Church Hopping

Church hopping is not a sign of weakness. It’s the cry of the wounded,searching for somewhere soft to land.

ChatGPT blew my mind today. I asked it to create custom ceramic glaze and clay recipes, and it delivered. I even uploaded photos of my pieces and asked it to show me how they’d look with different glaze finishes. The possibilities are endless now. Kinda scary, right?

But something else has been stirring in my thoughts—the whole narrative around ‘church hopping’. We’ve been taught it’s terrible, like a spiritual red flag. But the more I listen to survivors' stories and reflect on my own experiences, the more I see it differently. There are real, valid reasons why people move from church to church. Church hopping isn’t just a flippant choice—it’s often a response to deep hurt, disillusionment, or the search for safety and truth.

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ChatGPT explained it in this way:

"Church hopping" is a term used to describe the practice of frequently switching from one church to another rather than committing to a single congregation. It’s often seen in Christian communities and can carry both neutral and negative connotations, depending on context.

Reasons people church hop:

• Searching for the right fit – People may be looking for a church that aligns with their beliefs, values, worship style, or community needs.

• Avoiding commitment or conflict – Some may leave a church when things get uncomfortable or challenging.

• Healing from hurt – After being hurt by a church or its leadership, people might move around, trying to find a safe place.

• Spiritual curiosity – Others might just be exploring different expressions of faith.

How it's viewed:

• Negatively: Some see it as lacking commitment, accountability, or depth in faith.

• Sympathetically: Others recognise it can be part of a personal healing journey or spiritual growth.

In some circles, it's used critically, like a warning against being a "consumer Christian"—but the reasons are often more complex and personal.

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In the past few years, I’ve spoken with countless former members of our high-control community.
Too many of them no longer step foot inside a church.

They tried.
They slipped into the back rows of large congregations,
hoping to hide,
to heal,
to belong—without having to explain the ache that chased them in.

But they couldn’t stay.
The walls whispered too many memories.
The songs reopened wounds.
The smiles felt too polished.
And the cost—
was too great.

So now, church is a place they pass by.
A place they once loved.
A place they no longer trust.

I’ve watched this pattern unfold again and again.
After the grand explosion—when so many of us were cast out—some found sanctuary.
A quiet pew.
A kind pastor.
A church that didn’t ask too much, but offered warmth.
And yet, even those places became temporary.

Now, I understand church hopping.

It’s not about chasing the perfect church.
We know that doesn’t exist.
It’s about survival.
It’s about finding a flicker of Jesus without being burned by His people again.

The broken still believe.
They still want to gather.
They still cling to the verse—
“Do not give up meeting together.”

But the pain is too loud.
The misunderstandings are too deep.
And the barriers from leadership—
those unspoken walls of suspicion and silence—
are often impossible to climb.

Church hopping is not a sign of weakness.
It’s the cry of the wounded,
searching for somewhere soft to land.

And to the churches who welcome the limping,
who don’t flinch at tears,
who listen without fixing,
and grieve alongside the shattered—
you are holy ground.
You give us hope that maybe,
just maybe,
we can stay a little longer.

But if our scars scare you,
if our honesty feels too heavy,
if you wish we’d sing louder and bleed quieter—
we will come,
and we will go.
And in the end,
we may leave completely.

Our love for Jesus may remain.
But our trust in the system
will lie in ruins.

So I ask—what are we (the church) doing to create safe places?
Not perfect ones.
Safe ones.

The Church must become intentional.
Open.
Honest.
Willing to sit in the ash heap with the broken.
Willing to weep before rushing to resurrect.

No more “do not touch the Lord’s anointed.”
That doctrine has sheltered wolves and silenced lambs.
It is not holy.
It is not love.
It is not Jesus.

It’s time to cleanse the temple.
To turn over the tables.
To make room for lament.

Because the Bride of Christ is still bleeding.
And she is worth saving.