Navigating the Paradox of Faith, Service, and Vulnerability in Church Leadership

As I reflect on the recent North England Conference of Seventh-Day Adventists (NEC) 64th session, held from September 11th to 13th at Leonardo Hotel Hinckley Island, I was reminded of the years I spent as the Communication Director for the NEC—a role I held for five years following over a decade of volunteering. I was alarmed by how the proceedings seemed bereft of Christian etiquette and love. The atmosphere at the session was strikingly contentious, and I found myself questioning how we can be about "our Father's business" while often lacking fundamental qualities like love and kindness.

When I was first invited to serve as Communication Director, I was filled with excitement and hope. I believed it would be an opportunity to enact meaningful change within our conference and work alongside those I admired—our pastors and church leaders. It felt like the first day of school—full of promise and potential. However, the reality of working within the church structure soon proved to be far more complex than I had envisioned.

The last two years of my tenure were particularly challenging; describing them as traumatic feels like an understatement. I faced threats of dismissal simply for questioning a decision made by the then-president during camp meeting. This conflict escalated to the point where external consultants were brought in, who, unfortunately, were swayed to see me as the problem. I don’t share this to cast the previous administration in a negative light but to highlight a deeper issue: even in spaces meant for safety, growth, and spiritual nourishment, such as the church, we can experience profound harm.

One observation I’ve made throughout my time in Christian spaces, particularly within our denomination, is a tendency to deny ourselves the ability to truly feel. There’s an unspoken expectation to be stoic, almost unemotional, in our pursuit of faith. It’s as if showing vulnerability or emotion is seen as a weakness or a lack of faith. As “people of the book,” we’ve become so focused on being intellectual luminaries in theology that we’ve lost touch with the simple, yet profound act of feeling—of being human. This intellectualisation can make it easy to hurt one another without fully grasping the consequences. We can Christianise our bullying, quoting scripture while simultaneously causing pain because we feel justified in our actions. This dismissive attitude towards our brothers and sisters fosters a toxic environment where kindness and empathy are often overshadowed by self-righteousness.

When I left my position at the NEC, I was deeply broken, struggling with depression, anxiety, and a profound sense of self-doubt. I constantly questioned myself, wondering if I could have done things differently. I found myself at a crossroads, wrestling with the paradox of finding both my source of healing and my deepest hurt within the same community. How do we navigate a space where the potential for healing exists, but the very people around us—those meant to support and uplift—are the ones causing the most pain? Unless we address this, our communities will continue to be dysfunctional, and we will continue to be unkind to one another.

I have been a Seventh-Day Adventist since 1992, baptised on a day that remains a vivid spiritual milestone for me. My then-pastor, now the Field Secretary of the Trans-European Division of Seventh-Day Adventists, Pastor Ian Sweeney, has been a lasting influence in my life. From him, I learned the value of service and the importance of working within a church structure I grew to love. Watching his journey—from church pastor to conference president, then British Union Conference president, and now a division leader—has been inspiring and motivational.

Service has always been at the forefront of my journey in the church. Despite my challenging experiences, I still encourage others to volunteer and seek to work within the church. I hope that one day we will have an administration that prioritises the well-being of its workers, fostering an environment where people can flourish, grow, and feel safe both spiritually and mentally. Unfortunately, my support system was not found within the church but outside it. It was through therapy and external help that I accessed the tools to forgive those who broke my heart and begin healing.

Forgiveness is crucial. Without it, we risk perpetuating cycles of hurt and toxicity within our congregations. I am tired of unkindness, tired of divisiveness, and tired of the blasé outlook many have toward how we treat each other. We need to explore our vulnerability and acknowledge that beneath our hardened exteriors, many of us are soft and yearning for kindness. If we continue to intellectualise our faith without embracing the emotional and human aspects of it, we will leave every discussion at an impasse, with more questions than answers, and without the simple, yet profound kindness that Jesus taught.

While my journey has been fraught with difficulty, I remain hopeful. I believe that through honest reflection, genuine dialogue, and a commitment to kindness and empathy, we can build a more supportive and compassionate church community. It’s not about dismantling our religious structures but about ensuring they are places where everyone feels safe, valued, and heard. My hope is that we can create an environment where everyone is encouraged to thrive and grow in Christ's love, with open hearts and open minds.