Category: Churches | Page 92 | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

Why I Left: Part 1

I left Calvary Chapel church on Mother’s Day. Before that, over a span of several months I was dealing with a lot of weird stuff with some of the pastors and female counselor. The concerns I had were nagging.

When I first started attending there, I remember not feeling too welcome by the senior pastor, but figured he was either shy, paranoid, or just didn’t like me for whatever reason. The other leaders were quite standoffish as well. The women were friendly and some of the men, but regardless the ambience felt overly ‘us and them’ hierarchical.

My last church wasn’t that way. In my last church the pastors were more cordial and respectful. But in this church it was like I was automatically a second class Christian and would always be even if I served there. I figured the leaders interpreted the Bible a little off balance. That brought me to start emailing the church. That’s when the weirder stuff started happening.

To be continued.

Dreams and memories

I woke up this morning after a vivid dream that I’d gone back to my former church. Apparently in the dream I was working a different job and two different people from other churches had come into my workplace and asked directions to the church. I gave it to them, amused that they didn’t realize I used to attend, even though I was dressed just like them.

For whatever reason, I knew they’d be serving a meal that night before church so I decided to sneak in just to eat. Most everyone had eaten by the time I arrived. They asked me to help serve dessert, not recognizing me. So I did. The entire building was different in the dream, but several things were the same. As people started to realize who I was, I could sense their fear. The unasked question was, “Did you ask the pastor if you could come?”

They’d shy away from me, afraid to acknowledge me or meet my eyes once they recognized me. And yet there was a little hesitant hope in their eyes that I’d “pray through.” Then the pastor came in. Things were tense- would he recognize me? If so, he’d be furious that I’d come. I left at that point, satisfied I’d gotten my answer, and that nothing had changed. I walked the long way back to the car, watching the parking lot fill and people rush in, hurried and focused on that building. I walked, enjoying a starless night, at peace.

I haven’t been looking for any answers. I know what would happen if I tried to go back or attend anything they led. But it was odd. The fear and tension were thick. I wasn’t afraid, but they were. And they weren’t afraid of God or afraid for me, they were afraid the pastor would find out. They were afraid of his anger and his temper on themselves for not saying anything if they knew I was there without permission. Afraid he’d think they had something to do with me being there.

And in the dream I knew the reason I wouldn’t go back even to visit- a totally unbiblical attitude toward the pastor and the pastor’s expectation that someone who’d left had to call and ask permission to return. (There is a rule at church that if you leave, you must ask special permission to even come to a wedding or funeral.) It had to do with his temper and the anger that he expressed so often, that tension in the air, the fear that he’d blame someone for wrongdoing when they’d simply been kind, gentle or compassionate.

It was strange. The dream didn’t make me sad or angry, it was just there. But it was strange because the fear, the tense caution, and the rules on returning were so clear and solid in an otherwise wispy dream. It’s the first time that I’ve dreamed about church in years that I felt a calm reassurance when I woke up.

Breaking Pentecostal

I confess to knowing little about the Amish, but recently I watched the television series “Breaking Amish” with mouth wide open wonder. It is a reality show about young Amish and Mennonite people with one Mother thrown in. These young people have decided to go “English” as they call it. It means they will be throwing off their entire outer garb that declares them to the world to be in a religious sect. Off they go to New York City to “fit in” at last. But they can’t. After having been taught all of their lives the do’s and don’ts of their religion, some go completely wild, others shed their “look” but seem to hold onto certain beliefs, and Mom, well, she tries it all, but couldn’t make the switch.

Throughout the show, scenes are preceded by random Bible verses that the producers feel apply to the next scene. This series, these characters, and these scriptures taken out of context and made to apply to whatever they think it fits, reminded me of my time in the United Pentecostal Church. The religion portrayed here had no more to do with the teachings of Jesus than any other Bible based religion of rules and regulations. It was all about a group of people being controlled by a set of rules the leaders deemed necessary to control where they live, how they look, and what they can do.

