I Abandoned God as a Worship Leader, Then Jesus Did This...
-
Joe Pringle, a successful worship artist, decides to pursue fame in the secular music industry. Meth, cocaine, and everything life had to offer takes its toll, and after waking up 36 hrs after a suicide attempt, he knew he needed help.
-
This article has been created from the full text transcript of the TruWitness podcast episode featuring Joe Pringle. AI has been used to clean the text, but all content is original.
I grew up in Sydney, Australia, on the northern beaches. My parents planted a church in Australia and that grew into a movement of churches around the world. Today there are just under 700 churches around the world under the C3 banner. People were coming to Christ in the hundreds.
I grew up in the church. I grew up with faith, and I had some experiences with God that defined my early years. But at an early time in my life when I was between 3 and 5, I was sexually abused. I didn't talk about that until I was 32 for the first time. That left a scar within me that I didn't know how to deal with. It came with a lot of shame attached. I would say it introduced me to depression from a very young age—confusion, big questions. I was young and considering death, trying to understand all of this.
That was tough to deal with on my own. I never wanted to be a victim to it, so I hid it. I sought escapism from all the pressure of growing up in the church as a pastor's kid. I became the stereotype, I suppose. I chose to see how rebellious I could be.
My teenage years weren't all that bad, but there was a lot of experimentation. I lost a few friends to suicide when I was about 15. There was a big sweep of teenage suicide coming across Australia. I was experimenting with drugs and drinking while being at church, while my dad was a pastor.
I lost those three friends and my granddad passed away around the same time—a 4 to 6 month period. There was a lot of loss. My heart was turning stronger towards Christ at that point.
I remember giving my life back to Christ one Sunday. My brother gave me a guitar, and I started fooling around on it. I wrote a song—the first song I ever wrote. It was called "Stay," and it just came very easily. I kept fiddling around on the guitar, and that gave way to being involved in worship at the church. I came on staff part time to help run the worship at the church, which was pretty large at that point. We started writing worship, recording, and producing records, and that took us around the world.
But there was always this looming weight of frustration—wanting to creatively write about other things or reach out. I think there was this selfishness in me that wanted to just be either famous or for money or pursue freedom. There was an opportunity to move to the United States and start a band. I moved here with selfish ambition cloaked with wanting to reach the secular world as a Christian band.
But deep down on the inside, I wanted to run. I wanted to get out of the bubble I existed in. It wasn't like I didn't have my own faith, but I wanted to step out on my own. It's almost like the prodigal son asking for his inheritance—I wanted to go do my own thing.
We got set up as a band and started playing around different clubs. We put out a couple of records and did some tours. It was going somewhere but wasn't going as fast as anyone wanted.
What happened was I got into a relationship that was toxic on both ends—my part and the other side. We moved in and out of being in the relationship, and around the 37th time, it was kind of final. And it ripped me to shreds. I could not operate. We both knew it was not good to be in this. My heart was shattered. I think I was most likely in love with love, not necessarily the commitment or what that could mean or what might have been healthy. I had a nervous breakdown. I couldn't stop shaking. I couldn't operate. I don't think I'd ever been in love up to that point, and it was just a shattering. After that, I ran away from God and my previous life as fast as I could.
The doctors put me on all these medications—this was my first experience with American doctors. I went on a course of SSRIs and then a whole bunch of anti-anxiety and sleep medication, Trazodone and Xanax. I was drinking heavily at that time as well—a handle of whiskey and a bunch of other stuff.
I remember this deep depression. The only way I could put it was it felt like black tar—I was baptized with black tar. I couldn't breathe properly. I couldn't see properly. Nothing tasted the same.
I tried killing myself. I woke up 36 hours later lying on the bathroom floor where I was living, covered in my own stuff. I was like, something's got to change. I tried, but I tried my way. I tried wine instead of whiskey. I tried cocktails instead of straight whiskey.
I ended up moving to New York and living there for a couple of years. It was that period and transition over there where things really accelerated fast. Whatever the world was offering was for the taking.
Methamphetamines became part of what I was using at that point. This started a quick downward spiral.
I'd already seared my whole conscience. I would wake up with blood on my knuckles and 40 texts on my phone. I couldn't remember anything. Someone lying next to me that I don't know. All of a sudden I'm confronted in my conscience: this is not you, or there is something better. I'm like, I don't want to hear that because I feel like I don't deserve good. Not anymore anyway. The more I'm numbing, the more I'm making choices that aren't what I would usually make. They get more extreme and more extreme. Before long you're waking up and now you don't know really who you are. You hate yourself. You have no self-esteem. So to feel like you're someone you could like or at least forget, let's get high, get out of your mind, because then you feel like you're likable.
I had a high ego and a low self-esteem. I play it up big, but deep down I believe I don't deserve any of it. I was in that dilemma for years.
