Dear friend,
For it was not an enemy who insulted me, then I could have endured it. Neither was it he who hated me who raised himself up against me, then I would have hidden myself from him. But it was you, a man like me, my companion, and my familiar friend. We took sweet fellowship together. We walked in God’s house with company.
I left a church once and didn't tell anyone why for two years. Not because it was a secret exactly. Because saying it out loud made it real, and real meant I had to feel the whole thing instead of managing it from a safe distance. I still flinch a little at certain worship songs. Not because the songs did anything wrong. Because of who was standing near me when I used to sing them.
I'm not going to tell you what happened to you was part of some plan, or that the people involved didn't understand what they were doing. Sometimes people in churches do exactly what they meant to do, and it still wrecks something in you that took years to build.
There's a psalm where the writer says it plainly, the wound came from someone he sat at the table with. Not a stranger. Not an enemy from outside the gate. I read that and felt less insane. This kind of hurt has a name and it's old.
I'm not asking you to explain the whole thing tonight. What's the part you haven't said out loud to anyone yet?
A prayer
God, You know exactly what was said and done, and what it cost her. Be near the part of her that flinches now. Don't rush her past this. Amen.