It was tragic to watch as one young man went out and nearly ruined his life trying to live on the outside, then going back in to stay out of trouble, but then ultimately going back out because he has now become a misfit. The young couple on the show seems to successfully make a transition to “English” life. They throw off the outer garb, give up the horse and buggy, and drive a pickup truck but when push comes to shove, they revert back to the same old beliefs and expect others to live by them too. The Mom goes back to her husband to live in the community, despite the fact that she knows she will never be accepted by them again. She will also be expected to have nothing to do with her own “English” children.

Sadly, in my UPC, I saw all of these characters play out – those who go in and out, miserable in, miserable out, all the while their life never having purpose. There are those who leave but still hold on to the idea that they know “the truth” yet pick and choose which part they hold to and expect others to hold on to same. Then, there are those who stay despite the pull of the outside world because of fear. An unhealthy fear of God (He will get you), fear of the leaders and fellow members opinion, or because it appeases their family; no matter how wrong they know it is. When you are a member of a mind control group, if you stay or if you leave, your life will never be the same.

I am eternally thankful that I was able to make a clean break and no, it has not been easy. Sometimes it feels like I have clawed and scratched out every inch of the way. I got in as a young girl with only one of those taken out of context scriptures pounded into my mind by my grandma; so I was virgin soil in which to plant their brand of mind controlling, cookie cutter look, you better stay in line dogma.

I have learned since leaving what matters most:

Those of you who try to be put right with God by obeying the Law have cut yourselves off from Christ. You are outside God’s grace. As for us, our hope is that God will put us right with him; and this is what we wait for by the power of God’s Spirit working through our faith. For when we are in union with Christ Jesus, neither circumcision nor the lack of it makes any difference at all; what matters is faith that works through love. Galatians 5:4-6 GNT

Emotional Hypothermia, Part 5: This is your life

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on October 6, 2014.

Continued from Part 4

I remember when
We used to drive
Anywhere but here
As long as we’d forget our lives
We were so young and confused
that we didn’t know
To laugh or cry
Those nights were ours
They will live and never die
Together we’d stand forever…
– Skillet, Those Nights

The first week of February 2014 at around 4:30 am, I was driving my little white Toyota sedan that I named Journey somewhere between east Houston and Beaumont, Texas, floating through bayou fog and the darkness before dawn.

I adore roadtrips. Few other activities allow my brain that raw time stretching as far as the humming asphalt between my tires for pondering my life’s direction and my purpose.

No school, no work, just hours and hours of listening to music and calling friends or chatting with anyone in the car I’ve managed to kidnap. I can just be and enjoy existence. Roadtrips make me feel alive.

Two of my housemates traveling with me had fallen asleep in the backseat a few hours before. Our little escapade is still nicknamed “that one time we drove an extra 15 hours to have a 20 minute conversation with Mullet Jesus.”

We’d left Colorado Springs around 11pm Friday night, arrived in Dallas around 1pm, napped and visited friends, and now I was in the 4th hour of the 6 hour drive that Saturday night stretching into Sunday. The remaining itinerary involved church, a 9 hour drive to Lubbock to see Skillet at the Rock and Worship Roadshow, then 7 hours back home.

Despite the Monster drinks and beef jerky, I knew I was nearing my limits. I turned up the speakers and scrolled for Switchfoot’s Beautiful Letdown on my iPod.

Don’t close your eyes, don’t close your eyes / This is your life and today is all you’ve got now / Yeah, and today is all you’ll ever have…

The rhythmic, deep buzz of the opening notes blended with my thoughts. Don’t stop feeling this semester. Don’t forget how you learned to be alive, I reminded myself.

This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be? / When the world was younger and you had everything to lose…

I imagined my 5-year-old self. What would she think of adult me? She’d be slightly ecstatic, I decided. I was finally going on adventures my heart longed for, and at last I had friends.

– – – – – – – –

Since recovering from repression, emotional honesty has been crucial.

My counselor told me summer 2013 that other people, including my parents, wouldn’t understand me unless I told them how I felt.

