On losing my religion…
This is a tough one. I’ve been trying to write this for years. Every time I start, I get angry, and I have to stop. I literally have four or five draft posts that I’ve started but have been unable to finish. They say if a situation from your past still upsets you, that you’re not over it yet, and this “situation” still makes me very angry, many years later. Let me start from the beginning, and hopefully today will be the day I can finish it. I will try to be as concise as possible, but I’m pretty sure this will be a long one, so I apologize in advance. Wait, what the hell am I apologizing for? It’s my blog; I can be long-winded if I want. If this post captures your interest keep reading, if not, click over to something else!
In the beginning…
I grew up in the church. I came from a family where you went to church every Sunday. Every Sunday. In sickness and in health. In fact, if you were sick, church was were you needed to be, because someone could pray over you to help you feel better. The only time you didn’t attend church was when an adult declared you wouldn’t, and that only happened maybe two or three times a year.
We started out at my grandparent’s church, where you had to wear a dress or a skirt, pantyhose, and nice shoes. Pants (and anything that wasn’t “dressy” enough) were not an option. As a non-adult, you were added to a rotating list of children who would light the candles on communion Sunday. You also had to give a speech in front of the entire congregation at least twice a year, on Easter Sunday and Christmas. I would like to think this was my grandmother’s way of preparing us for the real world, giving us the gift of public speaking long before we’d see it as a requirement in school. I hated it then, but I’m so appreciative of it now. Thanks grandma (may she rest in peace).
About the time I crept into my teens, we graduated from my grandparent’s church to a new church home of my mother’s choosing. The city’s mega church if you will. And it was a whole new world. We went from a very subdued choir, singing from hymn books and accompanied by a piano, to a choir with a band, and sound amplification. You could sing as loud as you wanted to, and dance, ‘in the spirit’ of course. And pants, you could wear pants. Then they transitioned to a “come as you are” environment, where you could even wear jeans and a t-shirt if you wanted to. Of course we never strayed that far away from the foundation laid by our grandparents’ church, but I did wear pants on occasion. Just call me a rebel. 🙂
Although I’d been baptized at my grandparent’s church, I didn’t fully understand what it meant at the time. And when I got older, and really understood the idea of accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, I was baptized again at my mother’s church. So I’ve been dipped twice in my lifetime, symbolizing my turning away from a life of sin and starting anew, and yet some still see me as a heathen, but I digress. I say that jokingly but the word heathen is rather appropriate for this blog posting.
I joined the military and left home at 19, and in those ten years I searched for a church home that made me feel like the two I had left behind. But every service I attended, every sermon I listened to, merely left me feeling hollow and empty, and missing my churches back home.
Putting down roots and finding a new home…
When I left the military and moved to Tennessee, I started going to the same church as my sister. Seemed appropriate enough, we grew up together going to the same church, why not continue the tradition right? At first I enjoyed it, loved it even. It reminded me of our beloved mega church back home, but on a much larger scale. It filled the emptiness I’d been looking for all those years in the military. But then I began to see things that weren’t right. And I thought to myself, if I can see these things, and they are blatantly obvious to me, why don’t others see them? For the sake of brevity I won’t go into detail, just know that something was seriously amiss in my eyes, and I started looking for another home, something smaller that felt more like family to me.
Seek and ye shall find, and I did. Oh did I find.
A new family…
I found a new church home, closer to home, smaller, with a choir, a band, and sound amplification. It also felt like a family, and seemed to consist of people who genuinely cared about other’s well-being and the fate of their eternal souls. The pastor was very personable, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and continually reassured people that his door was always open. His wife seemed to be the typical first lady, taking care of their tribe of children while also serving as a surrogate mother to some of the younger, single parishioners (think college students). After several visits, I decided to become a member.
Becoming a member consisted of a mandatory new member’s class, and an optional class, more like a book club really, where you would read Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren, and come together with other new members once a week to discuss your thoughts and life changing revelations.
New members class…
Now I know you’re thinking, “a mandatory new member’s class?” I likened this to starting a new job and going through new hire orientation. The purpose was to share their goals, if you will, above and beyond bringing people to Christ. It was also where you could learn what else they had to offer. You were expected to eventually find a place where you could serve, like the choir, usher board, cooking for major events, teaching Sunday school, etc. This was the purpose of reading Rick Warren’s book, to find your best fit to serve God. They believed in being debt free, and provided other classes to help you achieve such a status (which I never took, but I did find out later that it required pulling a credit report, which they easily explained away). They also believed in helping others in the community. For example, I can remember volunteering to help at the local air base with the influx of people from New Orleans who’d lost everything during Hurricane Katrina. Sounds good right? Noble, even Christ-like if you will. Only later would I come to understand the true purpose of these “classes.”
