Full of regret, my father tells a story of spanking me so hard one Sunday morning for giggling and talking during worship that dark bruises were left on my four-year-old body. Although I don’t remember this happening, I do have some vague, childhood memories of his pulling me up from the pew and taking me out the back of the chapel to be scolded for being irreverent during service. Usually under the guise of my being “silly” or “dramatic”, I was often punished for being a sissy, my effeminate behaviors and mannerisms not at all normal for a country boy in rural Arkansas. Reprimanded frequently, I was made aware that these seeming instinctual traits were wrong, and I grew to believe that not only was there something defective about me but also that I was innately bad. While I know that my parents were doing the best they knew how and that much of their discipline came from a place of love and not just a desire for my conformity, their actions hurt me deeply and caused me to believe their love was conditional. For most of my youth, I attempted to please them and achieve goodness in their eyes. Now, at thirty-six years old, I like to believe that I have worked through these issues and put them behind me. Occasionally, though, when I visit my hometown in Arkansas and am riding down Main Street with my father, he will say something to me, convey a tone in his voice, or just look at me in a certain way, and in an instant, I find myself feeling like a very bad, limp-wristed four-year-old acting silly, and I find it very difficult intercept the automatic, habitual self-loathing of my past.
For some of us, our religious guardians may have used religion to change or control our spiritual lives or scare us into submission, perhaps even with good intentions. Spiritual abuse occurs in many forms, primarily when religious leaders use the name of God to manipulate, shame, damn, punish, persecute or terrorize others. Unfortunately, Christianity has been fraught with abusive uses of power, and a great many of us walk away from our early religious encounters with lasting injuries of hurt, anger, fear, betrayal, resentment, and mistrust. If and when we return to church, those of us who have been spiritually abused come hesitantly with bruises and scars, and confronting familiar dogma or practicing discarded rituals can reopen old wounds and send us back into a painful, damaged state. Merely hearing words echoed from the time of the abuse, like “abomination” or “damnation”, can hinder or halt our openness to new religious experiences. The challenge for ministry today is in how to provide a hospital of faith and hope to heal those of us who have been victims while being sensitive to the abuse that we have endured. Ministry must also find a way to reclaim the words and beliefs used as whips in our past and transform them into healing balm for our present.
During a meeting of Lay Leaders at The Riverside Church, I stated that I considered myself to be a “progressive evangelical” to which I received frowns of disapproval. It was merely the word, “evangelical” in our Progressive Christian church home and its assumed meaning with respect to the political religious right that garnered such negative responses and closed the door for continued dialogue. From diverse backgrounds and traditions, many of the liberal intellectuals in the meeting reacted to “evangelical” emotionally due to their passionate stances against the political oppression of conservative Evangelical Christians and not because of evangelical’s actual meaning. Similarly, countless gays and lesbians with whom I am acquainted have reacted so adversely to their being alienated by their religious communities and persecuted in the name of God that they have discarded their faith and spirituality altogether and refuse to join even the most welcoming and affirming congregations. During Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) civil rights debates, when I assert a gay Christian perspective I believe helps our cause, I find that I am often challenged by my own Queer community to keep my religion out of their politics. With empathy, I understand that the root of this anger is a profound hurt which must be attended gingerly and with much respect and understanding. In the Riverside LGBT ministry, Maranatha, we make a very concerted, careful attempt to draw ostracized people back into our inclusive Christian family; however, no matter how precisely and sensitively we make our appeals, it seems guaranteed that at least one person’s memories of spiritual abuse will be triggered. So how is the challenge met?
Presently, The Riverside Church is experiencing a time of conflict, transition and confusion regarding our identity partly due to congregants emotionally reacting to personal spiritual abuse. As a means of healing, we have employed the Alban Institute, a conflict resolution institute for congregations, to help us examine our issues and fragmentation and to repair our broken relationships. At a meeting of the Church Council and Commissions, Alban’s representative offered Margaret Wheatley’s quote which says that it is not our differences that divide us but our judgments and assumptions that do. In my opinion, meeting the aforementioned challenge of ministering to those who have been spiritually abused lies in congregational education so as to alleviate these misunderstandings which lead to destructive judgments. So many within our churches are thirsting for knowledge and understanding, willing to do the work involved to heal old hurts. An education that allows for conversations about our pasts while clarifying what is meant by some of the things to which we react emotionally might be good therapy for all of our souls. Today, many are interested in being a part of a dialogue about their beliefs and having some ownership of their faith. Through this ownership and more in-depth understanding, spiritually abused people can begin the first step of acknowledging their pain and what caused it. Then through the church’s loving community and God’s guidance and presence, we all can begin healing together. Riverside is beginning such education and conversations, and I am praying for success.
I never stopped loving my parents. Though I cannot forget the pain of my childhood, through time, conversations, personal work and soul-searching, I have been able to understand better the place from which my parents acted when I was a child and have forgiven them. This has rewarded me with a deeper, more loving relationship with which I would not be blessed if I simply ran away, refused to confront my feelings or ignored them. Through the loving, protective guidance of our churches, if those of us who are spiritually abused invest in the same time, conversations, personal work and soul-searching in regards to our religion, we will also reap many rewards in a new religious beginning and deeper, spiritual connection with our God.
~ Excerpt, Divinity School Application, 2010
