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Baptism and Re-Baptism Part 4

I’m happy. I was concerned that I would have nightmares, that I would be so nervous I’d make myself sick, that I’d have last minute doubts… that I’d get food poisoning and wouldn’t be able to go. LOL

None of that happened. For me, getting re-baptized was the best thing I could have done at this point. I wanted it to be a faith thing, and it very much was. I didn’t want it to be a denial of anything I’d already experienced. There was only one person who didn’t understand who said anything. I didn’t try to correct her–I met her in a Bible study a few weeks ago and knew she had very little understanding of a whole lot of things. My decision would have confused her, so I stayed quiet.

Baptism was a very important thing to me. I stayed in Oneness churches, miserable, for nearly ten years simply because they baptized in Jesus’ name and no one else did. Standards played a very small roll, and worship styles and “moves of the Holy Ghost” played probably an even smaller one for most of those years. But baptism to me was huge.

I do have to say that the pastor was great today. I’m not sure how I would have reacted if he hadn’t said some of the things he did last week and this. He was careful both last Sunday when I joined and this Sunday when I was baptized to explain that I had been a Christian for “awhile.” Today he mentioned (without letting anyone know who had asked) that he’d been asked several questions about baptism recently. He then restated the answers he’d given to those (my) questions. Remembering those questions and answers at that moment was encouraging and reassuring to me. He also restated the meaning of baptism as signifying the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus, which holds a whole lot of meaning for me. Though those may all be common practice for him, the significance for me was very meaningful.

Also, the words he said as he baptized us–and maybe he always does, I don’t know–was something like, “by the authority of Jesus Christ, upon your confession of faith and trust in Him, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” That was really terrific. Any last minute concerns I might have had were gone after the first person he baptized that way. (hee hee I’d wondered if I might get there and in my mind be saying “in the name of Jesus, in the name of Jesus” but I didn’t!)

For me, it feels like things have come full circle. When I joined the United Pentecostal Church, I was told that I hadn’t really been a Christian before. But I was, and I couldn’t deny that. It put me on shaky ground. They told me one thing, I believed another, yet I believed what they preached about baptism and the Holy Ghost–the same things they used to say that I hadn’t been a Christian before I started attending their church. Things just felt out of kilter.

Over the last year and a half, there have been several times that it seemed like another piece fell into place and I regained a bit more balance. A few months after leaving, for instance, during an invitational at the church I then attended, they led “whosoever will” in a “sinner’s prayer.” At my pew that day, I modified that prayer to a re-commitment to Jesus, asking His forgiveness for my lack of understanding (through the years of trying to follow a church, organization or man, and trying to please people rather than Him), and asking His direction from that point. That was a wonderful day. It felt like the pieces reconnected somehow, that I could finally accept what had made a huge impact in my life as a child–accepting Jesus as my Savior. (Something strongly taught against in the Oneness churches I’ve been in.)

There have been several other times that it seemed like a piece would fall into place–talking to a pastor and questioning him without being rebuked, leaving one church for another and still being accepted at both, learning what others truly believe and finding out that I agree… and etc.

That really has little to do with baptism in itself. Someone else will find that balance and that feeling of fitting or of all the pieces falling in place another way. No matter where or how that balance is found, I hope we all find it. But for me, there was huge significance in that simple act today.

For me it was just a very, very good experience.

Baptism and Re-Baptism Part 1
Baptism and Re-Baptism Part 2

Lessons Learned: The Light Came On

Today I had an eye opener, epiphany, revelation, whatever you want to call it.

It all started out when I heard a loud KA-BOOM! I thought, sounds like a transformer. I could not see that the lights were out at first, until I went to the garage to let the dog in from the backyard and noticed the light in the garage was out. Then I noticed the electric clocks on the stove and microwave were out, too. Oh, goody.

So I texted the electric company to report and to make sure I did that right I called them. Two hours was the estimated time of repair – what they always said. I could not do much inside so decided to go to the grocery store for a couple of things and then go run another errand. As I checked out and was leaving, I noticed a man looking at me. I stared a moment and then realized it was someone I knew and he smiled, so did I, and then a younger man who was a worker there noticed me and said “Are you (my name)?”

I said “Yes. Are you ‘Little Tommy?'” (name changed for his privacy.) (He is not little now, probably close to 6 feet tall – his dad was known as Big Tommy and was very tall).

