Category: my experience | Page 8 | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

When the church betrays us, pt 7

Even after I walked out of that last church, the one that I’ve written the most about in the past and the one that finally did the most damage to me and others, I tried to find another Pentecostal church to attend. I still believed they had The Truth. I still believed that they were right about everything but maybe had just made a mistake or two. Surely the problem was just a person or two. Surely it wasn’t widespread.

I called. I asked pastors if I could please go to their churches. Only one agreed to let me come. I asked the pastor there to do just one thing: don’t tell people where I’m from. I was greeted at the door by a member, “Oh, you must be Mary from ____ church! What happened? I know people there. I’ll ask.” The pastor had already told them where I was from. The gossip had already begun. And then the pastor smilingly told me that he understood that I didn’t want to talk about it, but that he knew some things about that church, himself, and he thought we ought to go out to eat and ‘swap stories.’ I knew then that I would have to leave Pentecost.

It took me 19 years.

What do we do when the church betrays us? I stayed as long as I could. I stayed longer than I should have. I finally left. But the ongoing impact of what happened has remained. I don’t have any answers for what to do when church betrays us, but there are some things that churches and Christians in general can do to help:
Listen.
Believe us.
Don’t pressure us to participate, to join, or to share. Give us time.
Love us. Not with a “You’ll go to hell if you don’t do what I say!!!” ‘love’ but with genuine compassion and mercy.
Provide opportunities to belong to faith communities outside of traditional ‘church.’
Remember that not every wound is visible, and not everyone will say they’ve been hurt. Be kind to everyone, whether they believe like you do, or act like you, or are members of your church or not.

What can we do, we who’ve experienced betrayal? Perhaps the same things.
Don’t pressure yourself, and don’t pressure others.
Give yourself and others time.
Believe yourself. It’s hard for some of us to believe that we really went through something ‘that bad’ in a place we thought should be good, but it happened. Believe yourself.
Trust your instincts.
Love yourself and love others with genuine compassion and mercy.
Be kind.
Remember that others may not see your wounds. You may not even be aware of all of them at first. It’s OK. It’s OK if it takes time to heal. It’s OK if you feel worse the second day than the first. Healing takes time. Growth takes time. And sometimes both come with pain. But it’s OK.
Be patient with others and consider their perspectives. They may not believe like you do or act or dress like you, but there may still be much to learn from them.
Be willing to diversify your friendships. Having friends with other opinions doesn’t speak badly of you, but instead gives you an opportunity to learn more about yourself as well as them.

Peace to you.

When the church betrays us, pt 7
When the church betrays us, pt 6
When the church betrays us, pt 5
When the church betrays us, pt 4
When the church betrays us, pt 3
When the church betrays us, pt 2
When the church betrays us, pt 1

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When the church betrays us, pt 6

I thought I would leave everything behind when I moved to another state. All the gossip and rumors would be left in my previous state. I could start again. And for a very short time, they seemed to be. Then things changed. A girl told the pastor I’d invited her to stay with me when I hadn’t. She moved in and then started rumors that I was overcharging her. She borrowed things in my name and didn’t return them. People said I’d stolen them, even though she was the one who took them from them.

Finally, the roommate arranged a group to go to the mall. Single people weren’t supposed to go out without chaperones. She arranged for five of us to go — a couple who the pastor had said shouldn’t be going out, her, a man who was interested in me, and me. I refused, the church office found out, and they got in trouble. I’d made enemies, and they were enemies who would not forget, and who quickly began discussing why I had come to their church. They were sure it wasn’t for good reason. I was “a cloud without water, a wandering star” just going from church to church. One of the worst possible accusations there… I was a move-in.

Then the pastor died, and the pastor who’d thrown me out showed up to the funeral. A new pastor came, one that was known for his hard preaching, and he invited an evangelist friend of the man who threw me out. That evangelist told several members to beware, that he felt there was something wrong with me. I tried to remain true to what I’d been told, not to tell anyone about being expelled, but in time there were too many questions. I told the new pastor what had happened.

Shortly after that I began being called into the pastor’s office, yelled at, accused, and questioned. I stayed. I stayed as people lied about me, as I was falsely accused without any opportunity to respond. As soon as the first lie was told, I was declared guilty. The Bible warns against leaders judging a person without first hearing them, but the church did that to me and others on more than one occasion. They condemned before they had real information and sometimes even on only a feeling or a thought that a leader said he had.

In doing so, the church betrayed us. It also betrayed itself.

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When the church betrays us, pt 5

After being expelled, I spent several weeks in a daze. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I visited or called several churches, and found each troubling. Several refused to have me when I told them I was looking for a church after my pastor asked me not to return. Another said I could come, that they had a visiting minister who would lay hands on me and ‘feel my spirit’ to see if my former pastor had been correct or if I had been wounded. Depending on what he felt, I could stay or not. I declined the offer; I believed that if my pastor said things about me and what I’d thought or had in my heart, he must be right, and I didn’t really want another person “feeling my spirit” when my spirit was raw with grief. I felt very vulnerable.

In the end, I began driving to a town 50 miles away for church. They already knew me and would not turn me away. The pastor and his wife were kind, but the people wanted to know why I was there, what had happened, and so forth. The gossip was outrageously direct and rampant. The pastor told me not to talk about it. People guessed enough. Another couple in town were attempting to start their own church and they also tried to get me to talk about my former church, as well as trying to get me to join them in starting a new church. The men in the church tried to lay hands on me, touching my shoulders and back. I panicked, not wanting to be touched since I’d been accused of what I was.

