Month: October 2016 | Page 4 | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

Amen, Like, Share if you love Jesus

I have a friend on Facebook who posts lots of “memes” as I think they are called. She used to post many that were actually uplifting and encouraging. Not sure why this has changed but she is 80 now. Maybe that is why, I don’t know. However, the ones she posts now that are supposed to be spiritual are really not. I think she thinks they are helpful.

The one that set me off today (I usually just ‘hide’ them and go on) made me think of some of the preaching in my ex-church. I hid it before I really got it memorized but what it said was “Hi, I’m Jesus. If you ignore me 3 times here, I will ignore you in Heaven.” The rest was the usual “Type Amen, like, share and are not ashamed of Me, if you don’t want to be ignored” and the unstated was “and go to Hell.” She is still part of a church that preaches the doctrine and fear. But when I see those memes I am brought back to those sermons that were meant to instill fear, guilt, shame into you to make sure you showed up in church, did everything the pastor said (even if you disagreed).

I am not ashamed of Jesus. He is the reason I am here. He has carried me for a long time through all the bad and all the good in my life. But I just can’t share those things that are meant to shame you into sharing and probably are something contrived just to see how many likes and shares that meme will get. It still triggers emotions in me that I thought were laid to rest.

Help my unbelief

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on October 27, 2014.

I’m often told by friends and blog readers that my “vibrant Christianity” is inspiring, that I “maintain remarkable stability in the face of incredible odds.”

But I wonder if they’d still say that if they knew the me who sometimes wonders if spirituality is real or just a coping mechanism for survival, the me whose panic drags her to the toilet the morning of an exam. The twenty-something whose anxiety causes her to still jump and feel a rush of shame redden my ears when a supervisor approaches me at work, even if nothing is wrong.

So why do I stay? Why do I cling to Jesus?

The other day, I admitted to my friend Cynthia Jeub:

I explained it to my friend Aaron, who recently wrote a blog series on coming out as an atheist, like this:

“I know none of the things my heart wants to be true can be scientifically proven. I believe there is a God because I think I have experienced His presence. And I really admire this guy Jesus whether he was God or not. I think he was an incredible guy who didn’t take religious bullshit, and who wanted justice for the oppressed. And more than anything? I’d like to be like him and to shake the world up. But that’s all I know for sure anymore.”

But this is my story, and my other friends have different stories. I am finding healing within the context of Christianity, and my fragile faith is becoming my own. But not everyone does.

I’ve heard many people say your view of God is nearly identical to your view of your father.

So when friends have needed to leave their dysfunctional homes, sometimes their healing journey makes it necessary for them to leave Christianity entirely.

One friend described it as “ditching God” to “unravel the Good and Bad Shepherd.”

R.L. Stollar, community coordinator for Homeschoolers Anonymous, writes in his post The Scarlett Letter of Unbelief: “It’s hard enough on its own, this thing called belief. Life is filled with pain and suffering and when those elements get overwhelming, they reveal how fragile belief can be.”

Like my friends, I have tossed out all but the raw heartbeat of my faith, eliminating the poison for the cure. Finding what remained after the shattering. And only now can I safely rebuild.

Modern evangelical Christianity often values faith so highly that it fears the doubters. But as I commented on R.L. Stollar’s post last year, “the church needs to recognize that it is okay to be sad and okay to be messy and okay to be broken.”

What shows a “doubter” the Jesus we’ve read about more: an understanding hug, a cup of hot chocolate and Kleenex, or some memorized Bible verse thrown at them over and over until it has lost all meaning?

I don’t know how to explain the beautiful friends who were Jesus for me after I got kicked out of a church two years ago: some were agnostic or Buddhist or Catholic or Baptist. One of them was my pastor friend who played Jesus over 20 years ago.

And as I replied to Cynthia Jeub:

Why I Left: Part 4

Continued from Part Three.

This next part is pretty painful and I had trouble remembering the order of the next series of events which was mostly psychological warfare I felt from the pulpit.

