In the time of life reflected of my photo, it was a charmed time of innocence, the earlier years of being a church goer. As a born-again Christian, I was drawn to the promises of unconditional love from God, from my family within the walls of the church, a sense of hope and belonging, at last. But as the years stretched forward the times of warm bible studies filled with too much delicious coffee, worship songs, bible scriptures, long-winding unending prayers turned into restrictions enforced by nonfluctuating condemnation from the leadership and other members. (Full transparency: the latter was not the former, the former being the ones in the photograph above.)
Where was the unconditional love and familial commune I had once sought and thought I had found? Gone with the realization that I had fallen prey to the manipulations of spiritual leadership abuse, corrupted by the influences of absolute power, that I had never truly believe existed or wanted to believe existed until then.
As I have said in previous blogs, within the church, it was increasingly taught to flee the trappings of the world, this was enforced by insisting that we abstain from certain aspects of popular culture, read only the books approved and sanctioned by the church, and fully and only immerse ourselves in the ways of the church. At first, recalling the younger days (see: the photo), I happily agreed to these standards, as if wanting to perpetuate the great love I felt in the beginning, hoping to restore the dying fragments of those happy times, but to no avail.
Perhaps my mental illness truly saved me from being saved.
Having been given the diagnosis of Bipolar in 2006, I was forced into the world of mental health therapy, psychology, forced to examine and look at myself through a variety of in depth therapeutic practises. I could no longer run and allow various external sources to be a false salve, a drug, to hide from my pain. The notion of psychology was a no-no in the Christian Fundamentalist worldview. I was ostracized, silenced, and in short unable to show my new findings of self throughout my journey through recovery. This led to a disconnect within what I believed to be my church family. I could not be honest with them without fear of some sort of reparation, condemnation, loss of the friendship. The cracks in the system that was the church were beginning to show for me, as I started to see the truth of the words "hypocrisy" and "legalism" written loudly on the walls of my mind.
So, in 2010, timidly and without truly knowing that I was, I left the church, one Sunday morning, clutching my bible and coffee mug to my chest, I let the back gate of the church building fall behind me with a crash as I stepped into the big world I had been taught hated me, hated Jesus. This I would discover as I went forth was a blatant lie.
The reason that I am sharing the above is because all of this has been on my heart for awhile now. As I believe recovery is lifelong in that as we are shaped by the influences of our past, healing is an ongoing process. However, more so, is the fact that a dear young friend of mine recently entered the fundamentalist world last summer. She accepted, became a believer, and was baptized into the same fundamentalist church world I used to attend. The same place she was dunked and raised again, thus was I once upon a time. Somewhere I have that snapshot of myself being prayed over by the hot young male pastor standing knee deep, in the warm pool made to look like a pond, water, before he dunked me backwards, only to re-emerge into a fresh new world...or so I had hoped.
As I watch her share her new views and photos across Facebook, they take me back to my early days, such as the photograph at the top details. It was a rosy, shiny happy time. I look at my friend's posts and silently hope that that her new found joy and connection will remain, that it won't become what it did for me, that the truth of what I experienced will not be part of her life's journey. But, with a element of despair, I feel that may not be the case.
As I am unable to see into the future, I can only remain in hope that perhaps she and her friends will be the change, the evolutionary force, that the church needs to transform to relevancy and compassion, turning away from the hateful condemnation the Christian Conservatives dwell in all too much, veering off from the teachings of Christ.
Come what may, whatever happens, her journey is her journey and happens for a reason, as mine did. As she is my friend, I am here for her, no matter what the next turn around the bend may be, as I also remain for my other friends of my past still a part of the fundamentalist world.
Thanks Lia. Beautifully written.
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