“Here’s the problem: when we make ourselves the hall monitor of other people’s behavior, we risk having approval become more important than Jesus’ love.”

Everybody Always, Bob Goff

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“I haven’t seen you at church lately,” I said to Jana. “Everything okay? I know the last few years must’ve been rough after Ken passed away.”

She sighed, like she’d been holding something inside, just waiting for someone to ask. Or maybe not. I get these things wrong on occasion.

“I’m not going back.” Her statement. Not a woman questioning her decision. “First United? I’m done with them, Joe. After the way Thomas treated me? I will never step foot in that church.” Jana brought it up while we were standing in the produce section of Sprouts, closest the kale.

“Joe, have you ever had someone tell you what you needed? I don’t mean like you need to get an oil change. Or a haircut. I mean like, psychologically.”

“I’ve been told how I was feeling, if that’s what you mean,” I said.

“Exactly! I went to Thomas, or at least I tried to. His assistant, Misty, said he’s too busy to meet with me.”

Two years earlier her husband, Ken, died. Massive heart attack. Jana grieved hard. He did everything for her. Took good care of her, never concerning himself with his own health. First United always said they were there for their congregants. They showed up for the first few months, but weren’t there later, after things settled down, Jana told me. “The quiet is the worst. No one asks. It’s like you are some kind of untouchable. I wanted someone to know, someone who would listen to me.”

I stood there listening to Jana. I felt her pain, her hurt.

“I called Thomas. Tried sending an email, and got no answer. But his assistant.”

“Misty, right?”

“Yeah. First she said he was too busy. Then, she added that I needed to go through their grief class before he would talk to me.”

“A class? Huh. I wonder why.”

“Because they aren’t listening, Joe. I’ve been dealing with Ken’s death for two, almost three years. I know what it feels like. And you know what? I’m finally feeling okay.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” I said.

“I didn’t say better. I said okay.” She almost smiled. “Better is a made-up word people use so they don’t have to ask the next question.”

She told me about her band group, a group of women who were there for each other. Not to solve their problems. But to listen. “They helped me more than they know. I got to talk about it, how I was feeling. It was safe. And I managed to feel all of it.”

I could hear her residual pain, like a scar you can see. The remnants of what happened stay with you, even though the pain of it is gone.

“I can talk about Ken without crying. Without feeling angry, hurt, or upset. When I hear our song it’s fun again. I wanted Thomas to know that First United forgot me. No one checked on me. It’s been close to three years and I feel like a stranger in my home church.”

I didn’t have anything to say. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like. I didn’t want to.

“It’s been a year, Joe, since that conversation with Misty. I told her I wanted to talk. A conversation. That was all. But Misty and Thomas? They wanted complacency,” she said. “Someone who’d follow the rules because she needed guidance through the system. That’s not what I did. I forced them to look at their system. The brokenness of it. I told Misty a shepherd doesn’t make the sheep prove they’re sheep before he listens.” She paused. “A shepherd listens first.”

“Excuse me,” a young woman said to me. “Would you mind if I grabbed some kale,” she pointed. I moved quickly. “Sorry. Thanks.”

“I left six months ago, Joe. No one checked on me. No one said, ‘Hey. Haven’t seen you at service.’ Or ‘Did you hear Pastor Brad’s message on love? So good!’ Instead it was quiet. I had enough. What happened to those people who said they loved me? Cared about me? Wanted me to be a part of First United’s family?”

Jana was quiet for a second, then she said, “You know Paul never set out to change the minds of the men beating him. He just did what God told him to do. The right thing.”

She picked at a stem of kale in the bin, not really looking at it.

“I didn’t yell. I didn’t scream, even though I wanted to. I just left.”

Jana looked at her hands.

“Bob Goff says we need to trust that God will help people find their way toward beautiful things in their lives. I couldn’t make Thomas see the system. I doubt Brad knows any of this. But how could I pretend it wasn’t broken?”

Jana smiled. “It’s good seeing you, Joe. Tell Alissa I said hi.” She gave me a quick hug and grabbed her kale. I stood there, longer than I needed to, and got what I came for: kale.