Why Did It Take So Long? (And Why Did Leaders Let It Happen?)

I keep seeing posts that say, “I’m leaving the church because it’s toxic.” Or, “Church hurt drove me away.”

I understand that pain.

There are toxic churches. Corrupt systems. Ungodly leaders who misuse authority and harm people. These aren’t isolated incidents or rare exceptions. For too many believers, this has been their lived reality—and the scars run deep.

That’s real. And it’s not your fault when leaders fail.

The Questions We Need to Ask

But here’s a question I wrestle with: If it was that toxic… why did it take so long to leave?

And equally—perhaps more importantly: Why did leadership allow it to become that way?

Both questions matter. Not to assign blame, but to understand how we got here and how we move forward with wisdom instead of just woundedness.

How Dysfunction Takes Root

Because dysfunction doesn’t happen overnight. It develops over time, layer by layer, compromise by compromise.

It’s built by leaders who avoid accountability—who surround themselves with yes-men instead of truth-tellers, who confuse their authority with God’s voice, who silence dissent in the name of “unity.”

It’s sustained by systems that prioritize control over Christ—where loyalty to leadership becomes more important than faithfulness to Scripture, where questioning is treated as rebellion, where the organization’s reputation matters more than people’s souls.

And sometimes—not always, but sometimes—it’s enabled by people who stayed silent. Not because they were weak or complicit, but because:

∙ They were taught that leaving equals rebellion, that enduring abuse is somehow spiritual maturity

∙ Their identity was tied to the system—their friendships, their sense of purpose, even their understanding of God was wrapped up in staying

∙ They hoped things would change if they just prayed harder, submitted more, gave leaders one more chance

∙ They didn’t know healthier places existed, or believed the lie that “all churches are like this”

The truth is, many people didn’t stay because they wanted to. They stayed because the cost of leaving felt unbearable—and the system was designed to make them feel that way.

What I Believe About Toxic Systems

Here’s what I’ve come to believe through Scripture, experience, and watching too many good people walk away wounded:

God doesn’t require you to remain in dysfunction to prove your faithfulness. Nowhere in Scripture does enduring spiritual abuse equal spiritual maturity. Jesus confronted corrupt religious systems. He didn’t tell people to quietly submit to Pharisees who were “devouring widows’ houses.” He exposed them.

But toxic systems don’t fix themselves either. They require leaders willing to truly repent—not just apologize for “how things were perceived,” but to own the harm done and rebuild with genuine accountability. And they need people willing to speak truth, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it costs something.

The answer to church hurt isn’t isolation. Walking away from community entirely may feel safe, but it’s not the healing God intends. We were made for belonging, for the body of Christ functioning as it should.

It’s not blind loyalty. Staying in dysfunction doesn’t honor God. It enables the very thing that’s destroying people’s faith.

It’s not excusing bad leadership. Leaders will give an account for how they shepherded God’s people. That’s not our judgment to make, but it’s also not ours to minimize or explain away.

And it’s not pretending victims should have “just left sooner.” That response lacks both compassion and understanding of how control systems actually work. Leaving takes courage. Sometimes it takes years to even recognize what’s happening.

The Path Forward

So what is the answer?

It’s discernment—learning to recognize health from dysfunction, biblical authority from authoritarian control, genuine shepherding from self-serving leadership.

It’s accountability—for everyone. Leaders must answer to other godly leaders, not just their own board or inner circle. And congregations must be willing to ask hard questions and expect real answers.

It’s healing—which takes time, often requires help, and can’t be rushed. Your story of hurt matters. Processing it honestly is part of moving forward, not being “stuck in the past.”

And it’s building communities that actually look like the Kingdom—where truth and grace coexist, where leaders wash feet instead of demanding platforms, where people are known and loved, not just used and managed.

A Word to the Wounded and the Guilty

If you were hurt, I’m genuinely sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Your pain is valid. Your questions are legitimate. And you don’t owe toxic systems your loyalty, your silence, or your future.

If you stayed too long, you’re human. You were probably doing the best you could with what you understood at the time. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—shame you for that.

If you were a leader who failed people—own it. Not with excuses or explanations that minimize the harm. Own it fully. Repent genuinely. Seek reconciliation where possible. Do the hard work of becoming someone safe to follow. And understand that some bridges can’t be rebuilt, some trust can’t be restored—and that’s a consequence you must carry.

Don’t let pain convince you that what was broken is all that exists.

Because it’s not.

There are healthy churches—imperfect, yes, but led by people who genuinely fear God more than losing their position.

There are leaders who embrace accountability, who welcome questions, who admit when they’re wrong, who see their role as serving rather than being served.

And there is a place where your faith can breathe again—where you can ask hard questions, wrestle with doubt, grow at your own pace, and discover that following Jesus looks nothing like the cage you escaped.

Moving Forward Together

The question isn’t just why people left. That answer is often painfully clear.

The question is: Why did leaders let it get that bad? What systems of accountability were missing? What warning signs were ignored? What voices were silenced?

And perhaps most importantly: What are we all building now?

Because the Church—the true bride of Christ—is worth fighting for. Not the institution that wounded you. Not the system that protected its reputation over your soul. But the community Jesus envisioned: where the last are first, where the broken are welcomed, where truth is spoken in love, and where His presence is the only thing we’re trying to protect.

That’s worth building.

That’s worth staying for.

And that’s the vision that should guide us forward—not away from community, but toward the kind of community that looks like Jesus.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​