“Why haven’t you accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior?”
It was the Young Calvinist Convention in Bozeman, Montana, and I was 17. Beer was my convention companion – until I was busted. I could have been sent home but wasn’t, and I bore a heavy dose of guilt for what I had done. But the worst was to come: the long bus ride back to Grand Rapids.
It was then that two of the group leaders cornered me. Yes, I knew I had broken the rules, and I admitted I’d made bad choices. But that was not the end of it. I was told that if I’d taken my faith more seriously, I would not have been drinking. They put the screws to me and asked if I wanted to accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. I did not want to tell the truth and say no, so I just said I was not sure.
They further ramped up the pressure, invited me to pray with them, and ask Jesus to come into my life. Every part of me felt so uncomfortable, guilty, and resistant, but I played along to get out of this awful jam. When the prayer was over, they were smiling and happy, but I wasn’t. I was saddled with a truckload of anxiety and guilt and now felt I had to act a certain way to prove my faith. Yet I felt conflicted, because my conscience would not let go of a deep knowing that a specific moment and prayer was not my path to Jesus. I knew I wasn’t ready to commit in the way they wanted. The aftermath left me indeep shame, and I wondered, “What is wrong with me?” It was spiritual abuse to be pushed into a religious commitment I was unsure of. It was spiritual abuse to be told that my anxiety and doubt meant that there was something wrong with me.
The damage was significant. I felt unsafe being pressured to conform. When I felt doubt, these leaders left no space for that, saying it was a weakness. I had a personal defect. Uncertainty was an illegitimate part of the path.
Doctrinal Abuse
This incident wasn’t an anomaly; I was raised in a religiously oppressive system. Being taught that I was sinful by nature and incapable of doing any good led me to believe that I wasn’t any good. This was a terrible message for a tender-hearted, bullied boy with low self-esteem. The question I had asked myself on the bus ride home from Bozeman kept playing in my head on an endless loop: “What is wrong with me? ”Being “perfect” (sin-free), as the scriptures seemed to mandate, was an impossible task that made my faith an impossible experience. My experience of the doctrine of Total Depravity was that it was spiritual abuse. It made me vulnerable to mistreatment by people in authority whom I assumed knew better and were better.
The Problem with Pyramids
Sadly, my experience isn’t unique. A common toxic element in organizations is abuse of power by those in authority. This dysfunction is baked into organizations where authority is consolidated in the executive suite. The operative belief is that the “captain of industry” or “the guy at the top” occupies that position because he is uniquely and solely able to define the vision, has superior knowledge, and is decisive and directive (using male pronouns is intentional).
Misuse of power is endemic to patriarchal and hierarchical organizations. It shapes what we expect from leaders. Contrast this with such egalitarian values as collaboration, employee engagement, shared power and decision-making, and the belief that the CEO’s purpose includes evoking the wisdom and talent of the team in making important decisions. These contrasting values beg the question about the optimal shape of the pyramid: should it be right side up with the CEO at the top or upside down with the CEO at the bottom using power to serve those “above” in the organization.
The tension between these value systems exists in both secular and religious organizations. While abuses of power and authority are pervasive in any organization that holds to the hierarchical structure, it carries special power in faith-based organizations where leaders may imply that God has spoken (solely) to them.
My focus in this essay is upon religious trauma, where power and authority have been misused within faith-based organizations. My lived experiences illustrate the truths I describe. I am informed and inspired by the book Holy Hurt, by Hillary L. McBride, Ph.D., and by the Right Use of Power Institute (RUPI), where I serve as a facilitator and trainer. RUPI grows leaders and fosters organizations that use power in service to others.
The Problem with Pyramids: Trauma of Top-Down Leadership
The neurobiology of power describes changes in the brain when leaders gain increased power and authority. Leaders experience a reduction in empathy in direct proportion to their level of power. This phenomenon is manifest when task completion becomes more important than relationships, when leaders prioritize efforts to persuade, direct, coerce others, and impose their will. Leaders with diminished empathy are more likely to break rules, less likely to share resources, and resist developing and utilizing the talents of their employees.