And I’ve found abundant, vibrant life in community and artistic expression.

Late nights driving around town with my friend MangyCat and the Midnight Muse writers and making miniatures in my friend Kim’s cozy basement were staples of my first year living outside the box.

But last spring, I took an entire semester of courses for pure enjoyment: Acting, 2D Art, Koine Greek, Poetry Workshop, and Choir.

My heart is in theater, both inside the church and beyond it, which I admitted to my friend Cynthia Barram last month when I volunteered to act for Haunted Mines, a local haunted house.

“Honey, everybody uses theater to work out their emotional problems,” she replied.

Slam poetry, which I discovered 6 months before moving out, became my catharsis, a safe place for open and honest expression. Almost like a new form of church.

My two favorite slam poems are Confession: For the Christian part of me (Joel McKerrow) and Letter to my 10 year old self (Susan Peiffer, of Hear Here, the Colorado Springs local slam team).

I heard Joel perform his poem live at an open mic in the campus pub one Friday night in October 2012. He said he felt privileged to perform it in Colorado Springs, among all the religious tension. He begins:

For the Christian part of me,
not for the Christ, but for the Christian,
I am sorry.
For when I look at the book and look at my life,
when I look at the Christ and look at the church,
the two are as black and white.
So for the way I have silenced you,
with words that I thought were the only truth,
for every preacher that has yelled at you
every Bible that has been quoted at you,
every megaphone that has damned you,
every friend that has judged you,
every parent that has guilted you,
I am sorry.

And Susan’s poem sparks new beginnings for me through my old scars. I love how she ends:

And Susan, one day, occupy your body again.
Realize and understand the gentleness of touch.
And let this realization convince you
that you are much, much more than a product of your past.
You are the manifestation of some dream whom destiny means to last
and you will always have words.
Words will never leave you.
I don’t have much else to tell you, Sue,
because it gets better, yeah, but it gets worse, too.
Remember, beloved, you are made of poetry.
Stardust, wanderlust.
[….]
You will fall in love, and you will be partially fixed.
And if you miss your youth one day,
You are secure enough to say
You feel twelve again
All over like it should have been
Even if it takes ’til 36.

One day, I want to shout out my story as they have, unashamed and no longer silenced. But for now, I am learning how to feel every day until it’s like breathing.

Tougher than that

There was a common opinion in my former church that a person had to ‘tough it out’ and ‘endure’ to ‘make it’ to ‘finish their course’ or to ‘stay in the church.’ In other words, people felt that a person should endure any hardship or wrong to stay in that church because only by staying in that church could they please God.

When I would get upset about something, one man in particular would say, “Oh, Sis, you’re tougher than that.” I never responded, to my memory. Today I want to. Yes, I’m tougher than that. I’m tough enough not to stand by and watch people be deliberately hurt in the name of religion. I’m tougher than to stay in an abusive environment and ‘submit’ to injustices. I’m tough enough not to think I need to stay in a place that supports wrongdoing, whether it be immoral, unethical, unbiblical or illegal, and I’m tough enough not to support, either with my presence or my finance, those who do. I’m tough enough to stand up for right and to stand firm no matter the opposition.

Yes, sir, I’m “tougher than that.” But tough doesn’t mean gritting my teeth and enduring injustice or standing by and watching as others are wronged. Some of the biggest atrocities in history have come because people refused to take a stand. The people who instigated those were not tough. They were weak. The people who accepted and went along with them to protect themselves were not tough. They were weak. It is those through history who have stood for what is right that in the end are admired and respected. Some of these have been named as heroes, and others were soon forgotten, but they- those who faced opposition and persecution but still came to others’ defense, who refused to bow or bend to unethical or immoral practices or to go against their principles, those who refused to go along with the crowd simply because it was easier- they were the ones that made a difference, that changed the life of one person or many, they were the ones who were tough.

So yes, brother, I’m “tougher than that.” You just didn’t realize what “that” was.