Category: judging | Page 4 | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

Dresses, Dresses, Dresses

Do dresses make you holy??? After I was declared to have the Holy Ghost, I did not receive any inspiration from the Holy Ghost to begin wearing dresses. In fact, being a teenager when I arrived at a United Pentecostal church, my wardrobe consisted mainly of jeans, shorts, and mini dresses. It was the spring time of the year when I began going to this church and the following summer, I went on vacation with my family wearing pants, makeup, and bikinis. Funny thing is I don’t remember having any feelings that this was wrong or that I was betraying the Lord in any way.

My main memory of beginning to wear only dresses came from my concern that I could possibly be seen by someone from my church with the wrong clothes on. I also remember my mom, who was not a fan of my new church experience, questioning me “so you’re not going to wear all those clothes anymore?” This new way of dressing had to become my passion because I needed a whole new wardrobe! And hey, dresses were going to make me holy, right?

At first, I was at the mercy of one of the seamstresses in the church who had a penchant for heavy double knits. I considered myself to be somewhat of a fashionista so before long I purchased a sewing machine so I could make my own dresses. This was the early ‘70’s when the only dresses you could buy were short and unacceptable for making me holy. Thankfully, a few years later hem lines dropped and I could buy some of my clothes. Until then, you found me spending hours and hours making new dresses. Dresses are serious business in my UPC church! You must wear your newest and finest for the big Sunday night competition.

All those hours I spent sewing dresses never ever made me holy as the UPC claimed. They did make me different which in UPC world is considered a good thing. They love nothing better than being noticed for their different way of dressing. Once the pastor called me to come forward before the congregation as an example of what he expected the women to dress like. Even then, I knew, as far as my standing with the Lord, dresses meant nothing.

For about seventeen years, I wore only dresses but when I realized I could tell a lie easier than I could put on a pair of pants, something was wrong. There was no holiness in my clothes or any inside of me. I was an empty shell practicing a religion of works similar to those who are compelled to wear a head scarf or holy underwear. None of these things are what God is looking at. He is looking inside of your heart and your motives for doing what you do. All of these outward things people do to make themselves acceptable to God have no value. Man-made commandments and doctrines are only self-imposed religion and will in no way make you holy. In reality, they only serve to make you proud of yourself, your effort, and your appearance. True holiness described in Ephesians 4:24-32 comes from a heart, mind, and will that is controlled by the Holy Spirit living within.

Therefore, if you died with Christ from the basic principles of the world, why, as though living in the world, do you subject yourselves to regulations—“Do not touch, do not taste, and do not handle,” which all concern things which perish with the using— according to the commandments and doctrines of men? These things indeed have an appearance of wisdom in self-imposed religion, false humility, and neglect of the body, but are of no value against the indulgence of the flesh. Colossians 2:20-23 NKJV

Three Steps Part 3: The First Step

Original post here. This is continued from Three Steps Part 2: That Old Time Liberal Religion. This happened about 1974.

And he walks with me and he talks with me
And he tells me I am his own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

1974 – A few months before we had moved from Vicksburg to Birmingham, from a small ranch house to a split-level ranch house, from a traditional elementary school to an “open format” elementary school, from the big Southern Baptist church in a small town to a big Southern Baptist church in the suburbs of a city. The least turbulent transition was the church. There was a distinct change in decor — the Vicksburg church had a huge mural of Adam and Eve being expelled from the Garden of Eden behind the baptismal font, quite unusual for a Protestant church but very welcome for wandering eyes to rest on. The suburban church had varnished pine boards, with nothing for a bored child to do but resist the urge to count them, for once they were counted, what else was there to do? Fortunately there wasn’t much boredom at that time, as the services were very similar. There was an emphasis on free will and God’s love to provide an answer to all our problems, on God’s expectation that we would stand on our own feet, work together, and get things done. The ideal relationship with God was the one described in the song above, although the song itself wouldn’t be composed for almost another decade. With intellect, love, and will-power, any problem could be solved. I had just turned eight; and I believed, I believed, I believed.

But church wasn’t only the calmest place in my life, it was the most intellectually stimulating. School was deadly dull, and there was no other place around me where people were having interesting, open-ended discussions about life’s problems. In the early 70s there were a ton of problems to discuss, and many people were getting all gloomy about them. But not the church, which was a haven of optimism and reason.

