Why Are We Demanding People Stay in Abusive Faith?
In the years following my exit out of Christian Fundamentalism many conversations have accompanied my time trying to come to terms with the years spent in it. Numerous things I struggled to understand, and making my best effort at putting into words the complexities of that period and how it had changed me forever was not easy. Some, like those who also experienced the group I came out of or others similar, most likely understand the confusion and frustrations us formers encounter. More often than not, it is simpler to just cut it up to "crazy" and try to let bygones be bygones, move on and leave the past in the past. But sometimes, that's not always possible and hashing it out is your best bet at finding closure. I call it "feeling your feels" and it's something that I do allow myself to do when it's warranted. I guess you could say at times that is why this very blog partly exists—to find a way to talk about all those many different things fundamentalism left me with.
It was in one of those many conversations nearly two years after leaving my Oceania that another survivor of our particular world best explained the relationship dynamic of a follower and the branch of fundamentalism I came out of—Independent Fundamental Baptists. I had referred to it as having been in a love/hate relationship and their response was describing it similar to domestic violence. For me, that was a lightbulb moment and instantly the many parallels started to appear. With that definition in mind, it made it much more easier to address so many of the most difficult aspects of the past twenty-one years in fundamentalism and the few that have followed since leaving.
My past faith was abusive. It constantly tore down my self worth and left wounds on my self confidence. It damaged my view of not only myself, but others, having me convinced for so long that staying in it was the best I could do. So I stuck it out, even after so many doubts on why I was, would linger in the back of my mind.
Sometimes it was the inability to face my own reality that my "Christianity" was in fact damaging me. Denial for so long was a huge factor. How could something so right, so godly and said to be full of love result in so much hurt?
Other times, the harsh words of preachers echoing in my head, telling me that walking away would mean the death of either myself or my family, even worse—our damnation. It's not that we would lose our salvation; IFB was adamant on that—once saved, always saved, right? No, more that walking away translated into the misguided lie that those who do were never in the fold all along and that by doing so they would lead other lost loved ones astray and in this case that wandering would lead to hell.
As the bride of Christ, a believer was espoused to Jesus by being part of the Church. IFB liked to remind us that the "church" was not the building we worshipped in, but the very group of believers as a whole. The flip side of the coin was that believers gathered together at the church house and "forsaking the assembling of yourselves together" was never to happen. Those who did were usually seen as not having been a part of it in the first place. That particular teaching is so strongly held that for some, including me then, we stay in a place that goes on to hurt us time after time. Missing church was the greatest proof of your lack of salvation.
If you are not a Christian, you are unworthy, they would say. You were born a worthless sinner, I recall them screaming, you'll never measure up. They had me believing that "living right" was living my life with them, in their churches. Anywhere else was somehow impossible to be truly one of the Saved.
But it wasn't just the sometimes hurtful words that would rain down from the pulpit every Sunday. It was also the damage done to your testimony, your reputation, that leaving would no doubt follow. Even walking away quietly brings questions and sometimes hurtful speculation from those who are referred to as family, your brothers and sisters in Christ. Being an outcast is sometimes too high of a risk and what is seen as a future lacking of support can be a strong deterrent that leaves that person staying. Without the church you are nothing.
I think it's also important to address that recognizing the abuse can be very difficult when you are being subjected to multiple sides of abusive faith. Let's take the belief of eternal salvation like mentioned before. On one hand, a person could find this comforting. But on another, the possibility of not being a "true" Christian all along being held over a person's head by those that would belittle a fellow believer's service in order to control them with fear could be very damaging. It's the love/hate relationship I mentioned prior and my past faith was good at it. Hurtful words and teachings that are delivered in what's said to be love are very confusing and seeing through the manipulation is beyond difficult.
Then there were other people's fears of me possibly turning my back on God and Christianity entirely that got in the way. Whether good intentions or not, by their insistance that I stay in a place that was emotionally abusive causing my mental and physical health to take a hit in the process, prolonged unnecessary pain I did not need in my life then and honestly memories that still like to appear even now.
