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Leaving an Unhealthy Church #11: Confusion & Not Knowing Who or What to Believe

At first, what had led me to seriously consider leaving my United Pentecostal church was not doctrine or standards, but a mess of problems stemming from the church owned daycare where I was employed. My best friend at the time was the head teacher and we’d been experiencing difficulties in our relationship. She was hardly there and didn’t teach (we ran under her teaching credentials). One thing led to another so in 1993 I turned in my resignation, which was effective at the end of the summer session. During this time I started to feel that it was no longer my church as the daycare events seeped over into church- a terrible feeling after almost 13 years as an actively involved member. I still recall speaking to one of the daughters of the pastor, who was no longer a member of the church but worked at the daycare, and saying that if things didn’t change I’d have to think about leaving the church as well as the daycare.

Needing to be able to think clearly, I took off and crashed at a friend’s home in West Virginia for about three weeks after I resigned and spoke to them about what had been happening. It was a couple I’d met in the late 80s who had spent time at the church and knew the people and how the pastor operated. They’d become like a second set of parents to me, arriving shortly after my mother had passed away and my father had moved out-of-state.

While I was in West Virginia, the pastor at my home church had taken an entire Thursday night service and played a tape of a Christian radio broadcast (read a transcript of it here) that a former couple from the church made on the topic of spiritual abuse. His reasoning was to show them what people were saying about us. The church members seemed very upset by this couple. One would not have known what church they were referring to unless they had known them since no names were mentioned. I didn’t like what I was seeing and was curious to hear this ‘horrid’ broadcast. I borrowed it from the pastor and listened to it in the privacy of my home.

My reaction was far from that of the many church members who heard it while I had been away. Though I disagreed in areas, I understood what they were saying. It caused me to start wondering about the validity of standards taught in the United Pentecostal Church.

From here I ventured to Pennsylvania for a couple days to stay with another couple who had previously left our church and whose present church had dropped out of the UPC. I took the tape with me, played it for them, and while they listened and agreed with all that was on the tape, I paced the floor. It was starting to really hit home about some actions made by the pastor and I was realizing he did some very wrong things. It was quite upsetting and hard to come to grips with it. Here I had been seeing first hand the other side of what had happened to others before me, due to my involvement with the daycare. None of it felt good.

Immediately upon returning home, I visited with the one pastor’s daughter and her husband and discussed some issues and spent a few hours at their home. Now I had even more to digest as PKs see and hear a lot.

I started seriously wondering about the standards taught by the UPC and ventured into the uncut women’s hair doctrine. I wanted to know the truth! Though there were some issues I had studied more in depth while a member, though I was seeing through UPC glasses, this is one that had only been looked at on the surface. Their explanation of 1 Corinthians 11 seemed to make sense and I had long ago stopped cutting my hair and followed the teaching. I wanted to please God.

The confusion hit big time as I started to delve into the matter. I had writings from the UPC to read as well as a few other things which gave differing viewpoints. One day I’d feel the UPC was correct and the next felt they were in error. Talk about wavering. I recall getting together with a friend who is a lawyer and we’d bat things back and forth, coming back at each other with responses that the UPC would give to different points we made. How was one to know for sure? Was the UPC correct in their teaching? Were they in error? I did not have the answers.

Upon further study, I decided to jump head first into the Bible, looking for any and all mentions of hair in both the Old and New Testaments. Surely if this were a principle important to God, it would have been taught in the Old Testament. Yet nothing was found there to support the doctrine. The confusion started to ease as I studied more and dissected 1 Corinthians 11. What had once been clear to me as a UPC member, now was not. My findings showed that the Bible did not teach that a woman could never cut her hair.

Having finally laid that matter to rest, an uneasiness came over me and a thought came: “Now just what else is wrong that you’ve been taught?” Oh, yuck! I didn’t enjoy that thought at all. Talk about feeling like the rug has just been pulled out from under your feet and you were wobbling, trying to catch your balance. Where did it end? How was I going to know? Was any of what I’d sworn was true really true?

