I mentioned the book “The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse” in a post below.
I’ve also posted about the respect I have for people like Jeri of Blog on the Lillypad, who has the courage to stand up to people that use christian faith to bully, intimidate, twist scripture and control others.

I have a great deal of respect and affection for people that walk away from abusive churches and find that God loves them, that His grace is sufficient and that He gives them abundant life they yearn for and learn to embrace. I respect through their study, counselling, prayer and knowledge of the dynamics of these groups, that they won’t allow themselves to fall back into abuse. They can face a shunning and mockery when they leave and are at their most confused and lost.

I respect people that stand up against abusers because of something I went through.

I was heading through the city I grew up in and stopped to see old friends and go to the church I had participated in as a teenager. There was a new minister.
A Dr. minister who had all kinds of credentials and could preach the best anyone in that church had ever seen. What the congregation didn’t know was the background of Dr. ***. It would be awhile before the elders found out he had been responsible for splitting two churches prior to his arrival at this one.

That still sounds strange to me. The denomination had structure. What power or ability did this man have to slid into another church without anyone knowing about his prior problems? I’ll never know, but he did. What power did he have to defy his elders and the district superinendent? I don’t know. But he did.

I went to the church with a friend. The guy could really preach. After the service my friend introduced me and said I was with such and such broadcasting company, working as a reporter.

He shook my hand and said, “Oh. Have you interviewed Billy Graham? He’s a good friend of mine.”

Huh. There are two kinds of name droppers. Those who are genuinely modest, humble, and secure in who they are, and aren’t name dropping to elevate themselves There are those keenly intersted in self-elevation, the game of one upmanship.

It took me about 2 seconds to realise I was facing self-elevation, one upmanship and I wasn’t in the mood.

“Oh,” I replied. “I covered one of his crusades awhile ago. If I see him again I’ll say hi for you.”

(Let’s get something clear. I went to one of the Graham crusades, mostly to count numbers and to do the obligatory friendly fluff piece. I did a few 30 second clips, and that meant I got to sit in the press section away from the crowds. Graham came out the door near the press section, but I never met him, never needed or wanted to meet him.)

Back to the church lobby handshake. I was right. Dr. *** and I were immediately locked into game of one upmanship. Dr. *** got real icy real quick at my casualness and lack of wow. I don’t recall his answer. I know when I’ve butted heads with someone that is going to butt back.

“Wow,” my friend said on the way out the door. “He didn’t like that.”

Neither did I.

I didn’t know things were going to get real bad, real quick because I didn’t feed his ego.

I kept in touch with people at the church and began to hear that some were not happy. Dr. *** was cold. It was a single minister church and he wasn’t inclined to carry out the responsibilities prior ministers had. Some members of the congregation were having trouble adjusting. Rather than having his preaching bring in new people, members began to leave.

I cannot remember why I was back in the area, it doesn’t matter. There are parts of this story I’d sooner forget.

I had some vacation time and Easter was coming. I’d been asked to sing in the cantata and I said yes.

There was a young woman in the church I’ll call Jane. Jane had grown up in a very strange home with odd and stifling expectations.
She was artistically gifted, very bright and exceptional with troubled children. She was anorexic, somewhat understandably anti-social as well as afraid and not a person who cared to fit in.

Because of my background I’m drawn to people with that streak of rebellion and deep hurt. I know that I know God can work miracles in our lives. I knew Jane loved God, and in her struggle she needed a variety of support she could get from loving mature believers and friends. I genuinely admired her rebellious streak. I think it was part of what was keeping her alive. It made it difficult to get close to her and I love the people that didn’t walk away.

She had volunteered to do a huge banner for the front of the church that matched the theme of the cantata. It was a lot of work, I had time to kill and I volunteered to help her. We had a lot of effort to pack into a short period of time. She had decided to do it in watercolour and dimensionalize parts of it with foam and various things. It was an outstanding piece of art.

