Category: United Pentecostal Church | Page 5

The UnBoxing Project: Defecting from a cult

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on March 8, 2015 as part of a series.

Continued from Racquel’s story.

Liz was part of our network that helped Racquel and Ashley as they left the cult environment of the First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs. Here is her perspective.

Photo: Wil C. Fry, creative commons license.

Nearly two years ago, I received text messages from Eleanor about a friendship between two girls that had been recently forbidden by their religious leader.

I was asked to attempt to sneak a cheap TracFone to one of the girls at her school because I would not be recognizable to her parents, who had confiscated all her means of communication. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in class that day.

Eventually, they acquired their freedom by leaving their church behind and living with friends.

Most people assume their own community has only good intentions in mind for members. Why would we believe otherwise if an overwhelming majority of us were taught that strangers are the ones who seek to hurt us?

In reality, data suggests that most cases of violent crime and sexual assault occur between people who are at least acquainted with each other or in regular physical proximity.

In spite of statistical and factual realities, we teach our children to fear strangers. We teach them to avoid the rare anomalies but fail to teach them to look for warning signs in the mundane. This contributes to the denial in identifying abusive communities when people are a part of one.

Instead, people taught to fear the outside world might think that to leave would be worse.

The philosopher Hannah Arendt says that evil is banal. It is predictable, common, and is generally perpetuated by unremarkable people motivated by their own, typically material needs.

An intense, outward adherence to a particular ideology or manifestation of a psychological condition might be present in the situation, but neither are enough to explain why communities as a whole behave a certain way.

In other words, abusers are regular people and not the monstrous caricatures we see on TV or evil stepmothers in children’s fairy tales. There might be a few narcissists and sociopaths at the upper echelons dictating the orders, but several people who are afraid of seeking out other dissenters within the group.

With hierarchy and scale, diffusion of guilt and responsibility is inevitable. Diffusion of guilt is generally paired with resistance to collective guilt that should logically follow the diffusion.

The lower end claim to be following orders, the higher ups claim they didn’t personally do it.

It’s the same garbage that makes none guilty for abuse that many participated in. It is as if people hope that with sufficient diffusion, the amount of culpability per person is rendered insignificant. Dilution of active ingredients in homeopathic “remedies” operates this way.

Abuse as a phenomena doesn’t become significant simply because the perception of responsibility among abusers is thinly spread out because there is always someone else to blame in the eyes of the guilty such that their victims somehow become responsible for their own abuse.

What I’ve gleaned from my studies in history and politics is that there is a tendency to conceal or otherwise diminish the significance of abuses as a means of trying to protect the legitimacy and reputation of an organization such as the Catholic church, many American universities, collegiate and professional sports teams, the entertainment industry, among many other examples.

When an organization cares more about protecting its own reputation than removing abusers or helping victims, there is a reason to question the validity and value of such an institution and the complicity of people within afflicted organizations.

Even if an individual abuser recognizes the harm they cause, to reject the cultural norms is to risk being socially ostracized and possibly, their standard of living. Obedience experiments by Milgram and replicated by others show that people are generally submissive to figures of authority up to a certain point.

It is likely that people from more isolated communities would escalate punishments further when commanded by members of their community than people from the general population being instructed by a stranger because of a greater sense of obligation and desire to belong in the former.

Defection is complicated. It comes with a high price tag in both an absolute and perceived sense.

People in deliberately isolated communities are generally taught that outsiders are evil, that its their own fault for being mistreated or that victims deserve it, and that the victims aren’t being treated badly in the first place. If maltreatment is believed to be normative and benevolent it tends to make victims attempt to justify what is going on as a means of internalizing conflicting messages.

The more isolated people are, the harder it is for them to recognize their own condition and the more complex the logistics of leaving becomes.

Liz received training at a local college in her hometown so that she could teach freshmen at her high school about how to avoid and recognize dating violence, local resources for victims, and statistics regarding the frequency of rape and lack of conviction. She was also a student teacher who assisted with evening adult education courses in sexual assault escape and self-defense offered by her school to the community.

