train overpass, Refugio State Beach
The worst part was people disappearing. As a child, this was particularly disconcerting.
I'd arrive at a Sunday worship meeting to discover that two or three people were missing. In a small, intensely intimate church community–the loss of a few souls was jarring.
I was offered the same explanation every time: "Sister Louise fell away from the Lord."
Or, sometimes: "Brother Joseph chose to forsake fellowship."
It was like they'd died a sudden, tragic death. Many times I never got to say goodbye. We didn't speak to those who left because anyone who left our church was obviously out of God's will. In sin.
We shunned them and prayed for their repentance.
If, perchance, we ran into them at the grocery store or library we had a well-rehearsed script: "Have you repented? Where are you fellowshipping?"
This was before Facebook or cell phones. When I was child, if someone disconnected their home-phone and didn't answer their door–they were gone.
After one of my favorite babysitters left, I vowed never to open my heart to new converts. I put up walls and became wary, watchful. I sized up new converts, profiling them: did they have what it took to withstand decades inside our church?
If I deemed them too educated, pretty, well-connected, rich or having a supportive family–I wrote them off. I knew they wouldn't last long. And they rarely did.
My closest bonds were with other children being raised inside our church. I trusted them because they knew what it was like to live that life.
But an oppressive religious system has an uncanny ability to crush even the most genuine human relationships.
My family ran the church. Even had I wanted to leave, I wasn't strong enough to actually do it. Leaving our church meant leaving God and my family.
And at the core of my being, I am a relationship-motivated person. So, I stayed. I watched childhood friends and their families leave–some quietly, some tragically.
My grandfather set out to restore Christianity to its pure, original roots. But his noble ideals were achieved by cruelty. Human beings were the collateral damage.
By far the best part of being free from a controlling church is the ability to form and foster friendships. I've had the wonderful experience of re-connecting with childhood friends, neighbors, and you–kind reader.
I've built a BIG family. I'm surrounded by love and relationship.
At long last I am free to love wholly, completely and without reservation.
