I recently reminisced on a phone call with my childhood friend from the States about our time in church as teenagers and young adults, and it brought back difficult memories.
That’s because, even though it masqueraded as protective, the church I belonged to was incredibly controlling.
My mum – who was a single mother – and she, my sister and I started attending a Christian megachurch on the east coast of the US when I was 14. Thousands of faces entered its doors each week and we were welcomed in with open arms and lots of coffee.
We participated in youth groups, church weekends, Sunday meetings, small groups and Bible studies. I loved nearly all of it.
There were times when I felt slightly uncomfortable with the fact that I couldn’t wear a strappy top in the summer or be alone with a boy, but other than a few minor restrictions, I couldn’t complain about my experience.
At the time I couldn’t see it, but the church was what some would have called cultish.
Most children were either home-schooled, to protect them from outside influences, or went to Christian schools. My worldview was confined. We took apologetics classes to discourage doubt, and were taught information and expected to believe it – no questions asked.
Modesty checklists created by teenage boy members forbade girls from wearing certain items of clothing, such as skirts cut above the knee and shirts that showed their shoulders, even though the boys weren’t held to such a standard themselves. How dare we cause them to stumble. My body was shameful.
There were interventions if you had sex before marriage, drank excessively, or experimented with drugs. I recall friends having to go in for meetings with pastors, or who were taken to holiday homes to avoid those that might be leading them astray. Seeing their mistakes kept me on the straight and narrow.
There were also the women’s meetings that praised those who hosted groups in their homes, woke before their children to read their Bibles, and placed lovely spreads on their dinner tables each night. The women who kept their bodies fit, their children well-behaved, and their husbands sexually fulfilled. This was to be my future.
After I left the church there was an investigation into allegations of abuse but no official action was taken.
All of these behaviours, and more, pointed to an oppressive culture. But, as a vulnerable kid who didn’t know any different, I couldn’t see it. All I knew was that this was a group of people who loved me, and why would I ever want anything else?
In fact, none of my family left the church as a result of ‘bad blood’ – we all simply moved on. When I was 20, my mum and sister moved to different states and I went travelling.
On my adventures I happened upon the man I would marry, and ended up moving to Merthyr Tydfil in Wales. My husband was a member of a church that I quickly became involved in, as this had always been a part of who I was.
I even felt a sense of sadness after leaving my old church, and nostalgia for all the good days we had had.
Just as a partner, friend or boss can be controlling, a church can be so too
It wasn’t until I had my second child, four years after moving to the UK, that my beliefs started to unravel. This was most likely triggered by postnatal depression, a lack of sleep, my husband’s change of career, and some interpersonal drama amongst friends.
It was what I needed. I realised that I had never questioned the belief system I had built my entire life upon, and had to face up to the fact that everything I thought I had known for the last 30 years might be wrong.
I had been conditioned to listen to authority figures without questioning them and defined right and wrong by someone else’s standards.
I felt ashamed of my body, which led to an eating disorder that lasted for two years, the remnants of which I still fight today.
I buried my emotions and needed CBT counselling to help me sort through the anxieties and fears I had towards food, relationships and failure.
And I planned my life around nothing except becoming a mother. All because I had been told to.
But I wouldn’t let it happen anymore. Having always seen my church as controlling, my husband gave me his full support and encouragement, alongside the space and time I needed to find my own thoughts. He wanted me to think independently, for myself.
I started asking questions. Why shouldn’t I wear a bikini? Why is it a woman’s sole responsibility to look after the kids? What is a woman? And what is a man?
What do I think about the Bible? Does God even exist? What happens when I die?
These weren’t easy to work through. The foundations of nearly three decades were being broken and I was petrified. I stopped attending church regularly, read books upon books and listened to countless podcasts.
All this was in an effort to expose myself to ideas and worldviews I had never wrestled with. Every once in a while, it would hit me – how differently I was thinking compared to only a year before. I had begun to think for myself. It’s funny how fast a person can change.
I’m glad to say that the experience didn’t break me. Today, I stand as a woman who isn’t afraid to ask questions. Isn’t afraid to offend. Isn’t afraid of the unknown. And isn’t afraid to challenge authority. I am stronger now than I was then.
Some might think that I have good reason to never participate in another church ever again. But the thing is, I still love church. And by ‘church’, I mean a community of people who believe the words of Jesus and follow in his footsteps of love, rather than an institution.
My definition of church is wider now, although I do occasionally attend one in our local community as I love the tradition of a Sunday morning meeting.
I also love the spiritual practices of prayer, music, Bible reading and meditation, and the way they each provide me with a connection to God. I love the emphasis on social justice. I love raising my children around tradition and want them to experience a healthier form of church than I did.
Just as a partner, friend or boss can be controlling, a church can be so too. Churches are, after all, made up of people. And sometimes, the people who lead churches taste the ability to control and devour it. It feels good to be followed, be the rule maker and appear morally superior.
But I can’t condemn every church. There are churches that promote debate, celebrate difference, respect women, care for the vulnerable, and love fiercely, without strings attached.
And that is the kind of church I am happy to be part of, and which I want to be a part of.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk
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source https://metro.co.uk/2020/08/24/why-still-love-church-felt-like-cult-13169846/
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