It was snowing, so we moved our Wild Church service to a West Philly backyard and pulled our camping chairs around a fire pit. I said, “This brings back memories of the pandemic.” 

Believe it or not, Covid-19 first plagued us six years ago. It changed us — not just in how we consider public health but also because, during that time, the world witnessed the brutal killing of George Floyd. All of this happened during the first Trump administration. That trifecta of events politically charged us, polarized congregations and left many of us traumatized.

I’m learning more about trauma- informed spiritual care in my class for Eastern Mennonite Seminary’s Doctor of Ministry in Peacemaking and Social Change program. The latest scholarship on trauma explores how the pandemic and the events that surrounded it have impacted us.

I’m learning from my pandemic trauma that in order to heal I must soften my hardened heart to see the humanity of those around me.

The pandemic drastically affected me personally. It was during that time that I publicly came out as queer, and shortly afterward I left my longtime job as a pastor at Circle of Hope. My departure from Circle of Hope, and all of the trouble that brewed in that Brethren in Christ community, has impacted how I pastor. I’ve learned so much in the years that have followed. With God’s grace, I hope I have grown.

The problems we faced in the church were related to ecclesial power, race and gender relations and what it meant to love our neighbor in an age of Covid. There is at least one widely read and reviewed chronicle of the end of Circle of Hope (Circle of Hope: A Reckoning With Love, Power and Justice in an American Church by Eliza Griswold, Macmillan, 2024). I have not publicly commented on Griswold’s narrative, but seeing myself reflected in her account offered me a self-awareness I hadn’t had before. Though I might tell a different story, I learned a great deal from her interpretation.

Now I feel like a Monday-morning quarterback, wondering what I might have done differently. We debated whether we should meet in person, how and when we should mask, how to become a more antiracist church. I was a victim of the racism in our system. 

For a long time, the pain I endured hardened my heart. I was certain I wouldn’t have changed anything, even as I faced the pain of those around me — some of which I was responsible for. My trauma kept me from seeing myself as clearly as I wish I had.

My inability to see my own power shaped how I acted in those moments. I’ve come to terms with the fact that the call-out culture I engaged in — while it felt acceptable at the time, in the spirit of speaking truth to power — was misguided. My perception of the power of those above me kept me from seeing their humanity.

In stressful or panicked situations, we don’t act like our best selves. This was true of me and perhaps of those around me as well. I wish I had seen the hard time we were all having instead of acting in a self-righteous way. I wish I had picked up the phone more to seek understanding, rather than relying on my intellect and intuition, which at times were impulsive and ego-driven. I wish I had been more patient and self-aware.

I wish I had given others the grace I am learning to give myself. For the ways I caused harm, I am deeply sorry. And to those who have harmed me, for my own freedom and dignity, I am moved to forgive them. I am committed to growing and learning as a person, a father and a pastor.

My heart has finally softened. Sometimes it takes space for us to heal from our trauma in order to see more clearly. Sometimes it takes space to recognize our own self-worth. I am grateful for the people who journeyed with me and helped me see myself more clearly. I hope we can all find spiritual friends who support us in this way.

The politically charged climate of the pandemic has not left us. ICE is brutalizing our neighbors and kid­napping them. President Trump is making authoritarian power grabs. Churches and denominations are dividing over queer inclusion. All of these events have the potential to traumatize us. I believe we should do our best to recognize how deeply our circumstances injure us. They harm us, and they can move us to act in ways that feel foreign, even when we are certain we are doing the right thing. 

I hope we can all slow down and treat our fellow humans as the beloveds they are in God, calling them to be true followers of our Lord. And, for the times we do not act as well as we wish we had, I hope we continue to lean on God’s grace, offering it to ourselves and to one another. In this season of dehumanization, may our politics and our faith be rooted in bringing forth the fullness of our humanity.