When we joined a few months ago, the preacher had welcomed us individually, shook my hand, and told me that if I had any problems I could come see him. When I felt comfortable there, I took him at his word. I must have just turned eight. My sister and I had been dropped off there for some children’s function, and I found the opportunity to speak to the minister alone in the sanctuary. I told him that Mom and Dad were doing things to us that they shouldn’t, and, maybe, he could talk to them and make them stop? The preacher thought for a moment and then asked if my father sang in the choir. Yes, he did. He asked if my mother was the treasurer of the PTA. Yes, she was.

He did not ask why I had requested an intervention.

Then he kindly explained things to me. He explained that since my parents were members of the church in good standing, they couldn’t possibly be doing anything wrong, especially not to their own children. If I thought that members of the church in good standing were doing something wrong, there could only be one explanation. Somehow I had become possessed by Satan, and Satan was inside me making me believe lies about my parents that could not possibly be true. Then he prayed to Satan to leave my body and stop plaguing my thoughts with such lies, and sent me on my way.

I was dumbfounded. I may have just turned eight, but even then I knew the only thing I was possessed by was the good sense to realize how ridiculous the preacher sounded. It was without question the single stupidest thing I had ever heard in my life, either in stories or in real life. But if he took it seriously, then that could only mean — dangerous things. I remember staring at the thumbs of his clasped hands in shock, not daring to look him in the face. Then my mind started to work.

This was a modern, liberal church in the early 1970s and he’s threatening me with Satan. I don’t think half the congregation even believes in Satan! It’s not a serious topic of conversation in or out of sermons. Here people talk about using love to solve real problems, they don’t threaten people asking for help with stuff that belongs in old movies. It’s like be threatened with leeches or water torture or — or footbinding or some other bit of antique nonsense.

But if there were even a tiny minority out there who actually believed such things, then I could never, ever tell anyone about my own spiritual experiences. I had never told anyone about talking to God because I had never met anyone who would have a positive reaction to the news. The negative reactions would fall into two camps, the ones who would want me shipped off to a loony bin and the ones who would want me burned at the stake. Of the two I figured I could talk my way out of the loony bin easier than I could talk my way off a burning stake. I seriously thought the latter camp only existed in old books, but apparently I was wrong.

That hurt. I’d been looking forward to talking to someone about it someday.

Obviously I couldn’t talk to any spiritual ministers about anything else going on in my life. And I had made a mistake not waiting until I knew someone long enough for them to trust me before asking them for help. Next time I would wait longer.

That was what went through my conscious mind at the time. For over 40 years whenever I consciously remembered it, that is all I thought about, that and the image of the thumbs of his clasped hands. It was not until I finally committed to writing about it after years of dithering that I realized my subconscious had ruminated on it for a long time, and reached conclusions that I did not fully realize were connected to this memory.

In my subconscious I realized other things as well. I realized that my parents could do anything they wanted to my little sister and I and no one would rescue us. According to the preacher, they weren’t the only ones. Any “member of the church in good standing” could do anything they wanted to us and if my parents didn’t stop them no one would. That meant no one would protect me not only from my father but from any man at church who wanted to abuse me in any way. It meant that the church would attract abusers who wanted to be “members in good standing” for the cover it provided for their abuse.

But it’s church, right? There can’t be many abusers there. At the time I believed that. I didn’t have any evidence of any other abusers — other than the preacher’s disturbing response.

Time would prove me wrong. The evidence would mount. And I would have a hard time feeling safe in a church ever again.

Meanwhile I had a decision to make. I was being abused at home, and apparently the larger community in the form of the my community’s spiritual leader thought that my abuse was the right and proper way of the world. Where did that leave me? At this point there were two things I could believe. Either 1) there was something wrong with me that made people think they could get away with treating me like shit, or 2) the whole damn system was screwed. I’ll take Door #1, Monty.

I can hear the chorus now. “You just wanted to be a special snowflake!” Nothing could be further from the truth. I knew that what distinguished the scapegoat from the rest of the herd was the mark that others placed on it. If I could figure out where the scapegoat’s mark was on me, I could wash it off and vanish into the crowd. If #1 was correct, that meant I could someday escape. If #2 was correct I could never escape an entire world that saw all children as suitable playthings for monsters. I originally chose to believe #1 not out of shame, despair, or any perverse pride; but out of a desperate, desperate hope. In time that hope would fade, and despair would take it’s place. In even more time I would realize that what I had refused to believe was true. The whole damn system was screwed and no one was doing anything to fix it.