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The UnBoxing Project: Racquel’s story

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on March 7, 2015 as part of a series.

Continued from Why did you call it the UnBoxing Project?

Content Note: religious manipulation, forced starvation

*Eleanor and Racquel hiking the Incline near Colorado Springs in fall 2013. | Photo: Eleanor Skelton*

Racquel grew up attending the First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs, now known as Heritage Pentecostal Church. This is Racquel’s story, in her own words.

Somehow I never imagined that the inner peace and joy I felt as a 5-year-old girl after being filled with the Holy Ghost would later disgust and scare me.

I am writing this because I believe my voice should be heard. I hope that by telling my story it will help my healing and others with similar stories as well as prevent more stories like mine from happening.

The music was loud, and the atmosphere was pulsing with energy.

I wanted to show how much I loved God, so I went up to the front of the sanctuary and danced with all my might, letting my tears flow. I had been taught that I should dance before the Lord and not let anyone’s opinion stop me.

Often, I was the first one or the only one at the front of the church.

This was good. It meant I was a leader, and that I was fighting spiritual warfare. It would also show my pastor, who was God’s voice in my life, how my walk with God was and what a good apostolic young person I was.

I remember night after night where this was my mindset.

*Racquel (far left, wearing an orange dress) speaks in tongues on the front row during Heritage Youth Conference, fall 2011. | Photo: First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs*

I was isolated from other members of the youth group because I would refuse to do things that the pastor had commanded us not to, like riding in a car with a guy unless it was approved or unless a married approved chaperone was in the car.

However, there were also the many, many times where I sat or knelt at the altar, weeping and feeling the guilt of my many sins when I simply failed to uphold the standards because I had listened to unchristian music, watched a TV show, or could not stick to a daily prayer life.

For years, I went through a cycle of getting in trouble with my best friend, Ashley, for questioning the pastoral authority and why we held to some of our standards, sometimes completely disregarding the rules, and then being told that my best friend and I should not talk or hang out because our personalities did not complement each other.

Meanwhile, I stood by as she was abused in so many ways by both the pastoral authority and her parents. The only thing I could do was be there for her.

In January 2013, my best friend and I had come to the conclusion that we did not and could not agree with the church. However, we were discovered yet again and ripped apart.

This time, the pastor lied to both of us, trying to turn us against each other by saying that the other one had ratted us out.

At the direction and guidance of the pastor, Ashley’s parents were punishing her for not losing weight because it was said that God could not use her unless she lost the weight. Because of her inability to meet their demands, she had begun starving herself.

I texted her one night in compassion and frustration that she should “F*** (written politely as $@##) what they think” to drive home to Ashley that starving herself was not the answer, and that her parents and pastor were wrong.

During one of the long sessions in the pastor’s office after getting caught, I discovered the pastor had hacked into my best friend’s phone and found my text.

I was questioned about my lack of respect for authority.

My hands were tied as I seethed in anger not able to tell the pastor the context of the text, lest the abuse she suffered would increase, because the pastor was part the abuse.

Back then, Ashley was too scared of losing her parents and being kicked out to do anything other than play along with them. When she was 19 years old, her parents and the pastor stripped every form of communication, transportation and even her ability to go to college from her.

She was not even allowed to be alone in her own home at any time.

Racquel (far right) singing in the choir. Apostolic churches consider leading worship to be a privilege called being “on the platform.” Anyone who questions authority or church beliefs may be removed from the platform as form of social shaming. | *Photo: First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs*

In March, the deception worked, and the pressure finally broke me to the point that I gave in and did exactly as the church and the pastor wanted me to do. I felt helpless and that the reason for these crazy feelings must be because I was not submitted to them.

I continued to not talk to my best friend and tried to force myself into the mold they had created for me with my approved Christian friends and guilt-ridden prayer life.

I still had all of the same questions.

Why must a man my pastor dictate to me what God wants and God not talk to me directly? Why must I not be allowed to talk to my best friend who was still the most important person in my life?

