I recently came across a video on social media of a church service that reminded me of my early childhood. It was the kind of service with people shouting “a-MAN!” (yes, with an a instead of e); musicians banging on the piano while singers bellowed harmonies at the tops of their voices; men jumping up and down and running around the building; a call to lay hands on children to protect them from the “dirty world out there” (though they won’t mention the sick, sexual abuse that’s been prevalent in these types of churches); and a twenty-minute-long invitation complete with a focus on sin and guilt and fear until people finally flooded the altar with sobbing. I couldn’t quit watching the chaos, even though I was so angry I felt sick to my stomach.
My husband watched with me for a few minutes. He’d never been exposed to the madness; he’d only ever heard me talk about it. He thought the service bizarre, but understandably, couldn’t relate to my intense feelings about it. I still don’t understand why I have strong reactions when I’m exposed to such triggers. Maybe it’s because my childhood was stolen by the fear and guilt I learned in those church services.
Several years ago, I read William Paul Young’s controversial book, The Shack (which I highly recommend, even though some of you may call me a heretic). Second only to the grace my husband had extended to me ten years ago, it was my introduction to Grace. It was the start of a journey in which I learned God made me in his image—the image of goodness. It was the beginning of many lessons in which God taught me my heart is good and that he (dare I say “she”) loves me unconditionally.
Over the course of the last ten years, I’ve learned from experience that God cares about showing me lovingkindness, not making me suffer for my sins. I’ve learned that Spirit speaks in whispers of the wind, not yelling condemnation from a pulpit. I’ve learned that Perfect Love casts out fear; it doesn’t stand on a stage and create an atmosphere of fear by warning people that they might die and go to hell when they leave a church service. I’ve learned that the world is beautiful and sacred, not a scary place to be despised just beyond the church doors. I’ve learned that Comfort brings peace, not emotional manipulation that causes chaos and confusion and dread.
These days, when I happen to run across a reminder of my early-childhood church experiences, I feel both outrage and pity. I’m outraged that people who have taken on leadership roles in the church place heavy burdens on those who trust them. I feel pity for the people who believe God is angry with them for simply being human, for the people who live in fear of hell, for the people who dare not enjoy the world because they can’t see God in it. I feel both outrage and pity for the people who don’t even realize what they’re experiencing is spiritual abuse, and worse, believe God is pleased with their self-righteous suffering.
If I have one, passionate prayer, it is this: May the eyes and hearts of those locked in chains of guilt and fear and abuse be opened to the God of grace and mercy and lovingkindness.