When voicing that hurt is occurring and there are doubts on whether or not a person is sure staying in a possibly spiritually abusive church is the only answer, the last thing they need to hear from the individual on the receiving end of this confidence is judgment. Don't suggest it's because of a petty disagreement among fellow believers, or because they're somehow an inept Christian. Downplaying a bad situation or excusing abusive behaviour because maybe something is wrong with the person who has been hurt is a tactic that not only they have most likely been using themselves for some time, but it's also exactly what the abusers in their case need them to hear in order to keep them under their thumb.
Instead of prompting questions on how maybe something is wrong with them, listen and give reassurance that walking away from a group of people that hurt others in the name of their beliefs is okay, that such pain is not only not necessary to hold to any belief, but also is wrong. Any faith that cannot guide its followers with kindness, gentleness, understanding, and respecting their boundaries as humans while they do so is spiritually abusive. We would never tell a victim to run back to the scene of the crime or demand loyality to the persons responsible for that hurt. No, we would offer them the safety, resources, help and validation that they need to break free and heal from the pain and the environment that created it in the first place.
Some time before I left my hurtful fundamentalist community, I had confided in someone about my pain, begging to leave my church behind. At that time, I was even willing to stay within the denomination and had no intentions of ever turning my back on it. The response has stayed with me ever since and with it the memory of me still crying, standing in the center aisle of the nearly empty sanctuary one evening once other members had gone their separate ways, leaving only this person and other loved ones there to hear. Instead of understanding I was met with what I would describe as shock and even dissapointment; I was met with, "Your heart is so cold. Why is your heart so cold?" My own reply was spoken as I trembled and it was that they, fellow believers—individuals that had watched me grow from girlhood to the young adult I was then—hated us. Nothing came of that conversation and for three years I found myself shutting out the doubts, trying to bury the hurt, and deciding to accept my reality. I was convinced that it wasn't about whether or not the best existed; I did not deserve it, because I was just being sensitive and after all, I had survived worst in my life—I knew how to tough it out and I could do it again. So I did. Until I didn't.
Fast forward three more years and it's six months after going separate ways with my former church. For half of a year, I had gone back and forth with whether or not I should return. This entire time I had been telling myself and others that I would return, believing that to be true. But since leaving I have found clarity, compassion, contentment with changing and for the better. Suddenly, returning to the house of God isn't the top priority anymore, but healing is, along with searching for answers. In my heart, I know it is not where I need to be, voice that I don't want that version of God or misguided interpretation of Christianity, and I'm no longer ruled with the fears that leaving had originally plagued me with.
You see, those fears aren't real. There is no impending judgment waiting to be hurled down on you from a wrathful and angry, all powerful being. A god that would inflict more pain on an already hurting person only for escaping a place that continues to wound them is a sick god and is the very definition of a spiritual abuser. And no one needs that kind of negative presence in their lives, no one.
My words to the person who is reading this are simply this...don't let the fear, the doubts, the misguided promises from those who are hurting you each Sunday whether from the pulpit or the pew, or even shame prolong the hesitancy any longer. You don't have to know what you are running to, just where you are running from that truly matters. That first step out is the one you will remember for the rest of your life. I hope you take it, for finding truth, happiness, and love are on the other side of it. It will be scary, and you will wonder if you're doing the right thing on some days, but the proof is in the freedom of being able to explore those doubts and in an environment that is safe and free of judgment. That's a priceless gift and one that is full of possibilities. Most importantly, it's one you deserve.
A crisis of faith can be heartbreaking. It can chip away at those beliefs we would never dare to imagine could possibly waiver. Some may crumble and their very foundations disappear, and with them a sense of who we are. But surely staying in a faith that does not better you and tears you down spiritually and mentally should not be where we draw the line, crawl back into our box that—although freightening, it is also comforting, because it's the box we've only ever known, the place that is familiar, and one we know we can survive. I was once told surviving isn't thriving and simply exsisting isn't the same as truly living. It's a sentiment that resonates with me, speaking truths that I'm still learning. May we all know this.
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