come to be encouraged in her faith had become a place where she felt she needed to protect herself.

Sitting in my office, she was grieving more than a difficult Bible study. She was grieving the community she thought she had found.

Here was a woman who had quietly knitted comfort for others, wondering whether there was room in that same church for her own tender heart.

When the Church Protects the Bully

I have heard versions of this story for years. Different congregations. Different names. The same wounds. It happens so often that it begins to feel like the norm.

It is harm we have learned to tolerate.

Jesus knew this religious landscape: people too certain to examine their beliefs, too attached to authority to notice whom they were hurting. People wrapping control in religious language and calling it faithfulness.

In Matthew 23:23, Jesus confronts religious leaders who carefully observe small religious obligations while neglecting justice, mercy, and faithfulness. His criticism is painfully relevant: we can get the religious details right and still fail the people standing before us.

This passage should hold a mirror up to the church. We are capable of the very hypocrisy Jesus challenged.

The problem reaches beyond one cruel person. It includes everyone around that Bible study table who lets it happen. Silence leaves the wounded person alone and gives the bully permission to continue.

What does it mean to pray for peace and justice on Sunday while giving the church bully free rein on Monday?

“Everyone needs love,” someone says.

Yes. Including the woman who no longer feels safe enough to speak.

“We are all sinners.”

Yes. That is a reason to practise repentance, not an excuse to avoid accountability.

Why must the wounded person always be understanding? Why must they be the adult, keep the peace, forgive quietly, and make everyone comfortable?

How about asking the bully to grow up? To listen? To apologize without excuses? To examine their behaviour and change it?

Love requires that, too.

In Luke 17:3, Jesus places correction alongside forgiveness: when someone sins, confront the wrongdoing; when they repent, forgive. Naming harm belongs within a faithful community. Forgiveness does not require pretending nothing happened or giving someone unlimited opportunities to hurt others.

And Matthew 18:15–17 describes a process in which unresolved wrongdoing becomes the community’s responsibility. Whatever our procedures today, the principle is clear: the church has work to do. The wounded person should not have to carry the whole burden.

Church decline has many causes. But we cannot keep blaming society while refusing to examine what happens inside our own doors. People have told me they left because the church’s behaviour contradicted its message.

When a congregation becomes more recognizable for its political loyalties, rigid doctrines, and shared enemies than its compassion, something has gone terribly wrong.

Going to church makes me a Christian about as much as sitting in my garage makes me a car. My faith must take shape in how I treat people after worship.

In John 13:35, Jesus says that love for one another will identify his disciples. Our treatment of people is part of our witness. What, then, are people learning about Jesus from us?

I would rather be hated for whom I include than loved for whom I exclude.

And please, let us stop confusing Jesus’ love with endless agreeableness. He defended people pushed aside. He challenged religious hypocrisy. In Mark 3:1–6, he heals a man despite the scrutiny of those more concerned with enforcing Sabbath boundaries than welcoming restoration.

Being pastoral sometimes means saying, clearly: “This behaviour must stop.”

I have tried to challenge bullying in churches. I know the resistance, the conversations behind my back, and the reluctance of leaders afraid to upset those accustomed to control.

Ministers need accountability. Congregants do, too. A church that scrutinizes its minister while shielding influential members creates an exhausting and unjust imbalance.

We need leaders willing to intervene, clear expectations for behaviour, and consequences when harm continues. Another sermon about kindness will not replace action.

That woman came seeking community. She offered her time, her faith, and the work of her hands. She deserved a community willing to offer care in return.

Imagine if someone around that table had simply said, “Let her finish. Her voice belongs here.” Imagine if a leader had followed up and insisted on change.

That would have been love made visible.

I will not be silent about a church culture that protects intimidation and calls it peace. I will stand beside those whose voices have been pushed out of the room.

What are we doing with Christ’s message?

Our answer will be found in whom we protect when protecting them costs us something.