He said let me walk you to your car and I will also take your bag (small bag of groceries – 4 items lightweight). I said well, thanks, I am parked over there. So we got to may car and began to talk. He asked if I was in any other church. No I am not at the moment. Well he had gone back to my former church – his dad and stepmom had gone there at one time. So we talked a bit.

Of course he invited me back and I declined politely. He was always such a nice kid and was one of two boys (10-12 years old) who would wash my car. He ran the litany of who was still there, all my former friends (one he mentioned, I thought ‘not her’ but did not say anything). Some people who left the state seem to be moving back, too. (How nice, my private thought, a bit sarcastically to myself.) I told him that just because I left, I had not left God. He jumped on that and agreed, he had not left God either when he was out.

He also wondered why I left and I told him personal reasons (I was not going to get into exactly why – that the pastor’s wife and the pastor had done pretty much irreparable damage to my family. And that the last two years I sat on the pew I kept asking myself, “Where did they put Jesus?” and they preach “Christianity without the cross.”) We talked a little more and I had to get on, to do my other errand and get back home.

When I got home my lights were back on. I was sitting here knitting on a toddler sized afghan to give my hands something to do while I watched a show on Netflix and began to think about my conversation with Little Tommy. I began to have the conversation all over again but inserting some things I did not say: I did not leave God when I left the church four years ago. Jesus has always been my savior even before I ever heard of the church I spent 18 years in. They had stopped or maybe they never did preach Jesus. They preached a lot about how to dress, wear hair (cut vs. not cutting it). You must speak in tongues every day to be sure you still had the Holy Ghost (in other words, to be sure you are still saved). You must pray every day over at the church even if it means getting up after only four hours of sleep because church lasted until 11 pm the night before and it was midnight or after when you finally got to bed. All these things and more to make sure you keep your salvation. Rules, rules, rules.

I suddenly realized I was saved BEFORE that church ever became part of my life. I was saved when I did not speak in tongues. I don’t do formalized prayer (think prayer chart to give X minutes to each part of your prayer), I just talk to God like I did before I ever went to this church. No, I don’t go to church every week and have not been for nearly a year to any church.

It is hard to put down here exactly what I was feeling but I had to stop everything I was doing and come here to put this down. I knew all these things before and after I spent 18 years “in.” But being out four years has been helpful so that I can look back and see more clearly that by joining that church I was missing out on more of God than learning about him. Too bad I did not leave much sooner than I did. Lessons learned. The hard way.

It just seemed to come together tonight and was triggered by my meeting with Little Tommy.

One thing Little Tommy mentioned was that the pastor is not the same person as when he left years ago – the Pastor is the same man, but has changed. Little Tommy said he thought God was working on him. I don’t know how exactly but I thought that was probably good. But I still don’t believe I want to visit – everyone would want to drag me down to the altar and pray for me and I would not want that. They just don’t understand.

🙂

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.

Church Gimmicks

I had a dream this morning that I was attending church on Easter. It isn’t my church or one I’ve ever been in, but in the dream I’d been there before, because I knew the music was going to be different.

Before church I heard people talking about how they had come because the candy was better at this church. As the music started, people started crying and laying down on the floor. I wasn’t scared, but I was disgusted. The music was awful. The second song was supposed to be special. It was heavy rock. I moved so that I wasn’t in front of the speakers. The third song started, and was announced to also have a special instrument involved… a chain saw. At the same time, people were coming to the front, crying and praying and having hands laid on them, while altar workers stood with clickers, counting the number of people ‘saved’ or who spoke in tongues, I’m not sure which. One was from my first church, and the altar worker and a friend of hers were fighting over whether she should be counted.

The friend walked past me as she went back to her seat. She recognized me and saw my pants (not allowed in her religion). She told me she’d just had a sobbing moment, because she wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with me because I was obviously lost, wearing pants. We hadn’t had plans; we hadn’t spoken for ten years!

And then I noticed what the congregation was singing: Your love like a river flows through me.

Gimmicks. Candy, special songs, special instruments, encouraging people to worship more ahead of time, counting responses… all are gimmicks. They can be used, within reason, to encourage people to come to a church (or to any other sales event) but they aren’t about God. They’re marketing techniques. But what disturbed me most was not the gimmicks in the dream (not even the chain saw music) or the rejection of my former friend, but the fact that in the middle of all the gimmicks, the fight, and the rejection, the song being sung repeated the words “Your love like a river flows through me.” That’s what haunted me as I woke up. The hypocrisy.

