Hurt in the 'Black Church'

"Church hurt" is a topic that continues to gain attention because of the number of people it impacts. For clarity, in the context of this blog, I’m referring to the local fellowship within a church institution, not the universal Body of Christ. That’s important to state, because while the spiritual Church remains the bride of Christ, many local assemblies are suffering from fractures that come from within.

As someone who left church fellowship for several years and returned about seven years ago, this issue is close to my heart. I'm not singling out the Black church as the only place where hurt occurs. Church hurt spans denominations, ethnicities, and geography. Still, I speak from my own lived experiences, and it's no secret that Sunday morning remains one of the most segregated hours in America.

Recently, while revisiting old sermons, which is one of my favorite things to do, I came across Derek Prince’s teaching titled Casting Down Strongholds. It was insightful, as his teachings usually are, but I paused when he made a statement about Black American churches that made me think. He said:

"My observation again is that nearly all black American churches are extremely legalistic. Hardly any of them know the real liberty of God’s grace. The reason is that the spirit of slavery has never really been dealt with. It still has a measure of control over them. They’re Christians, many of them, and some of them are very lovely Christians. But as a group, they’ve never been set free." - Derek Prince, Singapore "Casting Down Strongholds" (1)

His words made me reflect on something I’ve felt but struggled to fully express. Could it be that the hurt many experience in church is tied to something deeper? Could generational trauma be influencing how Scripture is interpreted and practiced, especially in the Black church?

During slavery, the Black pastor held a complicated role. Enslaved men who were seen as influential were often positioned by slaveholders to preach specific scriptures about obedience and submission. These sermons weren’t always preached from a place of spiritual revelation but were often survival tactics. Later, during the Jim Crow era, the Black church became one of the few places where Black leadership was respected. The pastor wasn’t just a spiritual leader. He was also a political voice, a counselor, and the center of the community.

But with that kind of power comes responsibility. Over time, some of these leadership positions became untouchable. What began as a safe haven turned into something controlling. I can’t tell you how many sermons I’ve heard about obedience, submission, and honoring leadership, far more than I’ve heard about Jesus. The gospel seemed to take a backseat to a culture of loyalty. People were being groomed to follow leadership more than they were being discipled to follow Christ.

It was always about the “oil flowing from the head,” or the dangers of touching God’s anointed, and this created an atmosphere where leaders couldn’t be questioned, even when things were clearly out of order. Fear-based preaching took root. Fear of being cursed. Fear of losing blessings. Fear of being seen as rebellious.

The irony in Derek Prince’s statement is that he helped form the Shepherding Movement, which pushed some of these same fear-based tactics. Even though he later renounced the doctrine, it still found a stronghold in many Black churches. The question is, why do we hold onto teachings that even the originators let go of?

I believe it’s because we haven’t addressed the trauma. When your community has survived slavery, segregation, and systemic oppression, you learn to value order. You cling to structure. And in doing so, it’s easy to confuse control with covering. We often interpret strong leadership as safe leadership, but safety and submission are not the same thing.

People leave churches not because they hate God but because of how people used God’s name to wound them. And that wound doesn’t go away just because you walk away. Some who leave the church end up turning against Christianity altogether, claiming it was forced on our ancestors and used to keep us oppressed. But more often than not, that argument is born from pain; not a well-researched view of history. It's a defense mechanism when trust is broken.

Church hurt isn’t a buzzword. It’s a cry. And it's time we listen.

We need to call out spiritual manipulation, challenge harmful leadership structures, and address trauma-based theology. We can’t keep pretending it's not happening. Healing begins when we admit something is broken.

I still believe in the church. I believe in the beauty, strength, and resilience of the Black church. But we have to talk about what’s gone wrong. We can honor the history while being honest about the harm. We can rebuild something healthier, something rooted in grace and truth.

This isn’t an attack on the church. It’s a cry for healing. A cry for safety. A cry for the gospel to be preached in its fullness, not just as a tool to keep people in line, but as the power to set people free.

1. Derek Prince, “Casting Down Strongholds,” Derek Prince Ministries, accessed July 12, 2023, https://www.derekprince.com/sermons/51.