Unaskable Questions

Where I’m from, we weren’t allowed to ask questions about certain things. We were expected to ask the pastor who we should marry or at least if we could marry this person or that one. But we couldn’t ask basic questions about things that happened at church. So I’ve decided to list a few here. I reverence God and the things of God. These are a few questions I’ve had through the years. No offense meant to anyone… Just a few rather unorthodox thoughts.

  • If praise and worship are action verbs, why do we so often pray and say, “Jesus, I praise you. Oh, God, I worship you.” Why not just do it?
  • Why do we call dancing and leaping “shouting?” A shout requires a vocal response, preferably intelligible…
  • What is the screaming and squealing for in church? I scream when I’m afraid, not when I’m happy.
  • Does the quality of the sound system and the decibels it is cranked to really have anything to do with God’s anointing?
  • Why do we work so hard to “create an atmosphere where people can get the Holy Ghost” if God loves us and the Holy Ghost is His free gift?
  • Why, after working so hard to “create an atmosphere,” do all the kids at camp seem to pray through when we blow the circuits and the lights go out?
  • Why are we told to seek the free gift of the Holy Ghost? Most gifts I’ve ever been given were placed in front of me or into my hands by the giver. Rarely have I had to go hunt one down!
  • Why do camps and conferences seem so much more electrified and charged than weekly services in our home churches? God is the same everywhere, after all.
  • Why do some people think it is wrong to drink or smoke because we shouldn’t destroy the temple of the Holy Ghost, yet claim that God tells them to do things in worship that could damage the church property or could cause an accident that could hurt other people or themselves?

Witnessing: telling others about Jesus.
Testifying: telling others what Jesus has done for you.
Door-knocking: knocking on door after door and giving people an invitation to church.
Then why do we say we are going “witnessing” when we are just handing a card to people that open their doors?

Why does it take ten minutes to take prayer requests, and only a minute to pray for them all?

How many people who say they’ll be praying for a situation only mention it to God in passing once?

If we really have faith, should we pray for something for days or weeks, or should we just pray once and trust God for the answer? Why, when I have a need, is the first more comforting than the second? Do I think God will forget they prayed, or do I just enjoy the fact that people are thinking of me?

If God is our friend and Father, why do we talk to him so differently than we would a… well… friend or father?

If someone regularly came to me and said they could talk to me for the next 30 minutes, and then watched the clock the entire time… if they talked for the whole 30 minutes but never really said anything, if they yelled at me and made strange faces… I’d begin to think they were pretty rude fairly quickly.

What is wrong with doubt? John the Baptist doubted as he sat in prison. Peter doubted when he stepped out of the boat. Thomas doubted that Jesus had risen. What is wrong with admitting our doubts?

And last but not least, why are these questions unaskable? What is so intimidating about them? The fact that there are questions, or the answers to them?

Leaving Church

Over the past few years, I’ve looked at several of the various oddities within this church, the conservative movement I was a part of, and Pentecost as a whole. No one would answer my questions for a long time. The answer was always to go ask the pastor. When I asked the pastor I was told that I was rebellious or thought I was smarter than him. I was expected to accept what was preached as gospel, and never look to the gospel or the God of the gospel for answers beyond the pulpit.

I hope these are anomalies- that they are not common in Pentecost. But the more I have read, the more I realize that I’m not alone in my experiences.

For a long time I refused to consider leaving the church, because they preached Jesus name baptism, Holy Ghost, and holiness of dress. But questions about other teachings started creeping into my mind. After two separate incidents, a year apart, when I was accused and charged guilty of something without being given a chance to explain (or in the second case to even know what they were talking about), I started looking into the scriptures more thoroughly. I stopped reading the Bible, but if something seemed strange, I’d reference the passage and read it in several versions if need be.