We agreed to meet up in the church lobby late one afternoon to get the painting well under way. I arrived to find the work laid out and abandoned in the lobby.
I definitely did not like the muffled voices I was hearing coming from behind the closed door of Dr. ***’s office.

Because of my upbringing I’m hyer-sensitive to potential conflict. That can be a good and bad thing. I hear conflict when it is not serious. I can’t seem to tell the difference, I have to keep learning. This particular day, Jane’s life would depend on my hyper-awareness.

I started painting, getting increasingly uncomfortable with the muffled escalating voices coming from his office. I remember thinking that maybe I should find an excuse to intervene, but I didn’t.

The door flew open and Jane came flying through the lobby sobbing uncontrollably. She ran into the library and slammed the door.
Dr.*** strolled out of his office. The man had the counselling skills of a weasel.

“Well” he announced to me as if it was my business, “if Jane would just listen to me she’d get over all this foolishness. I could fix her.”

Have you ever felt that rage that flashes from the inside out? Bile? Beginning to black out? So quick, so immediate, so unbearable you don’t know what to do with yourself? That’s what I felt.

Jane had been getting treatment. She had to. Anorexia is a killer and she was mentally, emotionally and physically frail. Strangely enough she’d been assigned a psychiatrist who happened to go to that church. The odds of that happening are astronomical, but then God knows all about astronomical odds.

I have no idea why Dr. *** wasn’t wearing any paint, I was that angry. I was so angry I was speechless. If looks could kill, Dr. *** would have been laid out over the banner. Seeing my look, he turned and went back to his office.

I didn’t know what to do. So I prayed, “God what do you want me to do?”
Well, writing didn’t appear on the banner, and no voice came from a burning bush. I knew I had to get my anger under control quickly and keep my eye on Jane. Her doctor would be arriving in about an hour and a half as would choir members.

I don’t have any idea why I didn’t think about going downstairs and calling someone. I only knew I had to stick close to Jane and keep Dr.*** for doing any more damage.

I tried to rationalize things. And intellectualize. I tried to tell myself things weren’t as bad as I was imagining, I was the one with the anger problem, nothing bad was going to happen.

But I could not shake the feeling that I mustn’t let Jane out of my sight.
When I cooled off, I went into the library and shut the door.

Jane was not in good shape. This wasn’t a crying jag or dramatics. She had really lost it. I leaned against the door, and began to ask what had happened.

It took awhile, and awhile was what we had, because as I listened I realized I couldn’t leave her. Torrents of words poured out. Fear, anger, despair. Self-recrimination, abandonment and crushing guilt.
She had needed help. She had needed a friend. And Dr. *** had been an abusive bullying accusatory jerk. Her shaky sense of self and of God’s love had been stomped on and she was suicidal.

I’d worked a suicide hotline and had learned to evaluate ideation, threats, verbalizations, self defeating behaviors, commitment and level. The more she talked the more I could see the decline and I had to put Dr. *** out of my head.

“He’s not worth it you know, he thinks he’s God, but you and I know he isn’t.”

I wasn’t getting through.

“Get away from the door and leave me alone!”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Chairs, books and anything not nailed down started flying. That didn’t overly concern me for as long as she was flinging things she wouldn’t hurt herself.
I wasn’t worried about the window, she could have crashed through it, but we were on the first floor. So I held my ground and willed her to remain defiant until help could arrive.

It was not to be. She rushed me and yelled at me to get away from the door again.
I braced for impact, but you gotta love Jane. She didn’t hit me. She stomped on my foot so hard she broke a bone. I had so much adreneline going I didn’t realize it until later.

We knew each other well enough to know I wasn’t budging and she wasn’t budging me. There would have to be negoitation. I kept praying it would hold.

“I trust you. I’ve known you a long time and your word is your bond. If you promise me you won’t hurt yourself, I’ll step away from the door.”

She promised. I believed her until I shut the door.
The library was quiet and I went back to the painting. Out came Dr. ***

“Pack this up, I’m going home.”

