Category: holiness standards | Page 10

Clones. Robot-like. Cult-oids. Sameness does not equal holiness.

Clones. Robot-like. Cult-oids. These words all conger up images of people living on autopilot and acting in ways that are very similar to each other. That’s what sect life was like. Very little individuality. In fact, most attempts at individuality were considered willful and selfish. Virtually the same clothes. Same hairstyles. Same language. Same way of thinking. Same routines. Same rituals. Same social circle.

I wasn’t asked what made me happy – what hobbies I would would like to pursue – it was more important to be sitting in their services multiple days per week. Pursuing individual hobbies was an act of rebellion. It wasn’t serving the Lord. Sports were frowned upon. Any extra-curricular activities. Anything that took you away from the Bible, the services, and pondering the Lord’s swift return. Even pets were discouraged.

What they don’t realize is that this sets kids up for depression. Kids are supposed be running around, not sitting still and silent. They are supposed to explore the world, and different options and opportunities. No birthday parties were allowed. No Christmas trees or decorations. No TV. No entertainment. No movies. No radio. And they kept telling me that they didn’t have rules, that these restrictions were all for my benefit! Yeah, right.

I’m not sure why they appear to think that sameness amounts to holiness. If God had wanted a relationship with “robots” then He would have created us all identical, with the same looks, the same personality, the same gifts, the same character and temperament. But He delights in our freedom (He gave us free will after all) and delights in our uniqueness. He is the Artist. We are the canvases upon which he creates many masterpieces – no one the same as the other. All original. All a unique expression of who He is. All created in His image and likeness. God is joyous, creative, vibrant, happy – so why can’t we also be these things this side of heaven? We are supposed to be. That’s why Jesus came.

The sect members in general have a dead look in their eyes. Its like hope left the building years ago. What hope do you have when most of life’s pleasures, experiences, and opportunities for relationship (including one with your Creator) are curtailed and out-of-bounds? I felt hopeless and helpless at the young age of 7. I already knew I couldn’t have the hobbies I wanted, or an education beyond high school, or real friends, or travel to exotic destinations (you cannot travel anywhere where there is not a congregation, and there are very few congregations). I knew at the age of 7 that I would never see the pyramids, or Rome, or any of the other wonders of the world.

God created this world beautiful and lush for his tenants to enjoy. But toxic religion tries to limit us. It tries to take away the free will that was granted to us by our Father. I’d love to know what Jesus says to them when they pass on to heaven – maybe “my child, you didn’t need to be a slave, or to live like a pauper, or to control everything in my name…all I wanted was your HEART”.

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It’s all about outward appearances

I don’t even like the word “sin” because it gives me a twinge of PTSD. But, let’s just use that word because it’s one that we are all familiar with. In the sect that I was born into, and was in for 33 years, certain “sins” had more weight than others. This was, and is, confusing to me. For example, you can have oodles of pride in your heart (the first sin in the garden of Eden) – even too much pride to humble yourself enough to pray, and as long as you wear the right outfit, go to all of the meetings, and say the right words you are considered “spiritual” and “pious” and “right.”

But if you have a genuine heart for God, and humbly seek His heart and face daily, and are seeking a genuine relationship and intimacy with Him, but you have a one-night ‘mistake’ sexual encounter outside of marriage, you are tarnished forever and your reputation is ruined, and you’ll be disfellowshipped and shunned if you don’t publicly repent (after the juicy details being discussed with elders, or even publicly sometimes). This didn’t happen to me – but I saw it happen to many others. Apparently a sexual transgression by a 19 year old boy is far more evil and grave of a sin than a religious bigot with so much pride in his heart that he would probably never help his neighbor or even smile at “worldlies.”

What craziness! It truly is a fog that they are living in. Where is the critical thinking? Their hearts seem to be closed to God’s Spirit and leading. Sounds like the Pharisees to me. The funny thing is that they talk all the time about how bad the Pharisees were – and sadly they are blind to the fact that they are just like them!

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Of Red Doors and Bed Posts

I installed a new door this weekend. And after some debate I painted it red… and laughed because everyone would expect a nice, conservative white door at my house.