Several things began to disturb me:

  • The belief that the pastor was always right, and that he could not be questioned.
  • The concept that if the pastor said to do something, it must be done.
  • Preference of one person over another.
  • Letting down on standards held for decades, while still arguing that others (who used the same reasons for letting down on other things) were wrong.
  • Making women lesser saints.
  • Not allowing women to be as involved.
  • Catch phrases that demanded a shout.
  • Rebukes for not shouting on catch phrases, or not shouting enough.
  • Meaningless songs with a few words repeated over and over and over and…

It’s sad, really. I didn’t want to leave, and I never thought I would stop believing certain things. I’ve wondered if I would have been better off if I’d left months or years ago when the problems started. I miss my church friends, but there weren’t that many of them. I miss church activities to a degree. But I’m not sad to leave.

I wonder what will happen now, where I’ll go or what I’ll do. Will there be a church I feel comfortable in? Where? When? Should I take time off from church or plow back into it? Should I go to a Oneness church or just let that go? Will I ever be able to marry now that I’ve left? Will I put too much emphasis on a new pastor, following the old, ingrained rules?

There are no answers to these questions, but I’m satisfied. At first after leaving I crammed on books about exit and spiritual abuse. I don’t feel like doing that now. Maybe I should- I’ve been told it takes years to work through the problems. Maybe I just wasn’t treated that badly, or maybe its just that somewhere I still believe that I’m not leaving God just because I walk out the doors of a particular church.

In that particular way, I feel miles ahead of the ministers and saints I’ve talked to. Almost all of them think I need a pastor and need this church. Not so. I need God. And my pastor is not my god, and my church is not my god. My God fills the universe, but also stepped into time and was crucified to a cross… and rose again. His grace is sufficient, and I’ll trust Him.

Shame on You!

As stated before, I was a sensitive child.  I grew into a sensitive teen, who became a sensitive adult.  The age-old question arises, was it nature or nurture? Was it biology, or environment?  Obviously, it is impossible to decipher. Regardless of the cause, I was sensitive. That meant that I was quicker to respond to the slightest pressure, as well as being deeply affected by everything that was said to me.  I was highly conscientious, and hyper-aware of disapproval.  At an early age, I learned to read expressions. A raised eyebrow or dirty look was as potent to me as if words had been spoken over me.  Many people raised in abusive environments have this trait as adults.  It comes from a shame-based upbringing, where fear is palpable.

I’ve written past articles about how I was trained to sit on the front row in church by myself at nine months old. In the moments where I had trouble managing that, I was taken out and spanked…thus, instilling in me from an early age a sense of shame. To be sure, the entire environment of the cult is drenched in shame. It functions on shaming the subservient population so that they will give more power to the ruling class. In this case, the congregants are the subservient ones, while the pastors are the elite.

Shame was also prominent at home. Because of the nature of being a preacher’s daughter, we didn’t just go to church a couple times of week and then go about our normal lives. Church was our normal life, and every day revolved around our ‘relationship with God,’ and our ‘service to God.’  As a result, anything you did at home that was remotely ‘sinful’ received a message of shame. For example, normal developmental stages of childhood include such behaviors as lying to get out of trouble, sometimes lying because you don’t even realize it is a lie, taking things that don’t belong to you, etc.  These are behaviors related to learning the boundaries of one’s environment. Yet, reacting with anger when you were told no, or when people invaded your instinctive boundaries was also ‘sinful.’  All of these things were not only punished with a spanking, but also involved a sermon about what God thought about it.

Shame, shame, shame on you! So, not only would you get a spanking for stomping your foot and screaming, when you were two years old, but you would also be told that God was not pleased with your anger, and you would have prayer. You would be led through a prayer of repentance to help you start to understand that God was displeased with your actions as well.  When I received a spanking for anything, even fighting with my sister, there was prayer afterward, to “get right with God.”

