Category: experiences in church | Page 6

More on “I got to have your money” Financial Greed

A couple years ago I sat one evening around a camp fire reminiscing with a young man (we’ll call him Ryan, not his real name) that I knew from the United Pentecostal Church that I had left almost 30 years ago.

I had worked in a factory job with Ryan’s Dad and served with his Dad in our church in ushering duties. I believe his Dad might have been the head usher. We’ll call him Bill (not his real name).

Bill was what the pastor called one of them chronic seekers. Rarely missed an altar call. Bill would be the last to leave the altar, walking away with defeat in his eyes. No matter how hard Bill prayed or long he prayed, no matter his hours of service given and no matter how much Bill gave financially, he could never seem to please God enough for God to save him. Bill lived under the condemnation of the “never good enough gospel” that so many struggle with in sick churches like this one.

Something happened in time with Bill. I feel some of it was brought on by living in such a state of mind that you constantly feared you were lost. Heading for a burning eternal hell.

I’d guess Bill was in his 50’s, healthy in his physical body. But his mind began to slip. He’d from time to time be admitted to a mental health institution.

Bill and wife had always been one of our churches most generous givers. I think in part Bill may have been trying to earn that holy ghost tongue talking experience that had alluded him for years, with giving way beyond our required tithes.

Sitting around that campfire that evening with Bill’s youngest son, Ryan, he shared with that one time his Dad had gotten some better and came home from the mental health hospital.

Bill had been laid off from his factory job. No money coming in. Car payment and house payment going out. Groceries to feed his wife and two boys were getting more difficult to pay for. Bill goes to see the pastor of our growing UPC church. Bill tells the pastor he wants to donate some money to the building of our new million dollar church. (This is in the mid 1970’s.)

The next day Bill’s wife, after having been told by her husband, of what he done, goes to the pastor. She asks why, why did you let him do this? You know he’s sick. You know he’s out of work. You know we have nothing left to live on. The cupboards are bare. WHY? Please give it back.

Now who reading this, could believe that FINANCIAL GREED could be so strong in someone. Someone that was supposed to be watching for the good of your soul.

Could you believe that he told her he couldn’t just give it back. He’d have to ask the board.

I told Bill’s son, Ryan, I was on the board at that time and this is the first I have ever heard of this. To my knowledge, the pastor never asked or told the board of this.

The money was never given back. THIS IS SPIRITUAL ABUSE.

Ryan doesn’t attend church anywhere regularly. I could understand if he hated God, preachers, churches and the people who fill the pews. But he doesn’t. I think he loves God. I think he’s come to realize the God that we were taught to FEAR (for lives and soul) was a false misrepresentation of God.

In the New Testament, as I understand it today, God requires one thing of you to be saved. He does not require works. He does not require a certain percentage of your finances. If you think he does, please just google ‘tithe‘ and read something and learn for yourself.

God’s only requirement for your salvation does not and can not come from you. What God required came from his Son. Jesus paid it in full. It is finished.

Just as Abraham believed, that is all we need to do. Read of Abraham in Romans 3 and 4. Read it with your mind open. This was NOT Paul telling only tongue talking believers how to Stay Saved as the UPC teaches. This was Paul REMINDING Christians HOW they GOT SAVED.

Reminding them just as he scolded the Ephesian believers. Believers who thought what they did or what they gave impressed God.

He reminded them how THEY GOT SAVED: Eph. 2: 4 But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, 5 made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. 6 And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, 7 in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. 8 For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— 9 not by works, so that no one can boast.

Even the very faith that saves us is a gift from God. It is not our own.

Shalom. I thank God I am free at last.

Stumbling block: a little about what happened to me

Some years ago, I was thrown out of a church because the pastor falsely accused me of things and wouldn’t allow me to even say I hadn’t done what he accused me of. He told me that if he said I did it, he was a Man of God, and God had obviously talked to him about me and revealed the wickedness in my heart. He also preached that I would walk out of church the night he kicked me out and immediately go and cut my hair and wear pants and makeup. I felt like I was betraying him by NOT doing those things, proving that he was a false prophet. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I believed THE Truth, so I didn’t cut my hair or put on pants. I simply found another Oneness church and tried to act like nothing had happened.

The new pastor told me to just forget about what had happened and move on. But I couldn’t. What happened had created a lot of questions and doubts in my mind, things that I needed to work through and discuss. I needed time to heal. They wanted to act like there was nothing to heal, and that hurt worse.