***I just want to take a moment to point out that I’m using the word pastor very loosely in this writing. There are other titles that would be more appropriate, but I won’t go there. I don’t capitalize the word here out of a pure lack of respect for this person. I also want to clarify that I am not endorsing, nor am I discrediting Rick Warren’s book, I’m just including it because it’s an important part of the story.***
I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toto…
I can remember my very first “red flag.” We were in our Purpose Driven Life not-a-class class, and I mentioned where I worked. The pastor’s right hand man blurted out ‘yeah I know exactly where you work.’ He went on to mention a few landmarks near my job as confirmation. He then went on to say ‘I know where you live too.’ And when I cocked my head to the side, wondering why he would know so much about me, he easily explained it away by saying he’d processed my paperwork. I would soon start referring to this married man as “Chester Molester,” because he took an unusual, completely inappropriate, and quite creepy liking to me.
I learned very quickly, through other’s experiences, that the pastor’s “open door” policy came at a price. You had to get through his assistant, Evillene, the wicked witch of the west.
By the time you answered all of her questions, she knew all of your business, and you’d be so tired of fighting to see the pastor that’d you eventually just give up. Now I understand there are some people who continually seek the attention of a pastor, and eat up their precious time, but I don’t think anyone but the very elite ever actually got to ‘walk in’ and see The Wizard, one on one. Which is sad because the congregation wasn’t very big.
I can also clearly remember my second red flag moment. The pastor was preaching about prosperity, so some of you already know where this is going. He mentioned that he saw that someone had a brand new Chrysler 300 in the parking lot. He went on to say that the person was probably really proud of it too. He then said that that person should want better than a cheap imitation of a Rolls Royce. That God wanted that person to have better.
I never saw that car in the parking lot again. And unless they had a second car, I assume they left the church permanently. Good for them, I wasn’t as quick to catch on. And I’ll explain why later. At the time, I saw it as the pastor really wanted better for that person. I didn’t see it as the literal smack in the face that it actually was.
There are so many stories I can share, but I’m trying to hit the highlights here. I remember him mentioning he wanted jet skis for his birthday among other things. And again, I remember thinking, surely he’s joking. And I remember they “passed the plate” and took up a “birthday” collection for him. I thought nothing of it, and assumed it was so they could buy him something much more sensible, like socks, a shirt, and a new tie, or a gift certificate to a restaurant for a birthday dinner. I can’t remember what they (Evillene) ended up getting him, but it wasn’t jet skis, or anything else we’d discussed as a congregation.
Finding my place…
I eventually decided where I would give back, and joined the usher board, and that’s when things began to take a turn. This made me an insider, of sorts, and I began to see a different dynamic. For starters, I felt completely unwelcome. The woman who ran the board had the worst attitude, and it made no sense to me that she would be in charge of such an important job. Ushers are one of the first persons you see when you visit a new church. If you run into Evillene’s baby sister, Ursula, on your first visit to a new church, chances are you won’t be back.
It was through this service, however, that I met three genuinely sweet people; a married couple, and another single parent, all of whom I still run into occasionally. Quite honestly I wanted to step down not long after I joined, but the three of them made my service much more bearable. For the record, they are no longer members.
With this new responsibility, and new perspective, I began to see how the pastor would pit people against each other. The first time I saw this, it was about a car. Someone in the congregation was about to purchase a new vehicle, and the pastor casually mentioned that someone might be blessed with the used car, which was still supposedly in quite good condition. It was also about this time that I learned the pastor had a real estate business, or what I now believe was a way to somehow launder money in some way. He would “bless” people with a rental home, and offer them the option to “rent to own,” but would include really specific terms and conditions tied to the church. The sweet couple I met while on the usher board? They were the recipients of one of those “blessings,” that turned into a complete nightmare for them.
The end…
The breaking point for me was one Sunday when the pastor asked all the members to stay after services because he had an important announcement to make. I remember it was a really hot day, the AC was having a hard time keeping up, and the service had been particularly long. It was a so-called “black Baptist church,” so what else is new right? Anyway, he told the congregation that he was changing the name of the church. For legal reasons. Huh?
When asked what those “legal reasons” were, he declined to go into details, claiming it was too much to go into right then, but that it was nothing to worry about. He then went into the “spiritual” reasons for changing the name, even going so far as to talk about the new branding, thinking he could distract people from the legal reasons. But that didn’t work. He was challenged by many people with question after question, many of which had gone unasked for quite some time. But he was quick on his feet, and had an “answer” for every one of them. Unfortunately his answers weren’t good enough.
The straw that broke the camel’s back for most people that day, was the woman sitting directly in front of me. I remember her vividly. She was an educator, a very smart and outspoken woman. She raised her hand, stood when acknowledged, and politely asked this question (as best my memory serves): “So what you’re saying is, I will only be blessed if I remain associated with this church?” And incredulously he answered, “yes.” And she retorted, for her own clarification. “So you don’t believe God is working in other places, blessing people in other churches?” And his response was something along the lines of He is, but He won’t bless you as abundantly as He would if you remain here. And it was at that point that, she, I, and many other people simply walked out and never looked back.
Now I know at this point you’re saying, that’s crazy, and it sounded crazy from the very beginning. Why didn’t you leave early on, and what possessed you to stay as long as you did? Well, keep reading.
