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The elders. What an unsavory bunch of men. So much religious pride and self-righteousness. So much heartlessness. I guess they probably got to their elevated position using less-than-savory tactics.

One particular encounter with an elder sticks out. I was in the process of separating from my abusive husband after more than a decade of domestic hell. More than half of the congregation had taken my husband’s “side” and were blaming me for the state of our marriage. They were victimizing the victim even further. I felt isolated and desperate. I was geographically far away from all of my family members, and even my best friend and confidant took my ex husband’s “side.” (Narcissists can manipulate almost anyone into believing their version of events.) My sense of community and support (any shred that I had in this toxic sect) was crumbling. I felt so desperately alone.

Then comes a knock on my door from one of the elders. Who happened to be my ex’s Grandpa. He was known for his arrogance and brashness. I didn’t want to open the door but I was so downtrodden, and such a people pleaser, that I didn’t think I had a choice. My ex was out at the time. So in he came, and stood in my living room and proceeded to tell me that I just needed to have more sex with my husband and that would fix our marriage! Hello!! Why would a woman want to have more sex with someone who has abused her daily for ten years?

Then he did something that I will never forget. I still get chills down my spine thinking about it. He said “He should just get you naked (pronounced “naaaaked”) and make many babies with you.” He then proceeded to visually “rape” me with his eyes (full and prolonged 360 degree ogling body scan, along with sinister chuckle) and tell me how lovely my body was, and inferred that he wished he was my ex. What??! He is an elder and he is supposed to provide comfort and support. He didn’t offer one word of comfort or support, or offer to pray with me. Such a shocking display of how far his heart must have been from God. I shut the door when he left feeling even more traumatized, misunderstood, objectified, abused, and isolated. I guess his grandson came by his objectification of women honestly!

I didn’t tell anyone that this had happened because I didn’t think that they would believe me – that he had just sexually harassed me in my own living room, while I was in the house alone, and while I was at the lowest point in my life. And I was his granddaughter through marriage. On a side note: how would babies fix our marriage? I would be even more trapped and unable to leave, and my ex would have had some more people (little people) to manipulate me with. What ridiculous “advice.” This elder is now in an old people’s home very close to where I live. I don’t have any desire to visit him because he doesn’t even have the conscience to know that his actions were inappropriate. Woman are objects to be objectified,  looked at, worked hard, and used, so his behavior – I guess – was allowable within that disgusting ungodly framework.

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I’ve asked and been asking myself for years why I struggle so much with Bible reading and prayer. I’ve finally gotten to a point where I can talk to God a little bit, but I wouldn’t say we were on close speaking terms. Bible reading is very difficult, and I rarely pick up a Bible or want anything to do with things that remind me of it.

This didn’t happen because I left the church. It happened because I was in it. It happened because the words that were supposed to comfort me were very often used against me instead. People who professed to be Christians did what they could to undermine my faith and that of others, in order to lift themselves or hide their own failures, and not just a few times, but repeatedly, until what I hear when I read, no matter what it is, brings a flood of bad memories rather than anything good.

I wasn’t raised in what most people who read this might consider a Christian home. We went to Sunday School, we read Jesus storybooks sometimes, but Bible reading was in preparation to teach, and prayer was mainly before extended family meals, not part of daily life. I struggled with some things in my own life, and at nine I went to a camp where we were ‘encouraged’ to have daily devotionals and to memorize scripture. I was a strict rule-follower and very much took these new rules to heart.

When I got home, though, I quickly learned that it was not to my advantage to follow them… I hid to memorize verses or to read my Bible, and most of my prayer time was done after lights out or high up in the top of a maple tree where no one would know. (When my sister found out I was reading my Bible, the next time we were in trouble for something she chimed in to Dad that I should know better because I was reading my Bible… and she got off the hook while I was punished, because he agreed with her.) Still, even touching the Bible brought me a kind of peace and calmed me in a way that nothing else had been able.

Throughout my childhood there was a feeling that I should be following the rule, the discipline, of quiet time. I wasn’t very faithful with it always, but the thought was there that I should be. Going to a Pentecostal church backed that thought. I jumped into that rule and others very eagerly–the concept of rules associated with church was familiar to me, and I liked having rules… they brought order to areas of my life that were very chaotic otherwise. One problem with this was that it led to legalism… the other was that not everyone followed the same rules.

Bible reading, particularly, went from being something positive to a chore within just a few years. I craved the recognition of getting my Bible reading certificate (for reading the Bible through in a year), but it was easy to fall behind and it was hard to catch up. There were other obligations, there was life… and more and more a piece of paper and a few minutes of applause for the hours and hours of ‘faithfulness’ in a year wasn’t enough. I started to recognize that the recognition was unfair when the youth were challenged with a point system — a point for every minute prayed or chapter read. Well, goodness, I could pray and drive but I sure couldn’t read and drive, and I could speed read but I wouldn’t get much from what I’d ‘read,’ but this was how to rack up points. And a chapter often took a whole lot longer than a minute of prayer. There would be no recognition for ‘slow and steady’ in the point system. I think that is the first year after joining that I didn’t get my certificate. It didn’t matter any more.