As an adult educated about child development and human nature, as well as boundaries, I realize that many of those things were not even remotely sinful, but were my instinctive reactions to being manipulated and controlled. While on the surface this might seem to be a good way to raise kids, every little mistake became a spiritual issue. You were lost eternally if you told a lie or showed anger toward your parents. This created in me a sense that every moment I could be ‘falling into sin.’ As a human being, there seldom was a day that went by, in certain stages of childhood, where I didn’t do something that could be deemed a ‘sin’

Clinical observations: Imagine the shame and the guilt of a child who really wants to please God, but finds herself continually failing.  The anxiety and panic of somehow failing to be perfect can be overwhelming. Gradually, in such an environment, you become ashamed of your own feelings, so you try to numb them. Stuffing those feelings inside creates a low level of depression clinically termed “dysthymia.”  At the root of most anxiety is this deep sense of shame. In the case of this example, you are constantly anxious that you are displeasing to God, that you are not measuring up to your own expectations, and that you are somehow continually missing the mark. Shame is different than guilt. We all feel guilty when we do something wrong. This is a natural feeling that leads us to repentance, change, or reflection. Shame is different. Shame is there because we are a general failure in our own minds. Shame is there because we do not measure up, either to our own standards or to those of others. Shame is not just felt in a moment, concerning one action, but permeates our lives.

As I grew into a teenager, I learned to feel shame about other things in my life. (For example, as humans grow into the teen years, it is normal to have hormones and to begin to feel sexual attraction.  The bodies begin to change, and secondary sexual attributes become apparent.) For a girl raised in this cult environment, there’s a lot of shame attached to these developments. Of course, every human being knows about sexual development, and hormones. However, in the cult environment, by its very nature of listing rules and regulations, the female body becomes a shameful thing. I am not trying to be crude, but girls with natural curves may especially feel a sense of shame attached to their bodies, because the cult ‘rules’ teach females to hide their bodies ‘to avoid others lusting.’  This teaches girls that they are responsible for the thoughts, and even sins of others.  What a shame!

Over-sexualizing the human body causes a lot of shame, and even some twisted thinking. I remember a young man who was always correcting a couple of young ladies in the church. He kept coming up to them and telling them that their skirts were too tight, or that their tops were too tight. Finally, my dad addressed this with him, and told him “If they’re not dressed right I will correct it, as the pastor.” He said “It’s not your place to go around correcting women in the church.” He then found out that the young man was feeling sexually attracted to these girls, and that’s why he was finding fault with them. The problem really was not with the young ladies, but with his own natural attraction to the opposite sex.  (From the viewpoint of mental health, looking at nature and hormonal influences, even he was not at fault…he was made to feel guilty for something that was quite natural.)

I remember once, around the age of fifteen, feeling ‘convicted’ because of a beautiful dress that I had bought, and loved dearly. It looked so pretty, and it was my favorite dress. However, I became aware of a teenage boy looking at my breasts when I was wearing the dress, I felt that I was being ‘sinful’ to wear a dress that was ‘fitted.’ Granted, I was a little more ‘blessed’ than some of the other girls, just by genetics. Because of this, pretty much anything I wore was not going to hide my body, unless I wore a feed sack.

Yet, in retrospect, I was not the only girl so affected.  A friend of mine in the cult, who was extremely sensitive as well, wore loose jackets all of the time, and would never wear a dress with a bodice. Everything was always very baggy, and she looked pretty tacky on purpose. She also walked stoop shouldered to hide her figure. Her body shame was caused by not wanting to be the ’cause’ for a man to sin with lustful thoughts. She also told me, at one point, that she would never wear anything but plain cotton underwear, because anything else made her ‘have bad thoughts.’  She was a teen girl with hormones and body development given by God.  What a shame that she carried around such needless shame!

The shame in the cult never ends. You are shameful because you fail, you are shameful because you are a sexual creature, and you are a shame because the opposite sex is attracted to you. Shame on them as well! How dare they notice that you are female with curves!

