You didn't leave. But did you quit? Spiritual Warfare Part Two

Bottom line upfront: The enemy doesn't need you to leave the church. He needs you to quit while you're still sitting in it. And the fastest way he gets there is to wound you through someone you trusted.

Last Sunday I asked for your stories. I read every one. The most common thread wasn't demons. It was distance—from God, from church, from people who were supposed to be safe. And most of you are still showing up.

Here's how it happens.

More than ten years ago, I agreed to a meeting with a famous pastor and Bible teacher. The understanding was that he would apologize for the things he'd said about me personally, from the pulpit and in public, and then we would pray together. He reminded me that's what Jesus told us to do when a brother sins against you: go to him, just the two of you, and win him back (Matthew 18:15). That's not what happened. He yelled at me for forty-five minutes. He told me I was the lowest form of creeping thing. The only way I got him to stop was to say, "Wow, you must really think I'm a terrible Christ follower." He said, "No, not at all." I walked out of the room. Two weeks later, a letter arrived from a very well-known law firm. If I repeated what the pastor had said to me, there would be consequences.

I had walked into that room to do exactly what Jesus said, and I walked out shouted down and then threatened by a lawyer. After that, I stopped expecting the church—or the people leading it—to be a safe place. And once I stopped expecting anything from them, I slowly stopped expecting much from God. I stopped contending: praying like it mattered, pushing back against the enemy, fighting for what God wanted to do in me. From the outside, nothing changed. Nobody could tell. Including, for a while, me.

Quitting without leaving

Business has a name for what I'm describing: quiet quitting. You're still employed and still in the meetings, but your heart has checked out. The church has had its own version for two thousand years, and Jesus named it in His letter to the believers at Laodicea:

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. —Revelation 3:15–16

That's quiet quitting, first-century style. Laodicea hadn't walked out. They were present, comfortable, and sure they needed nothing. Jesus' problem with them wasn't that they were hurting. It was that they had stopped wanting anything from Him.

Now, I need to be careful here, because some of you were wounded by people who should never have had authority over you. Leaving an unsafe church is not leaving Christ. A boundary is not surrender. I'm talking about the wound that talks you out of trusting God—not the wisdom that tells you to stop trusting an unsafe leader. The first is the enemy's work. The second may be the Spirit's.

So what separates the quiet quitter from someone who has simply set a healthy boundary? The quiet quitter decided, somewhere after being wounded, that contending isn't worth it.

You know Ephesians 6. Put on the full armor of God so you can stand your ground. Every one of us has a post to hold—praying, staying in the Word, pushing back against the enemy's lies, standing guard over the people God has put around us. A soldier who leaves their post unmanned allows an opportunity for the enemy to walk right through.

What the wound does

The research on believers wounded by a leader is thin and mostly about abuse, so I'll say only what it agrees on. Researchers call the damage moral injury: a rupture in trust, in who you are, in your faith, in what anything means. In a 2026 survey of people hurt by a pastor, over half said Scripture was used against them—"don't bring shame on the church." What the research can't tell us is how many ordinary believers carry a smaller version of that wound and never say so. That's why I'm asking you.

And here's the finding that matters for you. Some of the research describes a response it calls distancing for self-protection. The person doesn't leave the church. They stay, but they pull their heart back and stop expecting anything from the people around them. And that response can go two very different ways.

The first believer pulls back from a leader. They were hurt by someone who proved unsafe, so they stop putting their full weight on that person. They're careful about what they share and whose counsel they trust. But their trust in God is still intact. They still pray expecting Him to answer. They still open their Bible expecting to hear from Him. That isn't quitting. That's wisdom.

The second believer starts out the same way, pulling back from the leader. But the distance doesn't stay there. Little by little, it spreads from the leader to the Lord. First they stop expecting the pastor to be safe. Then they stop expecting God to show up. Their prayers get shorter, then stop. Worship becomes something they sit through.

From the outside, you can't tell these two people apart. Both are in church every Sunday. Both look faithful. But the first has set a healthy boundary, and the second is carrying a wound that has learned to sit still.

That second one is what the enemy wants. Open quitting gets noticed. Quiet quitting is invisible. Discouragement whispers, Nothing changes. Deception adds, You're fine. God understands. And the post is empty while the seat is full.

The way back is not harder

Scripture makes room for rest, for lament, for weakness—we'll get to that next Sunday. What it doesn't make room for is a believer who has quietly decided God isn't worth contending for. But the way back isn't a call to grit your teeth and try harder. The New Testament book of Jude, written to believers being pulled away from their faith, describes a simple remedy in four parts: build yourself up in the faith, pray in the Spirit, keep yourself in the love of God, and show mercy to others. None of those require you to fix what happened to you. They only require you to turn back toward God and take the next step. At the end of this little book, Jude adds the promise that makes it all possible: God is able to keep you from stumbling.

The re-engagement is yours. The keeping is His.

For me, re-engaging was small. I opened my Bible expecting to be fed, not to perform. I told one person what had happened and that I'd checked out. I showed up the next Sunday wanting something from God again. That's it. The armor goes on one piece at a time.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. —Galatians 6:9

You may have carried a wound like this for years and told no one. That's not disqualification. You know what it costs to stay with God when a leader fails you. The person behind you has no idea yet. Put the armor on where they can see you.

The question

Are you still at your post—or just still in the room?

What wounded you, and did you quit without leaving? Just email me at arniec@btt.org and write as much as you can. Your name will never be attached to anything we publish. These stories are shaping the study and next Sunday's article.

Next Sunday, Part Three: standing firm without confusing rest with surrender.

In it, to Kingdom win it!

P.S. This week on Spiritually Fit Today, my guest Randy Simpkins and I share stories of generosity, faith, and obedience—from donating a kidney to founding a life-changing foundation. If this article has you thinking about your next step back toward God, this is a great place to start.