The Saga of a Pharisee

Continued from the Spiritual Abuse article.

My story began as a very small child. I'm not sure when my parents first attended Bill Gothard's seminar, but I don't remember it happening. I don't remember when the books published by his organization crept into our home, or when the concepts began to affect everyday life, but it was there since before I could remember. 

It was subtle.

It was so easy to believe. 

If you just do ____ right, God will reward you. If you raise your children just right according to this formula, you will have bright eyed, obedient, and delightful children. If you memorize enough Scripture, you won't struggle with sin. God needs you to be a good witness for Him at all times. The teachings crept like cancer through our minds and hearts, and this is only touching a few parts of it! 

Among the worst of all, was the quiet and ever present underlying assumption: we have a corner on God others don't. We understand the Bible better than those who don't follow the formulas in utter, unquestioning obedience. There was a constant quest to know more of what was right. The Bible was touted as having all the answers for modern life if you just looked hard enough. We had to continually strive to become more and more holy, and more pleasing to God, in order to be successful.

This journey to more holiness led us deeper, and we began to follow other teachers who for the most part preached similar works-oriented gospel, harping on obedience and pleasing God. We girls started wearing only long dresses or skirts, in an attempt to be "modest" and keep men from lusting after us. Slowly we were hidden away, cut off from people who weren't good enough to associate with us. Oh, it was never said quite that way of course. Just, this or that family was being a bad influence, or were being too permissive with their children, or disagreed theologically somehow. But somehow, we knew we were better than them. We were doing everything right. We were the ones leaving everything behind in order to follow God.

Our lives were motivated by fear, and pride. Fear that if we didn't do everything right, we would fail and not make it to heaven after all. And a subtle, quiet pride that we were on the "in" with pleasing God while others hadn't yet achieved our enlightened state.

If you take a good look at the gospels, you often get a glimpse of a group of people who were the leaders of the Jewish religious life. They spent hours studying the Scriptures. They made sure they were doing everything right, according to the strictest interpretation possible. They knew exactly what God wanted, they were the chosen people, and they had the law and the prophets to back them up. 

Yet they missed God in the flesh, come down to earth. They missed Him so completely that they insisted He be killed. And it's no wonder. He had nothing nice to say to them, or about them. He called them blind, and they were blinded by their strict adherence to their doctrinal interpretation of the law and the prophets. While completely missing the real God in the middle of it all. 

For too many years, I walked the road of the Pharisee as well. I was sure I was doing the best I could to make God happy, to obey Him, and to be a good witness. I tried doing all the right things, in the best way, including killing my natural talents and desires, to please my authorities like god surely said I must. All the time oblivious to the fact that the God I loved had been placed in a neat, tidy little box of explainable divinity, when in reality He is so far beyond our comprehension that there hasn't been a box big enough yet to contain... or explain... Him. 

I was spiritually abused, my teachers and leaders showing me a picture of who they wished God would be, and inhibiting my deepest longings to know the vast, unexplainable Eternal One. I was a spiritual abuser, expecting others to conform to my ideas of what Christianity should look like and act like, with judgement and without much real love. I live with the consequences

every day. Never feeling like I can quite measure up. Always feeling like a failure, a less-than, inadequate, unaccepted. 

While all the time, I am a beloved daughter of the King. He delights in who He created me to be. His holiness is my holiness. I am covered by the blood, accepted, perfect. I have found forgiveness, and a joy that my own efforts to make myself joyful never quite managed. It's beautiful. 

And I am free.