Clinical observation: Now that I have studied human development, I realize that all of these things are very normal and not sinful at all. It is very normal for a young male to be attracted to a young female, even noticing her body traits. It is very normal and natural for all young people to occasionally have ‘dirty’ thoughts. These things are not shameful, but are part of the human existence that God created to drive procreation and families. Obviously, people have to learn to curb impulses, but as far as being ashamed of one’s thoughts or hormonal reactions, it is ridiculous to heap this kind of shame on people.

When I was engaged to my first husband, I was still part of this cult. He was very conservative, an ordained minister in the same cult. I remember telling him as we became engaged to “just let me know” if he had any “holiness standards” that we didn’t have, and I would change my dress or behavior to what he preached. He declared that there was nothing like that at all. A month or so later, his parents came to visit, his mother with her scarf around her neck like a turtle neck…and all of a sudden I got a phone call from him, commenting that my necklines were too low. I was frustrated, because I worked very hard to follow all of the modesty ‘rules.’

We spoke at length about this, and he described to me different dresses that I wore where he had noticed that my necklines were too low. I tried on those dresses, bending down in front of the mirror and even bending down in front of my parents to see if they could see anything. They couldn’t. I called him back, trying to figure out what in the world he was talking about. He told me that he saw too much of my neck and it made his mind wander to other areas. We were engaged to be married in two months! He was sexually attracted to me, as hopefully most engaged young men are to their fiances. There is nothing wrong with this, but he felt shame, which he then tried to project onto me, as causing him to have ‘sinful thoughts.’

After we were married, he would criticize practically everything I put on. Finally, frustrated at the guessing game, I asked him one day to just give me a place on my body where he wanted my necklines to be, and I would make sure that they were always there. He told me that my collarbones needed to be covered up, because the base of the neck was very sexual, and caused men to think about other parts that were covered.

As you can imagine, the entire marriage was drenched in shame. (In retrospect, I realize that he had also been soaked in shame growing up, and that ‘shame’ had basically become his middle name.) However, at the time, I only knew that I received constant messages of shame. If I did not want to have sexual relations with him some night, and he wanted it, then I needed to “submit to him as the Bible said.” If I asked him more than a couple of times to change a light bulb, I was a “nagging wife,” and the Bible talked about those!  I was not to disagree with him about anything, because the Bible said to submit to your husband. If he wanted one of the children spanked, even for age-appropriate behaviors, I had to spank them, regardless of my personal feelings about the matter. This not only invaded my boundaries, but caused me to go against my very own conscience. However, it was a shame to have my own thoughts, it was a shame to defy my husband, and it was especially a shame, since he was my pastor, to disagree with him.

Of course, we began raising our children in a constant shower of shame. Early on, he had the three-year-old and five-year-old in their room, giving them a message about hell fire….describing in very explicit sermon terms what hell is like, and telling them over and over “You’re going there. You’re going there. I can’t save you.” All of this happened because they lied. (Now if you know anything about child development, you know that it is very normal for three-year-old and a five-year-old to lie. A three-year-old and a five-year-old may not even be aware that they’re telling a lie, they’re just responding instinctively.) Even though I was horrified at his terrorizing the children, I could not intervene at that time, because of my own deep sense of shame. He was their pastor, he was their father, while I was merely his wife, and was supposed to be submitted to him. Even though I stood in the other room horrified, and crying for the terror my children must be feeling, I did nothing. Shame on me!

During this time, I remember specifically working on my own attitude, because of the resentment and disagreement I felt at the continual abuse and shame that was occurring in our home.  I engaged in a daily Bible study about all the verses concerning ‘submission’ and daily repentance for my inner thoughts that were anything but submissive.  I prayed for him to change, to be a good father, to be a kind husband, but I really felt so much shame regarding my lack of agreement with his behavior, and that was the main focus of my devotionals during that time.  Some very difficult things happened in our lives right after that, and we ended up abruptly moving.