When the senior pastor came back from his long recovery from surgeries, during the preaching, it seemed he started covertly addressing me. He said: “Sometimes issues in churches get swept under the rug and later the debris comes out.” Then he made eye contact with me. He went on and I don’t remember his words but he seemed to imply indirectly that it was getting taken care of now. Apparently, he saw something, questioned it, and something was acknowledged by the assistant pastor. Afterwards, I got a more overt message from behind the pulpit that I should say nothing. Now I got another long intense (almost threatening) stare and then he changed the subject. I believe that was the time he was most gentle from the pulpit. I felt somewhat blamed like it’s partly my fault.

It did seem like there was some form of mild discipline that happened to the assistant pastor. Because after that I didn’t see him preach or teach anymore. He also wasn’t making announcements or leading small groups that I know of.

Now, I don’t seem to be able to recollect what triggered the next time the senior pastor seemed to address me again from the pulpit, but my gut said it was a preemptive strike against me due to the pastor’s fear that I was going to spill it. I can only suspect after the discipline he read the email where I confronted his assistant pastor and he didn’t like feeling threatened that his long known right hand clergyman could be exposed in his own church, or he simply had an empathy imbalance for his assistant, or anger at the thought that I could divide the church or something. By the way, that senior pastor on different occasions has shown glimpses of his entitled and abusive nature. So let me backtrack a little bit and explain what was in that email in more detail.

As we know, Mathew 18:15 says:

Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother.

16 But if he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.

17 And if he shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church: but if he neglect to hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican.

I did that when I emailed him. It was my way of confronting him alone through the email.

You may also recall 1 Timothy 5:19 says:

Against an elder receive not an accusation, but before two or three witnesses.

I actually also told him in that email that if it didn’t stop I had 3 semi witnesses.

Two sisters knew I were going through something but they didn’t exactly know what. The third one was the church counselor, and I felt she knew because it looked like she was especially vigilant with him, and she offered me a ride home, I assumed to keep me safe.

So when I emailed him I mentioned her name as a potential witness but, lo and behold, they happened to be friends for 40+ years and working together since the church started. (Note: She later told me this.)

In the email I wrote the names of the two other sisters. So I guess he felt threatened and spun it, throwing me under the bus. Why else couldn’t he simply just reply to me personally and say, I’m sorry, I think you misread me? And why was it necessary for him to bring the counselor into it? I believe this was a manipulative tactic on his part so he could mentally abuse or gaslight me while dodging responsibility. Later, I told that to the counselor and her face contorted for a split second like she found it humorous but then quickly hid it from me. Then she lectured me about the seriousness of accusing a pastor without witnesses.

Going back to the second time the pastor covertly addressed me “allegedly.” And I do say allegedly because I think I had PTSD. This time I was sitting next to a sweet old sister I knew. In the middle of a preaching he mentioned 1 Timothy 5:20 which reads:

Them that sin rebuke before all, that others also may fear. (which applies to elders who are sinning.) Well, what he was saying about that verse was: “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” if I recall accurately I believe his eyes went looking for somebody. I wasn’t sitting in my usual place. I was in the back.

He continued: “When somebody in church is sleeping around they should be disciplined from the pulpit.” I had a gut feeling this was a preemptive strike and a threat to lie about me to my face before the congregation in order to make darn sure I wouldn’t say anything.

But again, it was only a gut feeling. I cannot make a strong case he was talking to me but when I wrote him later about it, I got no response from him. I do remember his wife telling me later that I was imagining things.

Also, later that evening was a prayer meeting at church. The pastor was there and I prayed that God would help maintain that all of us would “Study to shew {ourselves} approved unto God, workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth” (2 Timothy 2:15). After the prayer meeting was over the assistant pastor had an impressed look on his face and tried to make eye contact with me but the senior pastor seemed like he was refusing to look at me at all. The next few scheduled prayer meetings didn’t take place, which was really not normal in the two years I had attended. I assume it’s because of me.