This morning, driving away from my house, enjoying the fall colors and my new red door, the memory of a statement popped in my head. “What are you doing, advertising?” A red door, a sure sign of a Jezebel. I’d been labeled for less. I rented a duplex on a dead end street. There was an office next door, and the administrative assistant was a church member. I kept my curtains drawn, but the curtain caught on the bedpost. The next time I saw Sister M, she stopped me. “What are you doing, advertising?” I had no idea what she was talking about, but after some flabbergasted questions, I discovered that for whatever odd reason, being able to see my bedpost meant I was advertising availability. On a dead end street, with my curtains drawn. What kind of response would a red door bring?

I’m not worried about my red door now. I like it. None of them will ever know. Their eyes and their judgments are six hours’ drive from where I am now. But I do remember the ludicrosity of the thinking there. It’s followed me through several decades and met me again at my new red door…

Slips were required. Full slips, summer and winter. No part of a skirt should be translucent…. guess who got rebuked because an eighth inch of slip showed one night when she got a drink at a water fountain?
One teen dangled a lacy high heeled shoe off her toes in the aisles, and no one said anything. Another was called out in service for wearing a scarf — a scarf was too flirty.
Animal prints were banned. The pastor got up one Saturday at outreach and said they were suddenly OK. There was more animal print the next day in service than there would have been at a small zoo… where did it all come from, and so quickly?
Christmas lights were OK, but not trees and not nativities. And barely the celebration of the day. Such a pagan event, with all it’s idolatry. But lights were fine.
A teen was reported for wearing clear polish on her toenails. She had on hose. How did the person see her toes, much less polish?
Makeup and jewelry were banned because we should be natural and like ourselves as God made us, but hairstyles could be very elaborate, with plenty of hairspray. Similarly, perms were banned, but hours of curlers and curling irons were perfectly acceptable.
We were supposed to win our lost loved ones, but didn’t always get permission to go home, even for major holidays. What a wonderful witness…
The pastor got a small pool and put it in his driveway. I got one and was warned to “be very careful with that.” The concern was not how I dressed in it, but that it was there at all. It was in my backyard, and not visible from the street.

A bed post showing through a closed curtain on a dead end street was advertisement. I’m sure a red door would be as well. The rules made no sense and they varied from person to person. Many were annoying and most made no sense. I definitely didn’t need a public rebuke for a bedpost, a hint of a slip… or a red door.

Tonight I’m thankful for the liberty to make my own decisions, not based on what other people might think. There isn’t any longer the constant worry of what someone might say or think. It’s there, but the voices are fading. It took me nearly 20 hours to realize what they’d have thought of my pretty, new, red door.

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The sacred cows of Pentecost

According to Wiktionary, a sacred cow is something that can’t “be tampered with, or criticized, for fear of public outcry. A person, institution, belief system, etc. which, for no reason other than the demands of established social etiquette or popular opinion, should be accorded respect or reverence, and not touched, handled or examined too closely.”

There were herds of sacred cows in my former church, things that I think most people knew made no sense, but that no one would question, things like:

Praying an hour, because there was a song that said “Sweet hour of prayer.” Nothing in the Bible, and most of the congregation had never even heard the whole song. They certainly never sang it at my former church. It was too slow.
Women not wearing pants because of a verse in Deuteronomy that talks about women not wearing “that which pertaineth to a man.” Why this means pants specifically and not t-shirts, denim, suit jackets, etc, which all began as things men wore is never discussed, or if it is, it is shrugged away by saying that those don’t change the profile. The same people argue that a woman can’t wear a fly in her skirt because if she’s walking behind something and people can only see from hip and up it might look like she’s wearing pants. But that fly doesn’t change the profile.
Going to church multiple times a week because “the Bible says forsake not the assembling of yourselves together.” The Bible never says that people should assemble repeatedly during the week until they are exhausted or even though they are sick.
People should not wear jewelry, because the Bible says not to wear gold or jewels or costly array. In what universe does this mean your daughter can’t wear toy plastic beads around her neck but you can wear a $300 outfit?
Women shouldn’t wear makeup because Jezebel did. Not everything wicked people do is wicked. In the same verse she arranged her hair and looked out a window. Of the three, only makeup is preached against. (And for that matter, she only put on eye makeup… not lip gloss or blush, much less concealer or nail polish.)