I was a member of a cult…
That’s just as difficult for me to write as it is for some of you who know me very well to read. Let’s start with the definition.
What is a cult? My experience most closely mimics Dr. Kelton Rhoades’ definition: A cult is a group of people who organize around a strong authority figure. In hindsight, the pastor was completely narcissistic, which would include characteristics like charming and charismatic. He was all of those things and then some.
Next, I’d like to dispel some myths and misconceptions about people who ‘join’ cults.
1.) We’re not stupid (weird, weak-minded, crazy, mentally ill, or neurotic). With the exception of 5-6% (who have major psychological problems prior to), most people who join or end up in cults are perfectly normal. In fact, most times they are very smart and highly educated. Cult-like organizations don’t want members with issues, they want people who are productive and can add value (talent or monetary). Remember the Purpose Driven Life book? The reason behind that was they wanted to know what talents people were bringing to the table, and the financial classes served to figure out their monetary value.
2.) We’re not all blind ‘followers.’ Anyone who knows me can attest to this. In fact, I’m the person that continually challenges things, the one who’s always asking why. Why are we doing this, why do you need to know that. I struggle immensely with things that don’t make sense.
3.) Most people who end up in cults do so because of a desire to belong or to find spiritual meaning. There is usually an existing vulnerability that is exploited and used to draw you in. Remember I said I was longing to find a church home like the ones I’d left back home? Some other examples are being new in town (I was), going through a divorce, making a career change (I was). The person may have experienced the death of someone close, or even be going through something like depression (hindsight being 20/20, I was going through this as well).
4.) I wasn’t brainwashed. Not in the traditional sense anyway, as defined by Websters.com:
verb (transitive): to effect a radical change in the ideas and beliefs of (a person), esp by methods based on isolation, sleeplessness, hunger, extreme discomfort, pain, and the alternation of kindness and cruelty
As further explained in my next point, the transition was a gradual one, not ‘radical or extreme.’ They’d use what they’d learned about you to justify things that didn’t make sense. And they were good at it. In terms of isolation, there was a little of that, in that they’d have a lot of social activities and get togethers, which only further drew you into their way of thinking.
5.) You’re acclimated into their belief system slowly. In other words things don’t start out full on crazy, it’s a gradual, subtle journey. The experiences I’ve shared sound crazy, because I’ve highlighted them, but they wouldn’t sound as crazy if you’d been there to experience everything that happened around, and what led up to, those situations. It’s a process.
The bottom line…
Although I understand what a cult is, and how I got swept up into one, I’m still quite pissed off, and even embarrassed about this experience. The first year after my departure that I received my tax document from that place, and I saw all the money I’d given in the name of “tithes and offerings,” I wandered around my house cursing like a sailor. I was physically sickened to see the actual dollar amount in black and white. But then I had to cut myself some slack, and remind myself I gave the money out of faith and obedience.
I have not set foot in an unknown church since that day. And while I’m one to never say never, I don’t have any plans to. I have gone to church once or twice while visiting back home, but honestly it’s no longer a priority for me. During one of those visits, I spoke to the Pastor of our mega church back home (who has since retired, and is now suffering from Alzheimer’s), I made the statement “you wouldn’t believe the things people will do in the name of God.” And he replied, “yes I would, because I’ve seen so called men of God, leaders in the church, pastors and preachers, sit around and talk about each other like dogs.”
Have I lost my faith? No, but this experience has caused me to question everything I’ve been taught. I do believe in a higher power, God if you will, but I now consider myself more of a spiritual person than a religious one. And I am very wary of ‘religious’ people now. And I know there’s someone out there going “everyone’s been through some kind of church hurt, you just have to get over it and move on. Don’t allow others to interrupt your spiritual journey.” There’s church hurt, and there’s my experience, which is on a whole other level. Just know there is much more to this story than I’ve shared with you today.
My biggest regret is what I’ve done to my kids with this experience. I have one now who completely believes, but is completely turned off by the thought of church. And the other? They don’t believe at all. They think it’s all a bunch of BS. My saving grace in all this is that my children grew up to become decent human beings. They believe in doing the right thing, and treating people as they would like to be treated.
As for “the church?” I’m sad to say that I’m told it still exists, and they even have a second location in another state. I can only take this previous member’s word for it, as I refuse to Google the place or even drive by there. All of the people that I genuinely liked that I have run into over the years feel the exact same way I do. We’re all pissed, we all feel like we were duped, and we’re still stunned that it happened to us. Looking back on our experiences, that place was a nut house. Some have gone on to other churches, others haven’t set foot in one since and have no plans to. Amazingly, we all still believe and have faith, though for some it may look different than when we first walked into that situation.
I’m leaving comments turned off on this one, because whenever you start talking about politics or religion in a public forum, there’s always someone who believes their opinion is the only just and right one. But I subscribe to the belief that opinions are like assholes; everyone’s got one, and in this very particular case, I’m not interested in seeing any of them (see what I did there?). And I can do that, because it’s my blog 🙂
Still nursing my wounds years later (but believe me when I say, I will be OK),
Angela