And then I would begin to get angry.

But I was eight and still in the grip of Persephone’s cruelest demon, hope.

(It would be 41 years later before my husband pointed out the most disturbing part of that conversation: the preacher did not stutter or fumble his words. To the veteran schoolteacher that meant only one thing — he’d had plenty of practice on other girls and boys.)

Three Steps Out the Church Door: Leaving the Southern Baptist Church – Introduction

Three Steps Part 1: Recollection, Remembrance, and Discovery

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Unfriended Because of a Church Attended? Really?

My stepdad has had a Facebook account for about four years, but had about a year in which he was unable to be online much due to sight issues that required surgery. When he got back online recently, he discovered that a couple of people he’d known for a long time had unfriended him, or were at least no longer showing as being on his friends list.

As he started to wonder why he may have been unfriended (who hasn’t when it happens to them on Facebook?), he started to wonder if it may have been due to a check-in on his profile at a local congregation (other than the one he, my mom and I attend) that we’d attended for a Lenten program. Maybe the way that he lists his beliefs on Facebook “uncorrupted by modern religious institutions” was behind it. Perhaps they took his decision not to visit one of their churches, despite more than one invitation, personally.

Most likely, it was none of the above. People have all kinds of reasons for removing friends on Facebook, and many of them aren’t personal. I think it would be somewhat hasty to assume that church affiliation was the reason behind it without other evidence suggesting this was the reason.

This exchange does bring up an interesting question: would a real friend drop contact with you simply because they disapproved of a church you visited, your views if not expressed in a hurtful way, or your declining to visit their church? In short – no, IMO.

A friend who doesn’t have a spiritually toxic agenda shouldn’t judge you because a church you’ve visited once (or regularly attend) isn’t their cup of tea. After all, people often attend churches of various denominations due to weddings, funerals, and other events. To snub someone merely because of a one-time visit is ridiculous.

As far as dropping contact over disagreement with beliefs goes, if we all dumped people that weren’t in total agreement on everything, our social media feeds would be lonely places. Yes, it can be jarring to see someone express their opinion of modern religious institutions in such a blunt way. However, it helps to step back, take a deep breath, and realize they have a spiritual story that may not align with your experiences.

This brings me to my next point – declining to visit a church in a polite way isn’t something that should turn a rational person against you. This is a lesson I wish I’d learned a long time ago, as it would have saved me a few annoyances and some major headaches (this could be a whole post in and of itself).

Every denomination is not every person’s cup of tea. We all have different gifts and abilities that may not be able to be expressed adequately in some groups.

In my stepdad’s case, some of the invitations have occurred more than once simply because his friends didn’t realize the only type of Baptist he is now is an ex-Baptist. All they knew is that he attended a Baptist church as a kid, but not that it was because that’s where his mother and stepfather made him go.

I think many of us live in fear of offending people because of holding different beliefs, and we shouldn’t do this. Our loyalty ought to be to Christ, not the particular group that we choose to express our belief in Him.

He may have been unfriended for any number of reasons, but if any of the suspected reasons were true, he doesn’t need such “friends.” A real friend supports you no matter where you are in your journey and accepts you.

Arrogance in the church? Nah.

“One thing is for certain about the Amish. They are a modest bunch of people. They will never condemn you for having another religion as they believe that arrogance is a sin.” (From 26 Amish Facts You Need to Know – Sportingz.com/news/26-amish-facts-need-know/26/)

I never thought I was an arrogant person but after being in my former church for 18 years, I think I had become that way. No one had any truth unless they went to our church. No one knew how to pray, how to worship unless it was our way (noisy and active). We had ALL the TRUTH. It was our duty to try to get people to come visit our church (and of course stay) and become one of us. Surely we were not arrogant. We just wanted people to know the truth.

We did the Saturday morning visitation thing of course. I remember going out with some of the other girls and women. A couple of the teen girls had knocked on a door and the person told them to go away. They went away and “shook off the dust from their of their feet against them….” (It is in the Bible – Acts 13:51). I remember thinking “I hope the people in that house did not see them do that.” It did not seem very Christ-like to me even then.

Small children raised in that church could point out all the women they saw that were not dressed right (skirts/dresses only and down to the ankles, no slacks, long sleeves not above the elbow, and no short hair except for men). People of other denominations sometimes were ridiculed from the pulpit and of course we all “amened” that.