These were some of my thoughts. I now had a leeriness toward pastors and would forever be changed in this area. No more would I simply accept what a minister told me without finding out for myself. No more would I blindly defend any Christian denomination as if they could not be wrong in doctrine.

Did all of the confusion magically disappear? Were all my questions and thoughts suddenly answered? No. It was a process…a process which varies from person to person. A lot depends on whether or not one is willing to tackle the areas with which they find themselves confronted. Confusion will diminish and go away as one comes to terms with any teachings/incidents they find themselves questioning. But I thoroughly believe, that as it was with me, that this confusion may not fully leave until one studies the Bible for themselves and rests their conclusions solely upon what it says.

This was part of my experience. Confusion, not knowing who or what to believe, is surely part of the exiting process of any abusive group. But there is hope and there are answers to your questions. Regardless of the turmoil one may feel as they go through this stage, trust that God will lead and guide you and open your understanding to what the Scriptures truly teach.

The Still Small Voice

So you’ve faced a storm lately? Faced deafening winds, the heat of fiery trials, earthquakes that seem to shake everything right out from under you? Listen closely. Maybe there have been a lot of earthquakes and fires and wind in your life. A lot of huge, noisy, tumultuous, chaotic occurrences. Disasters, if you will. But they weren’t God, no matter how many people would like to say they were. Listen closely, now that they’ve passed. Sometimes what sounds like silence after all that deafening noise is actually the whisper of God. (1 Kings 19:12-13)

Elijah knew that none of those things that came before God was God. He was on a mountain in an earthquake. Did he cry out? Did he wonder if what he was experiencing would crush him? I would have. But he realized, somehow, for all his fear and upset, in spite of the drought and the wickedness and a king and queen who killed prophets like him, that the fires and earthquakes and winds weren’t God. They came before, proclaiming the power and glory of God, but they themselves were not God. God came as a quiet whisper. Gentle. In the hush after the deafening noise. I wonder if Elijah realized the parallel to his life? That God wasn’t in the craziness of the world around him, in the actions of Ahab or the wickedness of Jezebel, the dryness of the drought or the fury of the rain, but was there, nonetheless? I wonder if he realized though that God would proclaim His glory even in those stormy situations, that His great power would be known even in those things that shook Elijah’s world? But that it would be through those quiet whispers, almost missed after the tumult, where he found God’s strength?

It’s easy, in life, to look at what we consider our most desperate and darkest situations and think that God isn’t there, or that there’s no way God could get glory from those. But we don’t stand where God stands, on the edge of eternity. We don’t know the plans He has or the beauty He foresees for each of our lives. But He does. The God who spoke to an earth without form and void and made something very good out of it is still speaking to bleak situations today. He is still creating, and recreating, our lives. Listen, and maybe you can hear His whisper, too.

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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Just Being Neighborly

I was reminded of the Good Samaritan today…

This morning on my way into church, there was a vehicle with a flat tire. I told an usher (I don’t usually go there) and he looked out, shrugged and said he didn’t know whose it was. He didn’t go out of his way to find out, either. I told another, and he didn’t help either. After church I waited around. The vehicle didn’t leave… most people did. I left a note under the wiper blade and went back in one last time to ask if it belonged to a friend of mine who lives out in the country, knowing she wouldn’t be able to change it or air it up where she was headed. The pastor was the first one I saw, and I asked if he knew anything about the vehicle. Immediate concern, and then ‘I hope it’s not…’ He looked out, immediately thanked me and went out to look at the tire. It apparently belonged to someone who was struggling with some things. If we’d let them drive off, they might have had to pay for a tire they couldn’t afford, and more than that, they might have wondered if anyone cared. As it was, they came out to find the pastor and a deacon down on their knees looking for the nail in the tire and (I’m guessing) offering to fix it for them for free. Wish those things happened much more often.