He had admitted viewing pornography, years earlier, and he felt deep shame, but eventually shifted to shaming me for “not forgiving” him when I had difficulty trusting him alone with the computer.  He would be gone at weird hours of the morning and night, often leaving as I was putting the children to bed and not returning until three or four am. He would tell me that he was at the church “studying” or “preparing his radio broadcast.”  I only knew that there was no computer in our home, but in his church office instead.  I had difficulty trusting that his spirituality was so thick during those hours, because his abuse of the family daily grew worse, and his behavior with me was deeply hurtful.

Eventually, when I realized the children were in serious danger, I left. I had been deeply concerned about one of our children, who had suddenly begun to hoard things, as well as obsessively washing his hands every few minutes. Both of our older children had recently regressed to urinating and defecating in their clothing, after being fully potty trained years earlier.  I felt that my children were not going to survive the abuse unscathed, and my first responsibility was to save my children. While debating and praying about what to do, I found another twist. I discovered this ‘godly man’ involved in sexual abuse of our children. I caught him having one of them touch him sexually.  They were innocent, and I was their guardian. I made my plans to leave, and carried them out. It was a logical decision, because I realized even then that I was going to lose everything to shame.  My life as I knew it ended the moment I chose the children over a “man of god“.

It was worse than I had imagined, though, because he then contacted other conservative preachers, and asked them to contact my father.  They proposed to have a meeting, where they would command me as ministers of God to go back to my husband and submit to him. My dad refused to have me endure that treatment, since he had personally witnessed results of beatings my husband had given our children, including one time when he whipped our toddler with a belt while he was naked, (causing him 30 minutes of screaming due to the belt hitting sensitive male parts).

Though I’m thankful for my dad’s protection in that matter, shame was heaped upon me. My ex continued to preach and be promoted even more with the endorsement of ‘big-name’ preachers within the cult, even when he ended up divorced, with only supervised visitation. Meanwhile, I was reported to have been “crazy,” “ungodly,” and a “liar,” an “instrument of Satan used to try to destroy a man of God.”  I was shamed again, and it was almost more than I could bear.  There was no room in the cult for a ‘divorcee’ (which was a term said in a whisper, as if it was a bad word).  An ex-wife to a preacher was even more unheard of!  What a shame!  I was left in disgrace, trying to find my way alone, slogging through the marsh of shame.  Still, I stayed in the cult.

Note: This post is one of the most difficult I have ever written.  There will be sequels in time.  Writing about this is deeply cathartic, but also extremely intimate. Shame has affected my life permanently and there is so much more to tell about the scars it has left. Yet today I am aware of its existence.  Due to the Grace I have found in Jesus Christ, I am no longer a slave to shame.  I am a child of God.  He bears my shame, and he knows me by name.  Every day is a little brighter since I realized he is not, and never was the author of shame!

Curse of the Cult

Being raised my entire life in the controlling atmosphere of this type of religion left permanent scars on me. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel so angry and betrayed! The cult dynamic leaves you feeling helpless and unable to make it through life on your own.

It’s so powerful because it robs you of your individuality, your independence, and your trust in your own thoughts. It takes away who you are and changes you into a clone. You lose your identity and accept the ideology that you’re going to be some great soldier for Christ, all for the greater good, etc.

In reality what you’re doing is checking your brain at the door, and becoming just another robot marching to the tune of the leader. This pastor is just a man, who has developed his own interpretation of what the Bible says, often to fit his own needs and his own desires. And yet, he himself is deceived into thinking that he’s doing the “will of God.” They have all the power, but they have been trained to think and to truly believe that this is what God wants them to do.

My personal brainwashing began when I was just a baby. I’ve written about how I was trained from a child with spankings that began before I learned to walk or talk. I was under the power of the preacher/father before I had any memory of my existence.