Parents

When I lived at home, my parents insisted on taking me to a church that my sister and I both strongly disliked. There was no youth group. There was one class for all the kids, combined. Mom taught it, and it was just basic Bible stories. There was no real doctrine taught, and no challenge at all for me, the oldest in the class (of 3-5 kids). But Mom thought the church was like the one she was raised in. One with THE Truth… as she knew it.

I wanted more than that. I wanted to go to a church where there were others my age, where I could learn, where there were activities and where others wanted to go, not just went because it was the thing to do on Sunday morning. Even my parents disliked going. Many Sundays we went to Sunday School and then went home rather than going to service. Dad skipped even Sunday School more times than I can count… and one Sunday while I was sick I discovered he preferred Tarzan to church. Or maybe he just thought his sick little girl would prefer that to cartoons.

When I got my license I was excited. I thought I might go somewhere else. Mom told me I would not be driving, that we would go to church as a family. To the church she chose. When I moved away to college, at the end of the day she handed me a phone book and told me they weren’t leaving until I chose a church to attend on Sunday. There was no discussion about trying out a few churches. Nothing about the possibility of going to chapel at the college. Just, “Here’s the phone book. We aren’t leaving till you choose a church.” And something about so many college kids quitting church entirely.

I had no intention of quitting, but I did want a better option than what I’d had growing up. A friend had told me about a visit to her grandmother’s Pentecostal church… and when I opened the phone book that day and saw that there was a Pentecostal church in town, I knew where I wanted to go.

Mom flipped. Suddenly I was informed that I needed to try several churches. It was clear they didn’t like my choice, but it was the end of the day and they had to go.

I visited one other church in town. None of the others appeared to be options for me at the time. And though I liked the other church, Pentecostal had my full attention from the first day I visited. There were others near my age. People wanted to be at church. They actually opened their Bibles at church. They could quote scripture rather than (as at my former church) taping the most familiar, like the Lord’s prayer, to the pulpit. There was an excitement there. So that’s where I chose to go.

My parents strongly disliked my decision. They came to visit. Dad brought me a copy of a book about why tongues were wrong. Mom argued. She told me she thought I had damned my soul by being re-baptized (a misinterpretation of “crucify the son of God afresh”). Dad tried to force me to wear pants to go to church when I was home (too cold for a skirt, looking out for my interests: “You will not leave this house!”). Dad threw fits about my new boyfriend, throwing some of the worst fits I had ever had directed at me. They argued and challenged… and everything they did only spurred me to continue going and solidified in my mind that I was right.

The fights have never stopped completely, sadly. I left two and a half years ago, but Dad still presses for where I go to church, what kind of church, and so forth. And if I ever told him it wasn’t Pentecostal? There would just be more that he would pressure me to do in that case, I’m fairly certain. Because if I’m not Pentecostal I should dress like he wants me to dress, marry who he wants me to marry, talk like he wants me to talk, do what he wants me to do. Sound familiar? Sure. Pastors insisted that I would do those things, and for years I didn’t question what they were doing, because Dad had always done the same thing. And Mom backed him, even on things that were wrong, harsh, and extremely disrespectful. “Honor thy father and mother” was quoted at me, but they never realized that ‘honor’ doesn’t mean ‘do everything they ask without question.’

We had another fight nearly a week ago. I haven’t called them since. We usually talk several times a week. But this time, with Dad blaming church and a request from the college for parents to stay away for awhile or rarely coming to visit, and then pressing and pressing- question after question: “Where do you go to church?” “What church?” “What’s the name of it?” “Where?” “What church?” “Where are you going to church at?!” I finally had enough. I really don’t know what I’m going to do now. I wish they would respect me for who I am (or who they know me to be) because I don’t feel any desire to let them know who I’ve become when they continually refuse to accept who I’ve been.

They don’t even go to church themselves. Not even for the major holidays usually. Dad just within the last two years figured out that the priests who are mentioned in the New Testament weren’t Catholic priests, and that the Catholics weren’t the ones who wanted to kill Jesus. And then there’s the number of times that Dad has said that Pentecostal preachers are wrong for telling people what to wear (and do and so forth) while doing the same thing himself.

I’m conflicted. I’d like to just be myself. But no matter who I am, they have never been satisfied. At least this battle is familiar. Or was until last week. Now I’m not so certain. If I choose to stay in a hotel when I go home and not call them as much, it will hurt them. I love them and I don’t want to hurt them. But sometimes people are hurt because their own choices drive others to make decisions they won’t like. My parents may very well have done that.