05/24/2026
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/14fgqpqHkhN/
They Thought I Was There to Steal Their Men
We were helping Miriam move house when she pulled me aside and apologised. She'd been unkind to me, she said. When I was a new Christian. She was sorry. I told her it didn't matter. That it wasn't a big deal. I laughed it off and packed up another box.
Except it did matter.
And it was a big deal.
When I first went to church I was an addict, newly sober. I was in serious debt. I had recently tried to jump off a bridge. I wasn't there to make friends. I wasn't there to find a hobby or join a social club. I was there because I was trying to stay alive.
Some of the young women were not entirely welcoming.
Looking back, I understand more than I did at the time. They had grown up inside a Christian bubble. They were good girls. Most of them didn't drink. They didn't own push-up bras. They thought acid was something you used in cooking. And they definitely couldn't do winged eyeliner properly.
And then I walked in.
I think they thought I was there to steal one of their men. I was actually there so I didn't try to jump off any more bridges.
When some excluded me, I was just bewildered. And hurt. Which is its own kind of absurd, if you think about it. Being excluded from a place you didn't even want to be. Getting rejected from a club you never asked to join.
Of course it still hurt. Being left out always hurts. Even when you're standing there thinking, I don't even want to be here, I just need to not die.
Today is the Church's birthday. Today we remember that Jesus sent the Spirit of Truth to help us. He did not leave us alone. He sent us a Spirit of fire and wind that opened everyone's eyes. And we have turned that into the church.
But here's the thing. I kept going back. Even when it was hard and unwelcoming and I didn't fit. I kept going back. And that broken, imperfect, sometimes unkind church became the place that saved my life.
We are the church. Imperfect, broken, still-figuring-it-out people. It is where we gather and figure out how to be in Christ together.
And we get to decide, every single week, what kind of church we're going to be. Because when I unlock the doors on a Sunday morning, I'm not just opening up for my parish. I'm waiting for a young woman with too much make-up and a push-up bra to walk in off the street instead of jumping off a bridge.
Who are you keeping the door open for?
Bless you, Rev Jessie
PS. I did eventually marry one of their men. The best one, as it turns out. Sorry about that.
PPS: If this landed for you, would you share it to your story? I know, it's vulnerable. But it's how this finds the people who need it most.