How could so many injustices and abuse be what a loving god wanted?

So when my little sister decided to leave suddenly and move in with a guy I had never met, and I had no idea were she was or if she was safe, when my approved friends failed, I reached out to the one person I knew who would be there: Ashley.

Within two weeks of resuming secret communication, we had both discussed in detail what we saw wrong with the church, and had stated that no matter what we were going to keep communicating, even if it had to be hidden.

10553500_802766489755823_1022764128682957679_n — Ashley, Eleanor and Racquel in August 2013 | Photo: Eleanor Skelton

Almost immediately, she started to date a coworker.

On December 15, 2013, her dad followed her to her boyfriend’s house, and that night he kicked her out.

I received a text that said: “They know everything can you come and get me.” I immediately drove to her house and picked her up.

After that, we stayed in Eleanor’s apartment. She had also recently escaped an abusive fundamentalist home.

There has been a lot of healing and learning since then and now. Learning to live outside of the box has not been easy, nor do I think it ever will.

I now have the wonderful freedom of choice, and with that comes what I would describe as both the beauty of a rainbow and the burden of the rain cloud.

Making these choices is the scariest and most exhilarating thing that I have ever done. I have learned and accepted more of who I am.

I can only hope that healing will come in time, and the scars will become less painful.

Racquel graduated with a bachelor’s in psychology from the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs in May 2014. She struggled with undereducation from inadequate homeschooling and Christian private education in her church throughout her time in college. Racquel hopes to pursue a graduate degree in counseling and mental health, and her current job involves assisting troubled teens.

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Why did you call it the UnBoxing Project?

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on March 6, 2015 as part of a series.

Continued from The Trouble With Freeing People.

Editorial Note: I re-wrote this post in January 2024 to better reflect what I now know about social justice and systemic oppression in the last decade since I left fundamentalism.

When I moved out of my restrictive home environment and was kicked out of the cult my family was in, other friends in similar circumstances told me what they were dealing with.

I realized I wasn’t alone in my experience.

Unfortunately, there were many other young adults and college students in their early 20s from Christian fundamentalist or other religious backgrounds in Colorado Springs who lived with their families in high-control situations, just like I did.

I would alert the same network of friends who supported me, enlisting their aid. We offered them emotional support and resources or actually organized a plan to help them move out on their own.

My best friend in college, Cynthia Barram, who is black, said our network of friends helping friends to escape abusive situations was like an “underground railroad.”

However, we did not want to appropriate that name from the BlPOC community, although we shared a deep admiration for people from marginalized communities who risked everything to find their own freedom.

Our experiences were definitely not the same as those whose ancestors experienced enslavement and the generational trauma of racism.

Although ex-fundamentalist Christian homeschool alumni may experience the marginalization of disability, neurodivergence or chronic illness as the result of childhood toxic stress from living with long-term abuse and having a high score of adverse childhood experiences (ACE), we wouldn’t want to compare our experiences to other marginalized groups.

Homeschool kids often read a lot of history.

Unfortunately, we often were taught incorrect or biased history, but we also grow up resonating with historical figures like Harriet Tubman or Corrie Ten Boom or other people that we are told are heroes of our faith. People who made brave choices against all odds. My siblings and I often pretend re-enacted scenes from history that we read about. This experience I’ve found is common among those who grew up homeschooled.

Before bedtime, my mom used to read us Laura Ingalls Wilder books (yes, we now know these books have issues) and Christian historical fiction set during the Civil War like the Between Two Flags series. I read biographies about Corrie Ten Boom and the Hiding Place, did a research project on Underground Railroad in 6th grade, and devoured historical fiction like the deeply problematic and patriarchal Elsie Dinsmore series.

Two of my homeschooled friends at the Independent Fundamental Baptist church that my family attended in Dallas wrote their own Civil War historical fiction novel during our early teen years, distributing serialized chapters after church each Sunday.

I grew up wanting to lead people to freedom like Harriet Tubman or hide people in my own home like Corrie Ten Boom. None of us faced oppression like the enslavement or massacre of an entire people group.