Those are all the reasons I believe that day from the pulpit he was trying to scare me. And how would I defend myself in light of that? It’s like getting hit in the stomach and taking awhile to catch your breath. Or it’s like getting hit in the head and then having to wait days to be able to think clearly again. And if I were able to regain my strength, how could I prove his lies wrong before the congregation?

Many of the sheep seem so emotionally and psychologically enmeshed to him and would blindly believe him without question. It reminds me of the phenomenon of Stockholm Syndrome. I also observed general complacent, blindfolded, mouths open waiting to be spoon-fed going on there. Unlike what I had observed in the congregation I was discipled in from a brand new baby Christian where I attended for about twelve years prior, where many seemed like Bereans. It was evident they study at home and where I was spurred on to do likewise.

To be continued.

See Parts One and Two.

Church Secrets, Part 1

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Elizabeth Burger’s blog. It was originally published on August 24, 2016.

Note: this post contains some names that were changed to protect the people mentioned. Any name with an asterisk [*] next to it has been changed.

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up

Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
And they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

Innocence, your history of silence
Won’t do you any good
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?
– Brave, Sara Bareilles

“We don’t remember what they told us years ago. Stop asking people. You don’t want to start gossiping.” These are the messages I received from my parents and others when I started asking questions about a former church of mine, a small conservative reformed denomination (this clarification was always stressed, after all, we wouldn’t want people thinking we are part of our sister denomination, who were more liberal). Why all but one deacon and his family had left all those years ago. Why so many of my friends had switched churches. Why it still hurt and was unresolved. I needed to know. I could no longer let this unknown wound hurt me with no resolution or healing in sight.

So I started digging. This blog series (Church Secrets) will share some of the things I learned along the way. The reasons why I decided to leave my church. The reasons why I call it my ex-church instead of one of my former churches. The reasons why I currently do not attend church and struggle to trust any leaders in church.

It was November 2014. I went home early for Thanksgiving break so that I could see my counselor for a special 2 hour session to work through a large chunk of my major bad relationship (the one with the 40+ year old man online). I also got to visit some of my friends. Samantha*, one of my friends who had previously been a part of my church, started talking to me about what had happened. I thought she might know more because she and her family were close friends with some of the deacons and their families.

It had been over two years since Samantha and her family had left the church. A couple weeks before I visited them, they received a printed letter from the church. I’m going to quote the parts particularly relevant to this post below (click here to read the full letter). Pay close attention to the last paragraph in particular.

You may be worshipping with another Bible-believing church. If so, though we hate to lose you, please inform us so we can formally transfer your membership, or if you have already joined another body, please let us know so that we can remove you from the rolls. We wish you nothing but God’s greatest blessings on you and all you do.

The writer of Hebrews tells us “consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encourage one another…” We hope that we can be a church that does that for you. If you are not currently worshipping with another church, in love we urge you to either return to us (again, we’d love to have you back!) or find another part of Christ’s body to affiliate with where God’s Word is proclaimed, the Gospel is offered to sinners, the sacraments are given, and there is godly oversight by church leadership.

If you chose neither of these routes, the elders of our church will be forced to remove your name from our rolls, and we would consider you to have left the Church Universal and to not be covered by the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ.

I was shocked. I thought that excommunication ended hundreds of years ago. But no. It still goes on today. It went on at MY church. My own pastor and elders approved of this. And all you had to do was either not attend any church at all (because clearly all the sermons about not adding anything to the gospel were lies) or not attending a church that they approve of means you are not saved.

Yes. This actually happened. The leaders who I trusted and looked up to for over ten years were writing letters to former members informing them that they would treat them as unbelievers if they didn’t meet the right requirements.