Growing up in this atmosphere, whether by nature or by early early training, I was extremely sensitive, eager to please, and tenderhearted. That left me wide-open to become the biggest clone of all. The model robot I became, and I was very skilled at doing everything I was asked to do. I never went through the rebellion that teenagers go through, for the most part, because I had been trained to be so sensitive to the slightest misbehavior that might throw me out of favor, “with God.”

I did it because I really wanted to please God. I did it because I was scared of what God would do to me if I didn’t measure up. I also did it because I love God. How could I love something I feared so much? I guess because I loved and feared my dad in the same way.

I was taught from early on to be sensitive to my dad’s moods and get out of his way if he seemed like he was tired and grouchy. I was trained not to talk to him if he was busy, because I would be bothering him. I was trained in so many other ways.

I loved his hugs and his cuddles, when they were given, and the rare approval that I saw in his eyes. Yet I feared him so much that I was scared to ask for anything that I wanted. I knew that I could approach him any time to tell him that I loved him or to give him a hug, but I knew that if he looked at me sternly, I was in huge trouble.

That’s the same way I looked at God. For the better part of my life, even as a grown adult, I was scared to make a move without the approval of the pastor. I was scared to think a thought that would be contrary to what was taught by the pastor. I was scared to make a choice on my own without seeking his advice. Many people, grown men and women, we’re afraid to make purchases, or move, or get a new job without consulting the pastor first to get his approval on those choices. The pastor’s approval was equated with God’s approval.

When one lives in this environment, without using their own brain, getting out can be very difficult…even scary. For the first time in your life you have no one else to blame for your mistakes. If anything goes wrong, you have to take responsibility for your choices. You’ve not had much practice making choices, so it’s a pretty sure thing that you’re going to make some wrong choices along the way. That could be terrifying, especially when people from the cult point their fingers at you and say “well you should’ve stayed in the church.. you should’ve asked pastor for advice and followed his advice.”

The thing is, we don’t learn how to make choices without making them. Our brains are like muscles. If they haven’t been exercised, they will buckle under weight. When other people were making small choices like what kind of clothes to wear for school, or whether or not they wanted to try out for the football team, we were not allowed to make those choices.

We couldn’t choose our friends, we couldn’t choose what activities we wanted to do, we couldn’t choose what music that we wanted to listen to, or what entertainment we enjoyed. We never learned to choose what clothing we wanted to wear, what hairstyle we enjoyed the most, or whether not we wanted to wear make up. We were given instructions to follow about all these personal things. We didn’t learn how to make choices.

When we finally break free from the cult and we start trying to make decisions and choices, we don’t really have any background information to use to make the wise decisions. We are in terror trying to decide and often it is difficult to make any decision at all. However not making a decision is a decision, and that’s where we get into trouble. That’s where things get difficult for us, because life gets a little harried.

I’ve had my own list of ‘bad choices’ to try to live with, once I got out on my own and could actually make these decisions for myself. However, I’m learning to make decisions. I’m learning how to balance my budget. I’m learning to make career choices, life choices, and of course wardrobe choices, hairstyle choices and even ‘how to raise my kids’ choices. Do I always make the right decisions? No, absolutely not! However, I learn more and more.

Each failure is only a step in the right direction, because I can take that information and use it for future choices.

Yes, I grew up in a cult. You talk about a dysfunctional family! It was a dysfunctional world where we were not allowed to fellowship with anyone else. I was homeschooled, and my entire life revolved around the cult.

Getting out brought such freedom! But, getting out also brought a lot of terror and fear.

Every day I still deal with the brainwashing. Every day I am filled with self-doubt. Every day I battle those little voices from the past who tell me that I’m “nothing but a worm,” that I don’t have a right to make my own decisions, that I need to lean on the words of someone else to try to understand what God wants of me. It’s the perfect recipe for codependency.