If people didn’t look like our church members, then they did not have the Truth (as we saw it, as it was taught and preached to us which was not necessarily what was in the Bible). It made us feel special, called by God, God’s Chosen People. We had Church, with running, dancing, singing, loud music and the louder the better. All other churches were considered “dead” because they did not “worship” the way we did.

Does God always want all that noise? There is a time and place for everything. Maybe sometimes we want to leap for joy before God. David did. Sometimes we want to play the music loud. That is in Psalms. But sometimes we should just be quiet so we can hear that still, small voice talking to us. Prayer was never quiet. How could any of us hear God? How could we feel God move on us? We only had good church if we went late, with an hour altar call with screaming, dancing, louder and faster music. Being slain in the spirit, chattering in tongues, kicking off shoes.

Judging people for how they dressed or worshiped; people who were different in their churchiness. Arrogantly feeling sorry for those who did not have the Truth. But it was all outward appearance and what we did in church and how many times – oh, those other people who went to those other churches only went one hour Sunday morning. Just think how much they are missing by not going several times a week.

People are different. God made us that way. We like to gather with others who think the same way and that is OK, but don’t begrudge anyone else from thinking and doing differently. Don’t isolate yourself from so many others who may just have a good way to worship God even if it is different.

Living free

I went to a baby shower at a church I’ve been visiting this weekend. I’ve been to lots of baby showers in the church, hated them, and felt guilty for hating them. This one was totally different.

On Thursday, I emailed one of the ladies in charge and asked her if she’d like me to bring a tray of food. She replied they’d forgotten the food, and that would be wonderful, then asked what I would be bringing. I replied briefly a veggie tray and maybe a fruit tray. She said great.

In Pentecostal churches, I have been intimidated to bring food to anything for a long time. What I brought to carry ins was rarely eaten. Ladies would tell me how to improve it, or remind me that they preferred more spices or more meat, or less fat or higher quality ingredients. What I brought to bake sales was set aside on the back corner of the table. My things rarely sold. What a waste of time, effort, and money!

So I went and bought the food for the trays. She hadn’t put limitations or expectations on me, so I was able to be more creative, and wasn’t so worried about what I got. I don’t have to impress these people, after all. If they need impressing, I’ll go somewhere else. It was fun choosing items for the trays, for a change. No agonizing over what fruit would be perfect or whether Sis Snooty would think there was enough. Just fun, making choices and considering what they would enjoy most.

When I got home, I was surprised to realize I had enough for three trays. Crackers and cheese. Veggies. Fruit. Each tray was filled with the things that would keep over night. Then on Saturday I put the remaining foods in their proper slots-even a slot for marshmallows, just for fun, and because I knew any kids that came would enjoy them.

My former church ladies would have had a fit. The grapes weren’t the freshest. They weren’t the largest. There were marshmallows in the fruit tray, and some were quartered regular sized ones, so they were a little sticky. The apples hadn’t been treated with lemon juice. Etc.

The ladies yesterday were just happy to be there. They complimented the trays, and laughed about how much they enjoyed the marshmallows. They chose foods politely, rather than piling their plates high and hoping there would be enough left over for people at the end of the line. They ate everything they chose- nothing was shunned as not good enough once tasted. No one complained about anything at all. It was absolutely amazing, and it was wonderful.

Then came the gifts. Oh, I hated choosing gifts for events in my former church. Once, a lady stopped me in Walmart, looked in my cart, and asked if that was what I was taking to the shower. She asked what else I was buying. I told her that was it. She proceeded to tell me that I needed a pricier brand and bigger box of diapers, took mine away and put her choice in my cart! What an interesting way to be helpful… though I know that’s what she thought she was being. At showers, gifts were always compared. Pricey gifts were expected. Brand names were a must.

Yesterday, gifting was different, too. Each gift was praised for it’s own merit. None was compared to another. None was shoved aside. All were passed around, admired, enjoyed by everyone, and placed neatly in the center of the table, together- not according to who gave what or what was deemed best, but as one large group of gifts, all respected, all admired. None was shoved on the floor or cast into a chair to one side. All were gratefully received.

Again, I was amazed. I have hated showers all my adult life. My gifts were never good enough, pricey enough… never the right brand or the right quality. But this weekend it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that there was a baby coming, and that we could celebrate the coming birth together. Not as family, but as friends, all in our own ways and with our abilities. And isn’t that, after all, the way the family of God should be?