Then the pastor’s wife was badly injured. They encouraged people to come see her at home, where she was bedridden. They asked me to come alone. I would have had to go, be let in by the pastor, and be led through their large house (which I’d never been in) alone by the pastor. They knew I’d been accused of lusting after my former pastor, but they still insisted. I refused… and I started looking for a different church.

I found it in another state.

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When the church betrays us, pt 4

I moved with hopes that the next church would be better. I would be an adult there, surely. I would have friends my age. Nope.

The new church wanted me involved, which was great. But the story was the same. There were few people my age. I didn’t fit in, though this time because I saw things so much differently than everyone else. When the pastor started telling me my former pastor was wrong and that the standards, which had been very much a part of being Pentecostal to me, were not in the Bible, I started looking for another church. And I found one just 20 miles away.

I was warned that this new church had issues, but I didn’t listen. They preached The Truth. They had high standards. They welcomed me and were friendly. The pastor and his wife weren’t much older than I was, though the church was very small. I saw this as my opportunity to be on the ground floor of a new church, to stay and become part of the inner circle, one of those who was closest to the pastor’s family and was seen as most faithful because I’d been there before nearly anyone else. I threw myself into it, giving about 30% of my income and hours a week to various ministries. I played the piano and the tambourine, taught Sunday School, prepared and served pre-Sunday School snacks for kids that missed breakfast, went to nursing home visitation weekly, watched the pastor’s kids while he and his wife met with various members after church, and helped with bus ministry.

After two years, the church started having problems. They lost the building they rented. New people weren’t coming (or staying if they did come). The pastor started believing someone was ‘hindering revival’ and calling special prayer meetings for people in the church he said had problems. I was pulled off the piano and out of Sunday School, even though there was no one to replace me, with no explanation. The pastor told the men that he would be leaving for a time, and I found out right before church one morning. I was told that there was no reason to tell the women, that they should ask their husbands at home. Since I didn’t have a husband, I was simply left out. And then he asked me to stay after church. He told me I was a hindrance to revival, he didn’t know if I could be saved, that I was lusting after him and that he wouldn’t let me destroy his ministry. He was preaching out of town, and I could “get right” before he and his family returned or leave permanently.

I spent the next week fasting, praying, and ‘repenting,’ begging God to forgive me for whatever my pastor knew was in my heart that I didn’t, and calling everyone in church, asking them to forgive me for whatever they might think I’d done too. When one man asked what I would do if I had to leave, I responded that I’d rather die than leave God… which was a typical Pentecostal response. Later I learned he called the pastor and said I was threatening suicide. I had thought I would fast until the pastor returned, but when he and his family didn’t come back after a week, I tried to call them. He hung up on me, telling me not to bother them or to call again.

While the pastor and his family were still away, his dad came to preach and invited everyone out to eat after church, and I was afraid to go, having been taught “with such an one not to eat” and believing that meant that if I was as bad as the pastor said (which surely I must be, because he was the pastor) that I’d be making people sin if I were to sit down to a meal with them.

I sat through their first service back having heard nothing about their thoughts on my status. He preached how someone would be leaving and would immediately cut her hair and wear pants, how we’d be surprised who it was who left. I never dreamed he was talking about me. I stayed after church in case he wanted to talk to me, but heard nothing. After I got home, I got a phone call: I was never to return to their church. I had been permanently expelled with a phone call.

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When the church betrays us, pt 3

I spent seven years in the first Pentecostal church I was in. The first was great. And then I went home for the summer. I didn’t like the Pentecostal churches in my parents’ area, but they were better than my parents’ church. Besides, I was committed and they believed closer to what I did, which was exactly the reason my Mom gave for us staying in a church I disliked and was alone at growing up. She didn’t argue, though she and Dad did argue about plenty.

After 18 years of church that taught nothing but the basic stories, my parents joined wholeheartedly in arguments about why I shouldn’t attend a Pentecostal church. They tried to force me to wear pants or shorts, which were against the rules for women at my new church. I had dreams that Mom would sneak in and cut my hair or insist that it be cut. She’d done that when I was younger. Their pressure made me more determined to stay Pentecostal. It gave me not one reason to leave.

I went to camp that summer excited that I would be seeing everyone from my church again, and found them totally disinterested in me. They were there to relax, shop, play, and to see their friends from other churches. And so for the first time since beginning to attend, I felt once more left out. I doubt I would have thought quite so much of it except that the pastor spent a lot of time with one young woman who was a newlywed. It was her first week apart from him, and he was very concerned about her well-being, having been separated from her new husband for a few days. I stood there watching, wondering “seriously? I’m away from my new church family for two months and no one cares, but she’s away from her husband for three days and you’re very concerned?” It was the first indication that something wasn’t right. It wouldn’t be the last.

I went back to college that fall and back to church. The first service I realized just how much had happened since I left. I felt like I was starting all over again. I wasn’t a part of them, and I wasn’t a new convert either. So this time no one cared. I looked forward to the day I’d graduate and be in one place. Three years later when I did, I moved to an apartment in town. And realized nothing had changed. I was still considered a youth. I wasn’t included in the women’s outings because I was younger than them and unmarried, but I didn’t relate to the high school youth group. After three more years of that and of struggling to make ends meet on a low paying job, I finally left, moving to a larger city, a different (hopefully better) job, and a church the pastor repeatedly invited me to join.

Things changed, but they didn’t.

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