Within three years of that, I was thrown out of a church. I fasted for a week before I was thrown out, having been warned to somehow change whatever the pastor disliked, even though I wasn’t sure what that was. Fasting didn’t ‘fix’ me, and it didn’t prevent me being thrown out. I’d been the only one going to the church to pray, the only one going to the prayer room before church at least sometimes, definitely the only one ‘interceding’ in tongues for the services, but I was the one thrown out. I didn’t understand how this could happen. Being thrown out made me doubt myself and my routines of prayer and fasting. What difference had they made? Not only was I told not to go back there, but I’d actually had the pastor tell me he didn’t know if I COULD BE saved.

I experimented a little while with other options, but in the end I moved… to a place that ended up just as bad or worse. Within months I was no longer reading, praying other than before church as required, or fasting if I could avoid it without getting called out. I’d try. I was guilt ridden when I didn’t, and fearful that I’d be ‘caught,’ but even the fear and the guilt weren’t adequate motivators. Not that they should have been; by that point I had THAT unhealthy a perception of “Christian disciplines,” though.

It’s not easy to get out of that level of legalism or that degree of unhealthiness.

Tonight I found an article about the type of church I grew up in. It reminded me of that group’s “five steps to salvation” and the emphasis to a nine year old camper of the importance of daily Bible reading, memorization, and prayer. It reminded me of the beginnings of a legalism that would take me, finally, to a place where I wondered if there was a god, to a place where I’d sit stunned as someone told me they were a Christian but didn’t have devotionals and didn’t think they were even necessary… to a place where I would wish I could believe the same, to find again a place with God where the rules didn’t matter, but just the relationship.

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When I first left my former church, I thought I wouldn’t struggle with doubts or faith. I never thought I’d come to a point of wondering whether God was real or cared about me. I was wrong, and here are some reasons why:

• When I left, I hid some of my feelings, my doubts and fears. I was busy proving to myself that I was still a Christian, and I was very good at it for awhile. The problem with that is that I could only maintain the facade for a time, not forever. Eventually the fears, doubts, and questions came out, and because I’d hidden them from myself for so long (well before I left), they kind of came out in a big jumbled mess, making them perhaps more difficult to deal with.
• When I left, I kept thinking that I would get answers, find resolution, be healed, and see new success. None of that happened, and since people had promised God would do these for me or promised these to me, I blamed God when they didn’t happen. I became disillusioned… and that disillusionment hit around the same time as the facade fell.
• After leaving, I was told too often by both myself and others to just get over it, to move on… to BE as though nothing had happened that changed my life, my thoughts, my beliefs. Walking out of that church had the effect on me that dropping a bomb on a small town might have to the survivors–I lost friends; family dynamics changed; the culture, beliefs, and perspectives that shaped a good deal of my life were suddenly in tatters; the place I’d considered safest was now seen as most dangerous–the world was turned on it’s head. “Get over it” and “move on” are absolutely ridiculous expectations in such cases, no matter how much we want to do just that.
• I suffered from ‘shell shock’–I’d hear similar things to what I’d come to recognize as danger and ‘duck for cover’ so to speak. Most people did not recognize the signs of this and didn’t want to help or admit that this might be a problem… it was perhaps as difficult for them as it was for me to admit that someone could get PTSD from a church. And they and I both thought that exposure to a similar but more positive environment would ‘fix’ the problem. It didn’t.

Unreasonable expectations are behind all of these. It wasn’t until I stopped expecting things to go a certain way that I started regaining real hope. And yes, you read that right. I actually find myself having more hope since I stopped having these expectations. Not hope that everything will be OK, not hope that things will be ‘fixed’… this is a different kind of hope, or maybe more of a peace, than Christians I’ve known seem to talk about. Maybe more of an acceptance. This is what happened. This is what is. And though I have no idea what will be, I can be OK with that. And I think God is, too.

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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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Someone wrote to me recently about songs that ask God to “crush me,” “wreck me,” and “consume me,” saying,

If God can abuse his bride, yet tell her that it is for her good, of course a husband can do that to his. And both blame her for not trusting.

This reminded me of the popular teaching that just as the sweetest perfume comes out of crushed roses, God wants to crush us like a rose so He can make perfume like that. (<– Several links there.)

As if somehow our lives would become more pleasing to God if He crushed us.

And apparently, from the songs she was referencing, that’s a pretty popular notion.

Read the full untangling of this teaching at Here’s the Joy . . .

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