I do remember the bile in the back of my throat again. I do remember standing slowly looking him dead in the eye and saying, “no.”

He went beet red, which gave me secret pleasure.

“Pack this up. This is my church and you will do as I say.”

It was so audacious, in the tension of the moment I almost laughed.

“Your church? This is your church?”

“It most certainly is.”

“Oh. I thought it was God’s and I wasn’t aware he worked 9 to 5.”

Whooo. I’m surprised I wasn’t wearing paint.

“This is my church. I am leaving. When I set that alarm if you aren’t out of here, I’m calling the police.”

I called his bluff.

“Please do. Given what has been going on their presence might be helpful.”

He went from red to white. What is it with bullies? He was a minister. I should have been able to say,” Please help. Please call Jane’s doctor now.” What was wrong with me that I couldn’t say help, that I couldn’t trust that after what went on, some decency and sense would surface in him?

He wheeled around, got his coat and left. I sank to the floor. “Oh Father” I yelled silently. ” I can’t help her, she needs attention now. Show me what to do, You love her.”

A few minutes later the library door opened and Jane whizzed downstairs. I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her promise and that someone didn’t get to the church soon, I couldn’t imagine the outcome.

I listened with breath holding intensity. I could tell she’d gone into the utility room. Then I heard her head toward a back Sunday school room.

I took off my shoes and crept downstairs, ducking into a doorway where I could see her. I’m shaking writing this. She had a rope and a chair. The rope was being tied around a pipe.

I thought of just rushing her and trying to hold her to the floor until someone came. But I know when somone is in that state, all my strength would not match the strength she had from the edge she had gone over. So I crouched in the dark and waited, praying that God and her conscience would connect. I knew that if I made a noise, it would startle her and she’d kick the chair. It was agonizing, waiting to see if she could make the choice to live.

She put the noose around her neck, shaking badly. I could hear her quietly praying. She went quiet, terribly quite and terribly still and kicked the chair away.
The sound of her choking when that rope tightened haunts me to this day.

I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I crossed that hallway, grabbed that rope and in my anger and fear and with her weight, yanked the pipe right off the ceiling. We fell on top of each other, I rolled away and began to claw at the rope on her neck.
Her face was blue and she wasn’t moving. I had no idea hanging could happen so quickly.

I rolled her on her side, checked her pulse, and slapped her. She drew in a rattlling breath and began to choke. She was barely conscious and I started yelling.

“How dare you! How dare you try to take your life in God’s house. He loves you. That may not be something you understand right now but He loves you.
I love you, others love you and I’m not leaving you.”

She drew in deep rattling breaths.

“I hate you,” she whispered. “You should have let me die.”

“If the situation had been reversed, I’d have hated me too.
“It’s okay, your doctor is on the way. Let’s go behind the piano where it’s safe.”

I dragged her behind the piano and she went into a fetal position. I sat quietly listening to her breathing and checking her pulse.

Finally I heard voices and ran up the back stairs. A woman she trusted was joking with a few choir members. I pulled her aside and told her what had happened.

“I’ll go sit with her now. Find her doctor’s wife and ask her to get him here as quickly as she can.”

So I did, and waited at the door for him. Dr.*** came in. We didn’t look at each other.

Her doctor arrived soon after. “You can fill me in later, will you wait? Where is she?”

I went to the lobby and cleaned up our work. About an hour later her doctor came to me.

“How are you?”

His question stunned me.

“Fine. What about Jane?”

“She’s on her way to hospital, her vocal cords and neck are bruised. They’ll heal. But she’ll be in hospital awhile, she’s pretty broken. What you have experienced is traumatizing. Are you sure you are okay, can I give you a ride home on my way to the hospital? Would you like to talk?”

I wasn’t okay and I couldn’t deal with with his kindness any more than I could deal with Dr. *** and his abuse. I needed to be alone.

“Jane will be very angry at you for awhile. Keep reaching out by phone even if she won’t take your calls. It’s going to take time.”