I always felt condemned for not doing crazy things in church. After being kicked out, something disconnected. I went to church, and would shake “under the power of God.” I’d never done that before. People would tell me how close I must be to God. I didn’t feel close to God. I’d been kicked out of a church, but they didn’t know that, so I felt like a hypocrite. I also knew the shaking wasn’t God, it was me wrestling hard to reconcile what I believed was The Truth with what I had seen, heard, and experienced that blared that it wasn’t. There was such a deep grief and so much condemnation associated with praying, fasting, and studying the Bible… and especially with worship. The new church was very pushy about how much I should worship and exactly how we should and shouldn’t worship. That didn’t help me at all, because so much of what he told us we needed to do seemed unnatural or just plain weird or wrong to me.

It took me years to untangle what had happened in the church I was kicked out of. I had been happy in a way, and spoke in tongues often and danced a lot. When I was kicked out, even though I went to a different Oneness Pentecostal church (where the pastor assured me I was fine), things just weren’t the same. I doubted pretty much everything I was feeling, because the pastor who kicked me out said I was backslid and terribly wrong. If that were true (and of course it must be- he was a Holy Ghost filled preacher) then what I had felt, and the speaking in tongues and the worship I was doing must be all wrong, too. How could sweet and bitter water come from the same source, after all? I almost ‘got past that’ but then with all the show and people really hurting people in the altar of the new church, I started re-looking some things.

At the same time, I went through a time when every time I tried to pray, I’d pretty much immediately fall into heart wrenching grief and start sobbing and speaking in tongues. I knew that wasn’t right. There is joy in the Holy Ghost, and what was happening couldn’t have been considered intercession. I’d focus on God and say “I love you” or think of a recent service or have a happy thought that I’d be able to stay in that church for the rest of my life… and suddenly start bawling, when I hadn’t been sad before that word of prayer or that thought of thankfulness! A week of that would have been one thing, but that went on for a month or more. And I couldn’t seem to pray at all at church. By the end of that time, I knew something was terribly wrong, but I didn’t know what (or wouldn’t admit it) for a few more years.

For the last few years, there have been many false accusations and labels placed on people in my former church. There was a lot of spying and gossip.

The pastor bragged about the spying from the platform, and encouraged people to tell him if they even thought something MIGHT be wrong with someone else. He said if they didn’t tell him, they’d have blood on their hands. So people, from the oldest to elementary school kids, would go in alone or in groups to say they thought they saw someone do this or that. The person they told on would then be called in and chewed out. They were not asked if they did it, or if they denied it they’d be told they were lying. There was no escaping the hurtful words.

I’ve sat in my former pastor’s office sobbing uncontrollably many times as he, my ‘shepherd,’ my ‘man of God,’ my ‘pastor’ would tell me that I didn’t deserve anything but hell, that I was worthless, that I could leave like the other “garbage” (‘backsliders’ were called “garbage” and the churches they went to were called “trash cans”).

In all of this, even when I was sobbing, even when I tried to say something to defend myself, he would continue to pound on me with his words. Where is the mercy or the compassion in that?

If any pastors or leaders read this, please consider. I didn’t leave a Oneness church because I didn’t believe the doctrine. I left because the church stopped believing in me. I got to a point where if I’d stayed I would have stopped believing in God, because the God they preached and showed through their own lives was an angry, hateful, distorted god, not a God of love and mercy.

Mt 18:1 At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? 2And Jesus called a little child unto him… 6But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!

1 Jn 4:7 Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. 8He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.

I’m not bitter. But some things need to be heard. For too long in churches like the one I left, members didn’t have a voice. It’s time someone listened.

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

Experiences Can Be Real, But….

Here is some food for thought to consider. If Paul taught in 1 Corinthians 14 that people would think believers were mad if they heard a bunch of speaking in tongues in a gathering, what would he say about the laughter and being slain that are seen in some churches? Speaking in tongues is biblical. What about these other ‘manifestations?’

When we go to the Bible we do not find these things there. Neither is taught, nor do we see evidence of either in the stories found in the Bible. This should be very telling.

What is accomplished when people laugh out of control, especially during preaching or teaching? It certainly is not edifying. In addition, Paul taught that the spirit of the prophet is subject to the prophet. This means that as believers, we are in control of what we do and allow.

The passages used to support laughter and being slain are taken out of context and never show anything remotely similar to what goes on in churches today that teach and support these things. But because they happen in a church setting, many blindly accept it as being from God. In addition, some in ministry threaten people who would speak against such ‘moves.’ (For example, think Hinn and Hanegraaff.)

Experiences can be real, but real experiences don’t necessarily translate to being something God ordained.

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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