The Girl Who Dropped Jesus

We may think we see a painful situation clearly. Then God gives more light.

Are there things you look back on, certain you know exactly what happened?

For a long time, that's how I saw something that happened in second grade. Then God gave me a miracle. He has made beauty from ashes and strength from weakness.

Before I go further, let me explain what I mean by “dropping” Jesus.

In my childhood faith, we were taught that during communion the bread became the literal body of Christ.

Each week, our K–8 school walked across the parking lot for church services where light poured through stained glass and a beautiful mid-century tile mosaic stretched high behind the altar. Being there with classmates on Thursdays cemented the same things I felt with my family on Sundays. Church was home.

One Thursday, when it was my turn to receive communion, I stepped forward and reached up. But instead of stooping down to give me communion, the clergyman tossed it. The wafer rolled off my hands and fell to the floor.

In that moment, I believed I had dropped Jesus.

The clergyman shouted for me to pick it up and eat it as my classmates from first through eighth grade watched. When I returned to my pew, I could not stop crying. I thought I had done something unforgivable.

That moment was painful. But it was not the most impactful experience of my faith journey.

Years later, in high school, I began exploring a different Christian denomination. That decision brought consequences from adults outside my family who wanted to control my choices.

If believing I had done something unforgivable as a child was the spark of internalized fear and shame, what happened later was a wildfire. Those experiences shaped me in ways I didn't understand for a long time.

But like I said, my Savior is a God of miracles.

Even though these parts of my past kept surfacing: blips of social anxiety at church, fears that God was disappointed in me, and compulsions to prove my worth in faith-based settings, eventually my Savior showed me what was wrong. And it had very little to do with me.

He showed me that while it is good to move on, we can only truly do so once we have addressed the past.

Which is why I am here.

From what I have learned, the human mind has many pathways to healing. For me, key to untethering false ideas about God and the low hum of shame was returning to those moments with my Savior beside me. EMDR therapy, through my faith community’s social services, helped me do that. Within months, things began to shift.

One thing I've learned is this:

"Trauma is not only what happens to us. It is what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness." —Peter LeVine

As a child and teen, isolation in painful situations allowed shame to take root.

Returning to those things with a perfectly empathetic witness, Jesus Christ, removed isolation. The past no longer held the same power.

With that came understanding.

I learned the clergyman who shamed me struggled with mental illness. While that does not excuse what happened, it helped me release the belief that I'd done something unforgivable.

I learned that after that incident, teachers made sure he no longer led services for students.

I learned he once ministered to a young couple others had turned away.

I learned he returned from war expected to minister to others with little to no help healing his own mind.

For years, I imagined storming into his office and shouting, “You made me drop Jesus! Then you shamed me in front of everyone!”

I had no idea God had something better in mind, like understanding the past and my worth, and even, the worth of those who hurt me.

I no longer see myself as the girl who dropped Jesus. Now, I see myself as the one He picked up. The one He carried when no one fully understood what she needed.

He understands because He has been there.

In case you're wondering why no one intervened, the answer to that has many layers.

After the difficult interaction with the clergyman, I did feel anxious on Thursdays, wondering if I would see him again. Knowing he would no longer lead services for student would have spared me some anxiety as a kid. But, I can't blame my parents or teachers for not handling it perfectly.

Would you believe that years later, when something similar happened to one of my own teens, I didn't know what to do either? When my child was shamed during a similar church ordinance, of all people, you would think I would have stood up. Instead, it became one of the times my wounds resurfaced. I went home and cried.

But these experiences have cemented a few things for me:

Setting boundaries in faith-centered relationships is not wrong, even when it feels uncomfortable.

It is not always Christlike to stay silent.

Jesus heals spiritual wounds.

My new normal is not perfect, but it keeps improving. The greatest change is that I have my agency again. When imperfect behavior appears, I can respond in ways that reflect Him.

And sometimes what He places on my heart is unexpected, for example, this thought:

If that clergyman shamed a little girl who dropped Jesus today, you would be the one to advocate for his mental health needs.