There were many more. Herds of sacred cows. Cows so sacred that people did all sorts of strange things to avoid not only touching them but even looking at them. There were people who wouldn’t buy watches because they were sold in the jewelry section. Most women would flinch if they accidentally touched a pair of pants on a sales rack. People would go to church sick, and others would report each other for wearing chapstick. (“It looked PINK!”) Those sacred cows… there were way too many. Dare to ask the simple question “Why?” and you could be labeled or ostracized. It wasn’t even popular opinion that made them untouchable. Sometimes it was pastor’s opinion, and sometimes it was group think.

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Healing

The pain is real. The journey to healing is real. It’s long and at times feels like it is never-ending. But every year when I look back over the previous year I see the progress that has been made – rebuilding my life. It’s been almost six years since I left. Which sounds like a long time, but it isn’t really when I consider that I was born into the sect and left when I was 33 years old. I’ll have been out of that toxic church system for half of my life when I turn 67 years of age!! That sounds awful and depressing.

I’m currently 39 years old. Looking at it this way makes me realize that it is okay that I still have a long way to go on my healing journey. I’ve been out six years, but I was in for 33 years (plus the 9 months in the womb!). I’ve been free from extreme control for only 15% of my life. Wow. In that 33 years I wasted approximately 9,000 hours sitting listening to mind-boggling theological discussions spoken in Shakespearean English – that I never understood. None of it brought me close to God.

Last night my new husband and I went to a get-together with his work colleagues. It is at events like these that I realize that I still feel separate. This feeling lessens with each passing year, but it is still there. It gives me social anxiety because growing up in isolation from “worldly” people means that I didn’t learn normal social skills or the ability to relate to and interact with people from all walks of life. It has been scary and tiring to learn these skills in my thirties. I look normal on the outside now, and can put on a good front, but underneath I still feel odd, and different, and like I don’t belong.

It is to be expected because for 33 years of my life I was told, and therefore believed, that I was part of a small group of elite Christians who were God’s chosen people. The only people to whom He came; the only ones with the “truth;” the only ones worthy of true fellowship; the only ones who had interpreted the Bible correctly. All other Christians and non-Christians were misled by Satan, and were to be feared. Physical separation had to be maintained at all costs so that we were not infected by their evil (yes, the words “infected” and “evil” were actually used). We were not allowed to dress like the world, watch TV like the world, watch movies like the world, listen to the radio like the world, have a library card like the world, live in a condo building like the world, be a part of a professional association like the world, etc… I used to stand at my bedroom window when I was about ten years old and look out at the dangerous world with fear and wonder what it was like to be in Satan’s clutches and wonder why God chose us for such special “light” and “revelation.” But deep, deep, down in my core I was jealous of the freedom that “worldlies” had.

Therefore, there is no wonder that I still struggle with socializing with people I don’t know, especially on mass. No wonder I escape to the washroom every hour or so just so I can breathe deeply and collect myself. To add to the awkward feeling is the fact that I have never watched The Simpsons, haven’t heard most of the popular music that was released more than six years ago, never went to University, have never owned a TV – so I sometimes look ignorant because I lack basic knowledge about these everyday things.

Healing takes time. It takes gaining self-esteem, establishing self-concept, establishing a new world view, finding a new community, making new friends, counting what was lost, processing the anger, trying new things, experimenting with clothes and hobbies, binge-watching TV shows from the 90’s on NetFlix, grieving what was lost, grieving the years that were wasted, grieving your old identity that wasn’t really you, and grieving for the family members who are still in a deep state of cognitive dissonance and brainwashing. It takes creating a new identity. It takes finding the real person beneath all the layers of conditioning and slavery – fear, guilt, shame, must-do, have-to. It takes courage to seek a relationship with God, when all you knew was rituals and rules. When He was very scary and full of disgust.

Healing can’t be rushed. It’s a process. Respect it. Honor it. The path is different for everyone. There is hope – peace and joy can be found on the journey. Celebrate the work-in-progress You.

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