Just thinking about this and re-reading everything over the last two days has kept me up until 6 am the other day. It’s been over a year now since I left my ex-church, and I’m finally able to start sharing some of the things that motivated me to leave. In future parts of this series I will be sharing: e-mails I received from the pastor when he learned that I was talking to former church members, a conversation I had regarding a former church ministry/outreach, a letter that was sent to all the members regarding a specific family who left, and more.

Part Two.

The Lighthouse Girl

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on June 17, 2014.

There was once was a little girl, raised in the Village.

The Village was a utopia, walled off for protection and insulated from the world. Even the families in the girl’s section of the Village did not see each other very often, but lived peaceably, like hermits, in accordance with the Code.

When the girl grew to be a maiden, sometimes she crept through cracks in the wall and explored the countryside. She gradually even made friends with the woodland folk, discovering new ballads and gypsy dances banned in the Village.

One day, the elders of the Village told the girl that absolute obedience was the only way to honor her parents and the Code. But the girl had dreams, and this meant soul death.

So one night the girl left the Village forever.

Her friends on the outside helped her travel to the coast, where she built a lighthouse with bricks and mortar and timber they brought. That section of the coast was so rugged that the deaths on its rocks were legend. Other attempts to build lighthouses had not survived.

The girl maintained it for years, weathering many storms. Her friends visited often to encourage her and the prosperity of the lighthouse, but sometimes she was lonely. Her friends started to call her Lighthouse, shortened to Light.

One friend was a girl-pirate who was once raised in the Village like her, but they had met beyond the walls.

Another village girl had become a spy for a local Baron. She took shelter in the lighthouse and lived with Light for many moons.

All three of them knew an older girl who escaped a failed utopia several years before. This girl had been cursed by her own Elders and turned into a mermaid, forever chained to the waves and spume. She shared the birth name of the girl-pirate.

The friends often wondered about their kinsmen in the Village, and hoped someday many more could be free from the well-meaning tyranny of the Elders. The four swore a solemn pact against injustice in the land.

A cyclone rolled across the waters one night, spewing hailstones like vomit. The lighthouse girl manned the tower, keeping the light alive. In her telescope, she spied the signal of a small boat foundering on the waves. Two passengers, one with gold hair and one with the hair of a raven, rowed and bailed water to no avail.

Despite the peril, the three friends, followed by the mermaid, took a larger ship. They rode out toward the lost girls, just before their rowboat crashed against the rocks.

Light, the girl-pirate, the spy, and the mermaid embraced the lost girls on the beach and welcomed them to safety. Light helped them to warm inside by the fire and dry their clothes. The lost girls told the friends that they fled another section of the Village, inspired by their love for one another, because their Elders had banned their friendship.

The four friends all knew the value of friendship, and told the lost girls to stay together, no matter what the Elders said, and to explore their newfound freedom.

Soon the spy-girl left on a clandestine mission for the Baron, and couldn’t send letters to the lighthouse girl.

The girl-pirate took the lost girls rafting, teaching them how to navigate currents and giving them sea legs.

Light helped the lost girls find a trade in town with a basket-weaver, but their spirits were wild and young, and they joined a band of traveling gypsies, squandering their earnings on trinkets.

Midsummer gales brewed out in the gulf, and the lighthouse was empty again except for Light. She was lonely once more, yearning for her old friends and for new refugees from the Village. She often visited the mermaid down in the tidal pool on calm, starlit evenings to plan new adventures.

One day, the girl-pirate came to the lighthouse girl and said she couldn’t stay on land anymore. She was bound for faraway oceans and adventures far from the Village.

Light hugged the pirate and cried. They walked down to the docks together.

Light told the girl-pirate how much she had learned from her. She knew how to tie sailor’s knots. She could brew herbal mushroom tea from the Orient. She could debate the Elders now if they confronted her and told her to tear down the lighthouse.

Deep in her heart, Light knew how much the pirate yearned for the sea, how the land was ebbing away at her friend’s spirit.

The lighthouse girl said the girl-pirate needed to sail. It was time. And she understood.