At that point, I had blood coming out of places it shouldn't be. My body was very ill. My liver was visibly swollen. I was looking at death, and to be honest, I didn't really care.
When I went back to LA, I met a guy whose name is Sy. He had been seven years sober—seven years off heroin. I loved his story. For the first time I saw a glimmer of hope. He was talking about the obsession gone. He was talking about pain that he felt when he was clearheaded was now dealt with in a way that he could use it as a strength. I just never concluded that that was possible.
He looked at me dead in the eyes and said, you're going to die. For some reason, I saw my mother crying. I'd kind of cut myself off from my parents and was living a low life. For some reason in that moment it just hit me. It was just this small spark of hope.
He asked me in that moment to write down why I was afraid. I wrote down like eight pages. We read it together, and he started speaking into my life. He looked at me and said, come on, let me ask my wife if you can move in. He was an atheist. I called his wife and she said yes. I moved in there for six weeks. They held me down. They dealt with my depression. I smelled so bad. They dealt with me. They held me and they loved me. They cared for me and looked after me and they believed in me.
I started going to AA meetings with him, and from the get-go, man, I felt God in the room. I felt like there were vacuums in people, but I felt God in the room. Then I started doing the steps, and Bible college and all that I'd learned throughout the years came flooding back to me. The Beatitudes of Christ, James 1 and 2 Timothy, Romans 12 started flooding into my mind. My spirit started to recognize it.
I subscribed to this: I am not smart enough to make my own decisions, so I'll bounce everything off my sponsor and I'll surrender everything to God.
The faith aspect was certainly very real. I need something bigger than myself. I can't just believe that there's an ocean that has the power to supply me with strength or Mother Nature. I need something bigger, and it's something that has a standard and is something that is real: God. God is real. God who made me. I felt in that moment an openness in my heart to run back.
God is the answer, man. I tried freaking everything, and all I know is God is the answer.
I think we believe miracles should happen in a moment, that it should just be instantaneous for everything. But I had to struggle through. Peace came slowly. But when I was granted that peace, when I received it, man, I treasure that to this day.
I have a knowing and a trust in God now. That's the best way I can explain it. Do I have anxious days? Do I still struggle with depression? Yes, I still battle those things, but I know I can defeat it. I know that I can get through it. The thing with depression and anxiety is that it tempts you to not do anything. But in receiving tools and a relationship with God, there is a trust, and I already know I can get through this. All the pain in my past has created a blessing in my today.
When I gave my life back to Christ, I started going to church. Listen, I'm an all-in person. So man, I just surrendered all.
I met my wife at church, and I have a six-year-old daughter with her now. She's never seen me drink or use. Never. That's ten and a half years sober now—November 7th, 2015.
Eventually the church asked us to start a church plant —C3 Orange County— and be the campus pastors.
Looking back, I think there are a lot of people that say, like, why the heck did this happen in my life? Why am I here? For my own life, I would say I'm grateful. Do I have regrets? Yeah, I have a few. There are a few very particular moments I have regrets about. But I can't change it. I can only be changed by the perspective I hold today. So I choose to hold on to God's perspective. And that journey gives me a testimony to speak to others.
To me, the redeeming nature of God—I can take it back to my childhood and what happened, man. That moment sucks. I would not wish it upon anybody. It was a point of pain and conflict throughout my life.
But I will say this: I haven't forgotten about it, but there's no sting from it.
With all of the other things—all the drugs were but a counterfeit of the real peace, the real love, the real acceptance, the real mercy that I've experienced from God.
The best way I've found to spot the counterfeits in life is not to become acquainted with the millions of counterfeits there are out there. If you become acquainted with the real thing, you know that any counterfeit will stick out.
For me, that's my pursuit—finding the real. Getting well acquainted with God, knowing His presence, knowing His peace, His voice, knowing His Word, knowing His family here on earth, the church. Becoming so well acquainted that anything else kind of sticks out.
That's where I am today.
My Advice To Someone Who Is In My Shoes
If your life is unmanageable and out of control, you need to accept that. And in the same breath, accept that there is a God who does have the strength to lead you through.
I can say this: it can get a lot worse.
You've got to stop hating yourself so much and start taking one step at a time. Pick up the phone when it feels 500 pounds. Make the call to someone you know can help you.
Pray. Get on your knees and pray to God. Prayer is a conversation with God asking for help.
Find a local church in your area. Ask if they offer to pray for salvation, to pray the prayer of salvation. Get baptized.
Find a Celebrate Recovery or a Christian recovery program. Surround yourself with Christian brothers and sisters to help you in your next steps for sobriety and freedom.
Thank God that it is not by our own strength but by His. Don’t say "I'm not strong enough for this, God." You just got to trust Him, have faith in Him, and take the steps.