Building a Bridge Between the Exiled and the Faithful

Exile was supposed to be the end of my story.

When I wrote Straight to Hell, I thought I was simply recounting the cost of leaving Evangelicalism. Instead, I was met with a flood of responses—from the exiled who still carry scars, and from the faithful still inside, torn apart by doctrines that demand they turn away the very people they love.

Since my exile twenty-six years ago, many have told me about the shame they carried for decades after being told they were unworthy. Others confessed the torment of still sitting in pews, knowing their faith demands they condemn people they love. The sheer range of voices made something clear: this isn’t just my story. It’s a story being lived on both sides of the divide.

I know both groups intimately because I have been both people.

The Double Wound of High-Control Religion

Growing up in a rigid faith system split me in two: the person I was, and the person I was supposed to be. That fracture left me carrying shame in silence for decades.

But here’s the truth: high-control systems don’t just wound the people they exile. They wound the people they keep.

I’ve seen this firsthand. As a psychologist, I’ve sat across from parents weeping because their church told them rejecting their gay child was “faithfulness.” I’ve counseled pastors who lie awake at night, grieving sermons they preached against people they secretly love. Their devotion became a prison, binding them to rules that forced them to betray their deepest instincts of compassion.

Religious trauma doesn’t only scar the exiled. It scars the faithful, too. And until we name that, we will keep pretending only one group bleeds.

The Numbers Don’t Lie

The data confirms what many of us already know in our bones. Most White evangelicals still believe homosexuality should be discouraged by society. And the fallout is devastating. A 2021 PRRI study found that nearly 80% of LGBTQ+ people raised in religious traditions eventually leave—most not because they stopped believing in God, but because they were rejected, shamed, or silenced.

A 2024 Pew study revealed that 64% of White evangelicals believe the Bible should outweigh the will of the people in shaping U.S. law. That belief doesn’t stay theoretical; it writes laws, divides families, and forces people to choose between doctrine and love.

This tension—between conscience and compliance, compassion and control—is tearing families and communities apart every single day.

Two Groups, One Common Pain

It’s easy to cast this as a battle line: the injured versus the faithful, the rebels versus the devout. But the truth is more complicated.

• The religiously injured carry wounds of rejection, shame, and exile.

• The sincere faithful carry wounds of obedience—complying with a system that forces them to turn away their children, their neighbors, sometimes even themselves.

  
  

Both groups are in pain. Both deserve compassion. Both need a way forward.

My Calling: To Build a Bridge

I don’t claim to have all the answers. But I'm beginning to suspect that my calling is to build a bridge.

Not one that asks the wounded to shrink their truth or the faithful to silence their conscience.

And let me be very clear here: by “faithful,” I don’t mean those who wield religion as a weapon, who are driven by hatred, bigotry, and cruelty. I mean the many sincere believers caught in an impossible bind—those who long to honor their faith, yet grieve the harm their obedience causes.

I want to build a bridge that says to the exiled: You were never wrong to tell the truth. You were never defective for being who you are.

And a bridge that says to the faithful: Your sincerity is real. Your love is real. And the pain you carry when your faith demands you hurt others is also real.

Because high-control religion injures everyone—those it casts out, and those it forces to do the casting.

Breaking Silence Without Breaking People

If my journey has taught me anything, it’s this: breaking silence doesn’t have to mean breaking people.

We can name harm without dehumanizing. We can call out abuse while still offering empathy to those who haven’t yet found their way out.

This is not easy work. It requires courage, nuance, and honesty. But if we want healing, it is necessary work.

The Reckoning We Need

We are living in a moment of reckoning. The language of religious trauma is breaking into both clinical and cultural consciousness. Terms like religious trauma syndrome are entering

the mainstream. And people are daring to ask the questions they once believed were forbidden:

What did my faith teach me? And was it true?

Those questions are not rebellion. They are awakening.

My Invitation

I wrote Straight to Hell to tell the truth about my own exile. But post-launch, my mission is bigger:

• To stand with the exiled, naming their trauma and giving voice to those still too wounded to speak.

• To speak to the faithful, naming the impossible double-binds their faith imposes, and holding out the possibility of another way.

  
  

Because the truth is this: whether you’re inside or outside, we’re all paying the cost of silence.

And silence is what broke us.

Truth is what will heal us.

It’s time to start speaking.

✨ Straight to Hell: Memoir of an Ex-Evangelical Pastor is available now wherever books are sold. Subscribe to this blog for more content, and be sure to listen to the upcoming companion podcast Straight to Hell: A Psychospiritual Journey.

Your Brother,

John the Exile