I’m still sorting through that. I’ve been debating going regularly to this church. Frankly, the services don’t impress me, but it’s only about three blocks from my house, services are decent, I have several friends there, and… well, several reasons that don’t make it a good church but don’t make it bad either. I like the pastor. He seems to have his head screwed on straight. He listens and is involved but doesn’t put himself forward. If I hadn’t gone back in that last time to check on my friend, and he hadn’t responded as he did, I probably wouldn’t have gone back more than once more. The others I asked really didn’t seem to care. One had even forgotten about it when I went back to ask if he’d found the owner. But his response and the deacon’s (my friend’s husband)… I could live with a church with that kind of heart.

Then too, I was embarrassed because I left after I knew someone would take care of it. But there’s nothing I could have done if I’d stayed. “Yup, it’s flat alright.” They knew that. My extra input on that matter wouldn’t have been helpful at that particular moment. So I know that was a kick back from my former church. I actually TALKED to a pastor (big no-no for me right now) and then I left him in the dirt on the pavement to fix it himself and drove off (which my former pastor would have frowned on if it had been him).

The parable came to mind… who’s your neighbor? I feel I did what God wanted me to do–and more than that, maybe saw what He wanted me to see, whether I decide to go there or not. Just knowing there are people out there who aren’t offended that you don’t do more, take things in stride, and want to help people was a huge benefit to me.

Guilt Trips

The church I just left taught that everyone needed to pray a specified amount of time each day. I never did follow this teaching since that wasn’t how I was taught by my first pastor. Religious activity just shouldn’t be so forced. And any time I’ve ever been with friends, I didn’t say, OK, I have one hour. We need to spend one hour together. OK, starting… now! And watch the clock for the next hour to make sure I got my time with them in. Absolutely not. So why should I do that to God?

Lately my internal timer has been going off every once in a while… “Mary, you haven’t prayed yet. Mary, pray more! Are you still a Christian? Do you have the Holy Ghost?” Blah. And the annoying thing is that I know it isn’t God doing that- He knows that all He has to do is gently say “hi”- not throw a guilt trip on me- to spend some time with me!

I never did understand that: I was taught that guilt tripping was God. That makes absolutely no sense. If a kid wants to go to the park, you don’t need to say, “Go to the park! If you don’t go to the park, I’ll be angry! I’ll spank you!” Good grief, no! All you have to do is say, “Wanna go?” and you won’t be able to keep up with them, they’ll be moving so fast! So if God has good things for us in prayer or Bible study or going to church or whatever, and we once enjoyed those things and wanted to do them, were eager to do them, why would He start guilt tripping us with those? The answer is He won’t, of course. God knows us well enough to know- He will lead us gently, speak softly, and love us deeply. Sometimes I think maybe He leads so gently that we don’t quite realize we’re being lead, but we are.

OK, now to rambling… I know many people in church that would disagree with the following, and it blows my mind. I’ve seen these people work with their pets, but they don’t think people can be handled with similar compassion. However, when an animal is partly wild or is hurt, a person can approach the animal if he knows enough about it. The animal must be approached a certain way. Most shouldn’t be approached directly. Walk in at an angle, eyes averted, shoulder more toward the animal, and it will feel less threatened. Don’t walk steadily. Walk to a certain distance and stop.

Especially with a small animal, sit on the ground there, and assess the animal’s reaction. Maybe walk backward a little rather than directly to it after this pause. Let it know you aren’t going to hurt it. Reflect its body language if non-threatening- blink slowly if it’s a cat, nod if it’s a horse. No sudden moves, just walk slowly and gently, patiently. Speak softly, in a low, gentle voice. Think calm.

It can take hours or weeks, but the time spent is essential, and if we do it right, eventually that animal will learn to trust. Sometimes I think God does the same thing with us. Not pushing, not forcing, not requiring certain actions from us at specific times, just being calm and letting us adjust to Him.

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