We were taught that we could not make it on our own without leaning on the church and the pastor. We were trained to not make it on our own without the direction and control of the pastor. I sometimes feel completely helpless, trapped, and very dysfunctional. However, I have to cut myself some slack when I stop and think about the years and years and years where I was not allowed to make choices, to think for myself, and where I was taught that I had to have someone else to lean on.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be confident and independent from the past. I know those scars have affected me for life in many ways. However, every step I take to be more independent, and every choice that I make gets me just a little bit closer to being the individual that I really want to be.

The End Was Only A New Beginning…

In order to escape accountability for his crimes, the perpetrator does everything in his power to promote forgetting.  If secrecy fails, the perpetrator attacks the credibility of his victim.  If he cannot silence her absolutely, he tries to make sure no one listens.” ― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery

Growing up, I knew nothing of the Apostolic church.  The United Pentecostal Church, as far as I knew, didn’t exist.  I didn’t have any friends in it. No family was part of it. It was a completely foreign subject to me.

When I was 17, that all changed. I attended a small private school, where there were several UPCI students. I hung out with some of the students, and even started to date a girl whose grandfather was the pastor of the local UPCI church. (Note: Her grandpa was also the presbyter of the section, and almost every church in the section was pastored by members of his family.)

We dated several years, and basically, I was accepted as part of that family. The early stages of my ministry even began, and I received a lot of the perks of being part of the ministerial family. I received attention, respect, and felt important – this was a totally different world than the one I grew up in, and I loved it. I was somebody.

Time progressed, and while my relationship with the girlfriend’s family grew, our relationship was falling apart.  It was a bad deal, and to sum up quickly, one night she crossed a line where her verbal abuse became physical abuse, and that was it – it was over.

With that, came a strange and unusual problem.

A constant teaching within this family was that you should follow and obey your pastor.  They “watched over you.” When you follow and obey their voice, their “anointing flows over you, also, and protects you.” If you ever turn away from their teaching, then you were in a lot of trouble. Not only were you disobeying them, but you were disobeying God, you were out of His will, and you will be sorry for doing that!

A short time after this, I was called into the pastor’s office, the grandfather of my ex. He made small talk for a bit, and then approached the subject about how I needed to stay at the church, and then said, “I want you to know, your breakup won’t have any effect on how I pastor you.”

I remember him saying that. I remember his voice being calm and that he was trying to be friendly. Looking back, I think he actually believed what he was saying.

Still, he was wrong.

One positive after the break up was that I was able to go out and hang out with people from other churches. I even went out on a few dates. I was instructed by the youth pastor that I needed to seek the pastor’s permission of anyone I wanted to go out on a date with, which stupidly, I did.

On one of these dates, I received a big shock – I was told how the pastor’s wife warned her about me. She relayed to me a bunch of flat-out lies which had all originated from a conversation several of the pastors had.

I went to my pastor, and he said he would take care of it. He didn’t say anything more. That was it. I trusted him.  I went on my way.

Well, as I tried to go on with my life, there were still a lot of things being said about me. During this time, I was receiving harassing phone calls at all hours of the night. I was young, and still living with my parents. The calls were coming from the pastor’s family, and again, I told him about it. I saw his annoyance this time, but again, he said he would take care of it. This was the last time I trusted and believed in him.

The harassment went on, and the third time I mentioned it, instead of saying he would take care of it, he got angry and starting criticizing me over stuff I didn’t even know anything about. What was he told by family members? I have no idea. Looking back, I have trouble remembering everything he said, but not his attitude. I sat there, finding it impossible to believe this was happening.

I left his office with a breaking heart. The people I’d believed in were not only neglecting being ministers of the Gospel, but they were lying, and actively attempting to destroy my faith and hope. Sure, they may not have seen it like that, but what else would you call it?

The abusers kept on preaching in their churches. They kept singing the worship songs. They kept playing the music. There were NO repercussions for their actions.

At the same time, my ministry was over. The pastor even told me not to ask him about it again. No reason was given; my voice in church was completely silenced. I was being punished. It was so different from several years earlier, when the pastor shook my hand, hugged me, and told me thank you for everything I was doing to help keep the church alive. (There were a lot of behind-the-scenes problems the main family was keeping quiet.)