My Roots
My Christian Reformed pedigree is extensive: mastering the Heidelberg Catechism, membership at Burton Heights CRC in Grand Rapids (when it was one of the “power churches” before white flight), attending Christian schools from kindergarten through Calvin College, and volunteering and working in the CRC’s relief and development arm.
I was taught deference to church leadership. This teaching was a potent toxin since leaders were ordained by God. This deference enabled leaders to misuse power, free of accountability and consequence, and devalued my questions. Instead, it demanded passivity and compliance.
Hillary McBride defines trauma as one’s attempts to cope with mistreatment by systems and institutions. PTSD arises from repeated experiences of neglect or abuse. A trauma response is not a pathology; pathology occurs when leaders misuse their power and authority.
Gaslighting
Not long out of college, I was naïve about the complexities of job hunting. My career goal was to live a life of service in the CRC’s relief and development organization. I was excited to receive a job offer, but as I assessed it, there were several troubling issues.
When I expressed my concerns, it became clear that my questions and doubts were unwelcome, and I should be grateful to even have a job offer. Despite having failed my psychological evaluation (because of my propensity for asking challenging questions about the organization and the job), I was offered the position. In the end, I turned it down but expressed hope for future opportunities.
Instead of empathy for my doubts, I was shamed by top leadership and accused of having poor judgment for not accepting the job without reservation. I was criticized for not being a follower, for “asking questions that nobody else has ever asked,” and for not trusting leadership to know what’s best, for me. I was devalued for having independent thinking and asking critical questions.
Subsequently, I was passed over for future opportunities that I was well qualified for. It was only later that I would learn I’d been blackballed. With no opportunity to process this with leadership, I suffered grief and self-doubt. The passive-aggressive management response, the shunning, shaming, and silence with which I was treated, was crazy-making. I agonized, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ ‘Why do I have such poor judgment?’ ‘I just screwed up my career ambitions.’
“He would never do that…”
Still ambitious and earnest, by 1983 I was a youth group leader in a CRC congregation in Holland, Michigan. In observance of the CRC’s annual World Hunger Week, I used a film approved by the denomination for exploring the connection between capitalism and world hunger. Unbeknownst to me, some church leaders had reservations, and the consistory viewed the film. Despite their reservations and without any dialogue with me, I was allowed to show it.
Afterwards, I received a visit from one of the church’s deacons, who was so upset by the “communistic material” that he threatened to put me “six feet under.” In the spirit of Matthew 18, I sought counsel from my elder and pastor to make amends. They responded by saying that I must have misunderstood the deacon and that he was not capable of such a threat. I was told, “Let it go. You must have imagined it.”
The incident was buried. I was sacrificed in order to maintain “harmony” and avoid controversy. I learned a difficult lesson: leaders will abuse their power and throw victims under the bus in order to protect themselves and their organization . We’ve seen this play out repeatedly where power is misused to cover up sexual assault and abuse in the CRC, the Protestant Reformed Church, the Roman Catholic Church, and the Southern Baptist Convention, among others.
My Recovery Path
My accumulated wounds compelled me to leave my tribe: the death threat catalyzed my exit from the CRC. I found space and recovery in an inclusive and welcoming RCA church in Holland. I found healing in my relationship with my pastor, a feminist and spiritual director. She introduced me to the monastic tradition, meditation, and the desert fathers and mothers. I was embraced by a faith community where spirituality emanated from the heart, where questions and unknowing offered greater insight than answers and intellectual mastery, and where power was rightly used. For the first time in my life, I was not in a love / hate relationship with the church.
In Holy Hurt, McBride summarizes the recovery steps from religious trauma that were also mine:
- Own the occurrences and name them for what they were: abuse and trauma
- Name and own their impacts
- Take time to grieve the losses
- Build a new community.
Psychotherapy helped me traverse these four steps. It would have been easy to be stuck in victim mode and abandon the church. Healing these religious traumas was not just a matter of finding personal resistance, it was also my spiritual formation, and led to a career dedicated to creating and sustaining healthy leadership and organizations where power is used in service to others.
While I would never have chosen to experience these traumas, God became present in transformational ways. And isn’t that the core purpose of church?
One Response
Thank you, Dave, for your honest sharing. Your story resonated with me and many others, I’m afraid. Another book recommendation — “The Dangers of Growing Up in a Christian Home” by Donald Sloat.