Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on March 5, 2015 as part of a series.
Continued from Being an angel with a shotgun.
Content Note: suicidal ideation, pastoral authority doctrine
“Eleanor, does your church teach the doctrine of pastoral authority?” my friend Racquel asked.
She was waiting with me in our college’s main auditorium and we were talking before the review session for my Organic Chemistry class started.
“What is that exactly?”
Racquel attended an apostolic Pentecostal church in Colorado Springs that told her that a person wasn’t “saved” unless they had been baptized and spoken in tongues at that particular church, not any other Pentecostal churches in the area.
A long list of offenses that are part of everyday life for most people, like watching movies and television or wearing short skirts and jewelry, could grieve the Holy Spirit, she said, and then you’d lose your salvation and have to “pray through at the altar” again.
Although I also grew up fundamentalist in the Independent Fundamental Baptist movement, we believed in “once saved, always saved,” meaning that if you messed up bad enough, you must never have been a real Christian to begin with and your salvation was fake somehow.
We’d been taught two different theology systems, but both churches taught us to be constantly afraid of hell.
“Pastoral authority means that our pastor, Brother Burgess, prays and decides if it’s God’s will for us to talk to a guy in the church, date him, get engaged, or marry,” she said. “And whether or not we can move out of town and attend another apostolic church.”
“Other apostolic churches allow social media and let their young people listen to CCM [contemporary Christian music], but our pastor has decided it’s not spiritually good for our congregation.”
Racquel didn’t see the harm in what her church banned, and she believed her pastor had good intentions.
“I can tell my pastor cares about the people in the church, the way he walks around and prays for us during the service.”
I hadn’t moved out of my parents’ house or begun dealing with the unhealthy cycles in my own life, but I knew something wasn’t right. A church community should support my friend, not make her miserable.
Over the next few months, Racquel and I had many theological discussions, and I argued that Jesus was about freedom and grace, not rules.
I said her church had the tendencies of a cult. But she couldn’t see it yet.
// // //
I’d started texting Racquel’s best friend Ashley. She’d just gotten permission from her parents to own a cellphone and drive the car again, even though she was nearly 20 years old and attending massage therapy school full-time as well as a part-time job.
I had moved out in August 2012, and felt even more strongly that Ashley’s family situation was toxic since my escape from fundamentalism.
In January 2013, I lost contact with Ashley when her parents and Brother and Sister Burgess (the pastor of their church and his wife) discovered she and Racquel had watched movies again and listened to rock music, including Skillet. Brother Burgess declared Skillet was demonic after listening to their song “Monster.”
Ashley was finally allowed to buy her own iPhone with parental and pastoral permission eight months later. (Yes, this is a real thing in Pentecostal churches. I realize how wild it sounds to people who didn’t grow up this way.)
Now it was late October. Ashley and I were meeting for coffee that evening. She showed me Search for Truth Pentecostal Bible study lessons, intended to recruit potential converts to the UPC church, as an excuse so her parents would allow us to hang out.
I was driving down towards the Starbucks where we would meet on the south end of town when I got a text message from her.
“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I can’t come meet u. My parents are now not letting me use their car for anything.”
“Stay calm, see if I can pick you up in a bit,” I replied.
“I’ll try. Don’t know if I can last that long. Cya.”
“You can make it. I believe in you. You still ok?”
“No I’m not. I’m done Eleanor, I’m sick and tired of this. I can’t do it anymore. I’m too tired and can’t keep this facade up. I’ve fought for 13 years against this and am too tired to continue fighting this. I have no control and no choice. I’m fed up and there’s no way out. I realize that now. I just don’t know what to do now.”
“Do you want out? Do you want to make the jump?”
“Yes I do. But I can’t.”
// // //
The church and Brother and Sister Burgess trapped both girls in an awful double bind, using manipulation and lies. I knew they needed out.
I organized a network of friends to be prepared when they asked for help.
But when would they be ready?
One of our friends at the time, Cynthia Jeub, wrote an article called The Trouble with Freeing People for the Huffington Post describing Ashley’s situation and how we couldn’t force them to leave.
“Helping her feel ready to take freedom for herself is the only way to make her free,” Cynthia wrote.
Only they could decide.
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