Now, I was nobody.  I was a problem.  It was obvious the family didn’t want me at the church anymore. Some couldn’t come out and say it, but their attitude and spirit showed it. I hated going to church. I felt like I had done this incredible evil because I would not tolerate abuse from my ex.

At the time, I was still a UPCI guy. I bought and believed all of theological kool-aid, especially when it came to “obeying and serving” the pastor. I didn’t have enough biblical knowledge at the time to understand the errors of its theology. One member of the family even called my house and told me that they would make sure I never have a ministry again, which was still so very important to me.

Dejected, defeated, and feeling lost, I went to the pastor’s house one day, and just told him this was wrong, and that I wasn’t coming back to his church. Every ounce of strength I had, all of the boldness I could muster up, I used it to do this in the “right attitude.” That was a big thing for them. I wanted to leave in a mature way, so if anything negative was said about me, it would be a lie.

One of the reasons this was so hard was because I felt if I tried to leave, it would be a one-way ticket to hell. Obedience to ministry (and the verse often used was to obey those who rule over you) was an important piece of salvation to these people. I was so afraid that I would go to hell, because to go against the pastor and his thought on “God’s Will” was damning. That is one reason why it took me so long to leave. I just came to a point where I was so miserable, I knew being away from it, I wouldn’t feel any worse than I already did. I also hoped that God would forgive me for leaving. It was a gamble in my eyes, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Looking back now, I can see that this experience really broke me. I don’t think I ever fully felt at peace in the UPCI after this. (On a side note: I eventually ended up at another UPCI church far away from this family, and my ministry did get going again. In fact, I eventually became a licensed minister in the UPCI for a while. I ultimately left because of theological differences, and the fact I was constantly seeing spiritual abuse in a lot of other places. Eventually, my conscience wouldn’t allow me to be part of that anymore, and I left.)

Some years later, after getting my UPCI license, I bumped into my former pastor’s wife, talked with her, and before leaving, I said, “I love you all and think of you all often.” She retorted, “Well, it was your choice to leave.  You didn’t have too.” Not wanting to argue, I just replied, “Yeah, but I needed too.” She just smiled and shook her head. She didn’t get it. I thought to myself, if I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t be licensed, I might not even be alive.

I realize that pastors are people like you and I. They make the same kind of mistakes we do. Recognize though, that a good pastor will put your needs first. Not his. Not the church’s needs. If he is to be a good spiritual adviser, he can’t put traditions, doctrines, numbers, and his church before your own well-being. If the church is destroying your faith, someone who cares will do whatever he or she can to rebuild that faith, not punishing you because of family gossip. By biblical definition, YOU are the church. Not a congregation that meets on Sunday and is controlled by a man.

The end turned into a new beginning…

After leaving my home church, my broken heart was only getting worse. I wasn’t attending any church; I was too scared. I worked in a public place and was always seeing church folk. Some treated me like a backslider; I was in a really bad state. In the middle of one night, on the floor in my room, I just broke down and cried, and cried, and cried, like I can’t ever remember crying before. Everything was going through my mind, and I just kept asking God “why” all of this was happening.

Out of the blue, I just felt something that was so strong, it seemed audible.

“John, I love you.”

Everything changed after that. That small sentence felt more real than all of the tongue-speaking, all of the choirs, all of the crazy services, all of the preaching, all of the prayers, all of the education, all of the speeches from church leadership, and all of the study. That small sentence was the strength I didn’t have anymore. It has been my anchor in life. Through all of my trials, journeys, spiritual walk, and battles, I go back to that, and I have no doubt, He loves me. He still loves me. And as I journey on, His love will continue to be my guide.

He loves me.  I hope that telling my life stories, you realize that He loves you, too. He never abandoned me. Even in the confusion and pain of spiritual abuse, and bad theology, the Love of God was still there.

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