I never grew up hearing about domestic violence from the pulpit.
I knew, in a general way, that women are hit. The fact that physical abuse happens in the home was not news to me. But I did not hear it spoken about in church. Not in a way that was clear and direct, and not in a way that made me think, this is sin, this must be confronted.
So I learned, quietly, that this existed somewhere in the background of life. Not something we brought into the open or something the church needed to name.
Until it happened in my home.
My ex-husband was abusive. He hit me, not every day, but he did. And that was enough, that was wrong. But even then, I didn’t say anything.
Why Was I Silent?
I am educated and aware. I am not someone who grew up without a voice.
And yet, when it happened, I stayed silent.
I did not tell anyone, not at first, at least. I stayed silent when it began and even when it repeated. Ultimately, I spoke only when I feared for my life and for the life of my child in my womb. Even now, that unsettles me.
Why did I not say something sooner? Why did it not rise up in me as outrage against violence, clear and immediate? And why did I begin, slowly and quietly, to believe that this was something I could endure?
I knew I had people who would listen. I was not alone in that sense. And when I did speak, my family stood by me, my parents, my sisters, my brother-in-law, my friends. They held me, helped me, and carried me through what I could not process on my own.
I am deeply aware that this is not everyone’s story. But what has stayed with me just as much as the abuse itself was the silence that surrounded it.
The Questions That Followed
When I began to speak, I expected compassion and clarity. Instead, I encountered questions.
Why couldn’t I just forgive? Why speak about it at all? Is this not something many women go through? What makes my situation different?
And then the quieter, more cutting ones: Did I not love him enough? Was I praying enough? Was I being faithful to my vows by speaking about what was happening?
It was as though the weight of the situation had shifted. From what was being done to why I was naming it. As if marriage, even in its most broken form, required silence to be preserved.
Nearly one in five Indian women reported suffering physical and sexual violence from their partners. Domestic violence happens in Christian homes, too. It happens in churches. Sometimes, maybe even among those who stand in pulpits and speak about love, patience, and faithfulness.
Looking back, I do not think what I needed was extraordinary.
I needed someone to say that this is not okay. What I needed was someone to ask if I was safe. I needed someone to take what I was saying seriously, without redirecting it too quickly. And I needed someone to hold my husband accountable. Not just comfort me and not just pray with me, but act (Jer. 22:3).
How the Church Can Respond
My prayer for the church in India is to be a church that is not silent about domestic violence.
The church has an opportunity to respond differently to domestic violence: not with silence or uncertainty, but with clarity, compassion, and action. A faithful response begins not with fear but with humility, the willingness to see clearly, speak honestly, and care well for those entrusted to us (Prov. 31:8–9).
1. Speak about Domestic Violence: It begins in the pulpits. We need sermons that speak honestly about domestic violence and name abuse: physical, emotional, and psychological as sin, even within marriage (Ps. 11:5; Eph. 5:28–29). When these conversations remain absent from our churches, many continue to suffer quietly, unsure whether what they are experiencing can even be spoken about. Churches can speak clearly about domestic violence and name abuse for what it is.
2. Visible Pathways for Support: Churches can also become safer places by making support visible and accessible. Survivors should not have to wonder where to turn or whether they will be believed. A trusted point person, a visible statement that the church does not tolerate abuse, a helpline number, or a confidential process for seeking help can communicate something deeply important: you are not alone, and your safety matters.
3. Pursue Accountability with Integrity: We also need the humility to recognise that domestic violence can exist within Christian homes, including within church leadership. Accountability cannot apply only to some. A healthy church culture is one where sin is confronted with integrity and where protecting the vulnerable matters more than protecting appearances.
4. Create a Safe space for the Vulnerable: Too often, the focus shifts toward the response of the person speaking up rather than the actions of the person causing harm. But the church reflects Christ most faithfully when it creates spaces where truth can be spoken without fear, where repentance is taken seriously, and where silence is no longer mistaken for peace.
The Call to Faithful Care
The gospel does not ask us to minimise what God calls sin (Ps. 5:4–5). But neither does it leave wounded people without hope. The hope of the gospel is that in Christ, sin is brought into the light, mercy is offered freely, and healing and restoration become possible (1 Pet. 2:24).
Throughout the Gospels, Jesus moved toward those who were hurting with compassion and truth (Mark 1:41). He did not ignore suffering or silence the wounded. Instead, he welcomed the weary to come to him and find rest (Matt. 11:28). As his body, the church is called to reflect that same heart (1 Cor. 12:27).
For many who are suffering, one compassionate conversation, one safe response, or one church willing to listen carefully can make all the difference.
My hope is not for perfect churches, but for Christlike ones. Jesus does not pressure people into silence, but wants them to find safety, support, and truth among his people (Ps. 82:3-4). He does not want accountability and compassion to be seen as opposites (John 1:14). In the church, the love of Christ is made visible not only in what we preach but also in how we protect, respond, and walk alongside those who are hurting.
And perhaps that is where change begins: not in grand statements alone, but in churches that are willing to listen well, respond wisely, and become places of refuge for those who need it most.