What are you and the elders going to do about Dr. ***?

“I honestly don’t know right now, I know what I’d like to do, there is a lot of thought ahead. Don’t worry about the elders. Take care of you right now. Thank you for being there, thank you for saving her.”

I didn’t feel I deserved a thank you. I was conflicted, grieving, furious, second guessing myself and exhausted. As I walked in the dark my foot began to hurt. The next day I got it x-rayed, and had a secret admiration for Jane’s spunk. She’d need it back, and I prayed the hospital would help her.

The elders did meet. I finished the banner with help, did the cantata and moved on. I called Jane a couple of times a week. She wouldn’t speak to me for about a month and when she did I got an earful. Thank God.

Dr. *** turned his control and wrath on the elders. I heard things as the church deteriorated. I was still angry so I did a back ground search on him from work and called an elder friend.

Dr *** kicked out a few elders and became more controlling and belligerant.
Maybe he was ill. I don’t know, but he was splitting the church.
He was asked to leave and refused. From the pulpit he began to rail against the ‘enemies’ of his ministry.
The district supervisor was called in. He refused to acknowledge his authority.
The church split for good when Dr.*** left about 12 months later, taking half the congregation with him. Long time friends never spoke to each other again.
Only a few of us knew what had happened to Jane, but the whole church knew what he had done to the elders and to the the congregation. I will never understand why people made the choices they did.

Jane spend a fair bit of time in hospital. Her psychiatrist was there every day, doing therapy, caring for her physical needs and medications and praying with her.

It took a long time for my anger to dissolve and a lot of prayer, bible study, counselling and studying psychology, spirital abuse etc. before I got a handle on what had happened and my response to it.

Jane had a few more set backs, we kept in touch. Sadly her psychiatrist died young. Cancer. He had prepared ongoing help for her, prepared her for his death.

She is healthy and doing so well, becoming all that we knew she was under the darkness in her life. God’s love, the love of fellow believers she let into her life, excellent medical and psychiatric atttention, medication, time and her hard work have restored her mind, body, emotions and faith.

She has a deep and strong faith that is only refined in fire. The effects of anorexia have done some damage and she has to take good care of herself. She still has that wonderfully defiant creative rebellious streak. I am so grateful for her and for those that took the long journey with her. To hear her speak of her walk with God is pure joy.

And me? My foot healed. I never saw church the same since and never went back. My trust in pastoral authority, already shaky, was damaged, and I can live with that. For one Dr. *** there are many leaders just the opposite. I can intellectually and experientially acknowledge that. My love for lay people that exemplified Christ in the years in Jane’s life; steady, patient, kind, educated, gentle people walked along side has grown.
She eventually left that church and meets with a small group of friends for bible study where she is happy, safe and using her amazing gifts and talents.

And Dr.***? He led his little independent flock for a couple of years and dropped dead of a heart attack. I do not grieve him, for his preaching talent didn’t make him a shepard, I think he was a sick man with some kind of personality disorder or illness. He can’t split any more churches or harm any more vulnerable people. Since his death his little group of people he took with him have matured, and have a strong social ministry in their community.

The church I didn’t go back to? The district had no minister skilled in helping split churches heal so they called a former youth minister. The church is a shell of it’s former self, going though the motions.

What do you see as spritual abuse? Have you encountered it? How did you handle it?

10/06/05: I hadn’t intended to write this, it poured out and I decided to hit publish because of the courage I saw from another blogger. I think I believed I haven’t told this story because I was protecting Jane.
Naw. I was protecting me.
I have felt a bit of shame over my innate distrust of authority, particularly in the church. Now in this telling I see God’s mercy in my life. I’m loved, anger and all. I’ve never been a very good sheep. He is fiercely committed to us, and my life depends on that kind of love.
I didn’t look at this after posting it. I’ve gone back and corrected most of the typos and grammar goofs.

Published 3 years, 5 months ago