But I had always connected with these narratives, and my friends did, too.

We weren’t immersed in popular culture, so we felt closer to people we read about from long ago more than our own time.

We liked the idea of people who couldn’t tolerate the injustices they observed and helped other regardless of the cost or risks involved.

In dealing with the abuses in our own community, we wanted to give shelter to those who needed it, until they found their own freedom.

My friend Kyle, who worked at a non-profit to prevent human trafficking called The Exodus Road, said that the number of young adults from this type of background being denied agency by overbearing parents is troubling.

We ended up calling our network The UnBoxing Project because my friends and I nicknamed the Christian fundamentalist homeschooling cult environment that we left behind “the box.”

Sometimes I’ll say things like, “back when we were in the box, they used to say that any music with a syncopated beat was demonic” or “People in the box think that Cabbage Patch dolls are evil,” and my friends know exactly what I’m talking about.

It’s a convenient way to refer to cult-speak and teachings of the cults that we escaped.

Helping others to leave abusive fundamentalist Christian environments is undoing what “the box” did to them.

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The UnBoxing Project: The trouble with freeing people

My friends and I often felt like Katniss in the Hunger Games as we left behind the high control churches we were raised in and rebelled against those systems. | Source: Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1.

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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Backsliding Into Jesus & There’s No Such Thing As Dragons Giveaway

It is time for another book giveaway! This is only open to those with a USA mailing address.

This is your chance to receive a new copy of Jennifer Brewer‘s new book, Backsliding Into Jesus: Finding Hope After Legalism AND There’s No Such Thing As Dragons: Examining The Theology of The United Pentecostal Church by Jonah McElhaney. Jonah’s book covers aspects of the United Pentecostal Church such as Oneness, uncut hair for women, holiness standards, and their teachings on salvation. Jennifer’s “book explores the feelings and emotions one will inevitably face when leaving legalism and discovering the freedom of God’s grace.”

Jennifer Brewer, author of Free: From Legalism to Grace Breaking Out of the United Pentecostal Church, had this to say about There’s No Such Thing As Dragons:

After spending most of his life in the United Pentecostal Church the author examines the theology of the UPCI. By drawing on his own experiences and examining the teachings of Scripture with the teachings of the UPCI, the author shows that the imaginary dragons that were placed in his life to prevent him from venturing out too far away from the doctrines were not real. The hope is for others who see the issues within the United Pentecostal Church but have been too afraid to question or examine the theology that they too will see that there’s no such thing as dragons.

One reviewer of Backsliding Into Jesus wrote:

This book was just as good as Jennifer’s first book. She has a way to speak so openly about her road and her life after the UPCI. One of my favorite lines from the book is “Freedom in Christ means more than just getting to wear what we want….” I can’t tell you how many times I have heard that myself. I have actually been asked is walking away from God to wear what you want and cut your hair worth it. I was NEVER walking away from God, I was walking away from a belief system that was not fulfilling me. It was not feeding me, it was harming my family, and we wanted to be free from that. Thank you Jennifer for taking a stand and helping those that are looking for a way to their own freedom, Not freedom from God but Freedom from legalism.

If you have already read either of these books, please consider leaving a review or star rating on Amazon as it would be greatly appreciated. Reviews count more and can give others a better idea of the book contents and if it helped you.

This giveaway is a drawing. To enter, just leave a comment to show you wish to be included. The drawing will close on October 22, 2023 at 6pm (eastern time), after which I will draw the winner. Be sure to check back to see if you have won, as in the past some people have not responded after winning and so a new winner had to be drawn. You will then need to email or message me your mailing address if I do not already have it.

There is absolutely no cost to enter. Don’t be alarmed if your comment does not immediately show as they require approval when you are commenting for the first time.

We always provide these at no charge to our readers and support group members.

You can follow Jonah at his blogs here and here. Also, Amateur Faith Night had Jonah as a guest when they discussed Authentic Trinitarianism versus Oneness Pt 1 & Authentic Trinitarianism versus Oneness Pt 2.

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