One Person's Journey Down the Toxic Faith Road

I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour in April of 1974. I was sixteen and a sophomore in high school. Being raised in the Church I knew all the stories, but I did not know Jesus personally. A Sunday afternoon in the park changed all that. Then the fun really began.

My parents were busy looking for a "deeper teaching," not a closer walk. This led them to a cult church. Like all cults it had some good, right-on Bible teachings. It also had even more interpretive twists, false teachings, and power-abusive leaders. There was even a seasonal prophet. By that I mean "HIS" prophecies always had something to do with what time of year it was. Easter had a bunny, Thanksgiving had a turkey, Christmas had a tree, etc.

Most of all the decisions for the church and congregation were made at the weekly men's meeting. This was great if you were a man. Women did not enjoy many liberties if any at all. They were constantly told to just submit and obey without question.

The pastor, or shepherd, had final say in everything in the lives of his flock, whether to buy a house, take a vacation, get married, and even whom to marry. Two of the women in the church were given permission to marry. One to her boyfriend, who was a member of the church, and the other one to an appointed gentleman in the church who had a small boy but had no wife to help raise him. Many people sold everything they had and gave it to the church. Then they would share housing with others in the church. My parents would later do this and live with the shepherd and his family. This eventually led to their leaving the church. It's one thing to go to church with somebody; it's another to live with them.

My spirit told me that this was wrong, yet I could not prove it when biblically challenged. It's sad that we sometimes need to be challenged before we start to read the Bible. But for me it was God taking a bad situation and making it good. People from the church (usually men) started stopping by the house unexpectedly with a word of correction for me. Everything I said or did was questioned and analyzed by my parents or their friends. I started asking God questions. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Am I out of the Will of God? God does not want His children fighting does He? As I became more familiar with the Bible, I was able to answer many of my parents' and their friends' questions or statements with what was truly in the Bible and show them where it was in the Bible. I soon became known as the black sheep of the family. Unfortunately, my mother told many a tall tale about what was really going on in our house to my grandparents and other relatives. She rationalized that they didn't have as deep a walk as she had, therefore they wouldn't understand.

Discipline was many times handled at the men's meeting. The child offender would have to pull his or her pants down and be spanked with two male witnesses present. This was very upsetting to the young girl teenagers of the group. Fortunately, my younger sister and I were never disciplined in this manner. Being in our late teens and very strong-willed (we would not submit), we were just verbally reprimanded or grounded.

One month before I was to turn eighteen, I had a best friend chosen for me. It was the seasonal prophet. I was also informed that I was no longer allowed to date until I was eighteen. I could not date girls except those in the church and I could not date them until I became a member of the church. Dating was also something the girls had no control over. You see, if a boy wanted to take out a girl, he didn't ask her. He asked her father. The girl had no choice.

Upon my eighteenth birthday I was given three choices:

1. Join the church, and live at home.
2. Move out and live on my own.
3. Move into the single men's home.

I had felt this coming on, so I had already accelerated my studies to graduate early from high school. This was not easy because I had to work thirty hours a week from the time I turned sixteen to pay for my own rent, gas, and car insurance. Also, 25 percent of my income went to the church. This was not by my choice but by my parents. I never complain now about giving 10 percent.

Two days after my eighteenth birthday I moved out of my parents' home with the help of four friends. My parents had gone out to a meeting, making this the most opportune time to leave without a fight. The next morning though, I got my fight. My father had come to the grocery store where I worked. Before I clocked in, he asked me if I would step outside so we could talk in private. We got outside and as I turned around he "sucker punched" me. Being sixty pounds heavier and four inches taller he was able to knock me down with one punch. He then informed me that they (mom and dad) had given my soul over to the devil for the cleansing of my spirit and that I would be dead in six months. I did agree to talk with one of the elders from my parent's church. At the time, he was living in a trailer up on a nearby mountain. I prayed the whole way up that if I weren't sure of discipleship being right or wrong, that I would just drive off that mountain. Not a real healthy thought.

Well, I did go into the meeting all prayed up (the only way I know to get some good answers). After three and one half hours, I was sure God was real. I looked at the elder and saw right through him. In fact, I was able to share with him about our loving God, the one we can call Father. I left rejoicing. Later, when my parents left the church, one of their friends informed me that the purpose of that meeting was to pluck my eyes out. They felt my eyes were causing me to sin. It pays to go into battle with your armour on!

Over the next eight months, I lived with friends and other members of my family. I thought about joining the military, but I felt that I was needed more as as witness to my parents than in a barracks somewhere else.

Then just before Christmas my parents left the church. I wish I could say that we all lived happily ever after, but I cannot. Not yet, anyway. My dad and uncle no longer talk to each other. In fact, my uncle won't even mention God now unless he is swearing. My parents feel that I deserted them when I left home, so they have very little to do with me or my family. I have tried to reconcile, but they do not wish to talk about it. But who knows, prayer does and will change things.

What a sad account of an experience with toxic faith. Too few understand that people are being exploited in this way every day. Religious addiction develops in a toxic faith system and flourishes where other addicts build the system. Without the system that feeds into and off the addiction, the addiction would die. Every toxic system has identifiable characteristics that set it apart from healthy systems. (See the next blog).