*cw, bigotry, homophobia, suicidal ideations, religious abuse*
I was reading something on Reddit today, something unrelated to my life, where someone was acting just atrociously judgmental and abusive towards a stranger because she didn't approve of something completely harmless that she was doing.
And.
It reminded me of when I was a teenager, in church. The nasty power-tripping church people that were so hateful and judgmental. The ones who loved to order me around, who loved to rant at me. I was the pastor's daughter, so they could take things out on me when they couldn't get to Dad. I was the pastor's daughter, so I didn't dare defend myself because I wanted to protect Dad. I saw how loving he was and how much these people could hurt him with their pettiness. It wasn't my job to protect him. I was a kid. I get that, now, but protecting others was how I coped with my trauma as a kid. OK. Still is.
And I didn't want Dad to lose his job because of me.
Mom and Dad never knew how bad it was. I'd stopped telling adults about the really bad stuff when I was 7, because nobody saved me then. They weren't omnipotent beings after all, the adults I loved and trusted. But they knew a bit. I know it really upset dad, feeling torn, feeling like he couldn't really protect me enough, either.
I didn't tell them how often I would think "I'd rather be dead than have to go back to that place," how I'd been thinking it for years, back in El Centro, too. What I went through there, either.
I was suddenly seized with the urge to write, of all things, a google maps review of the church in Santa Barbara. I wanted to give a shout out to the church youth group director in the mid-90s, who told us all that gay people were evil sinners who could never be redeemed. That they would go to hell. I remember being so angry. I remember some of the older teens whispering about him getting way too close with some of the younger teen girls, too. But it was that hateful homophobia that hit me the hardest that night. He ranted at us for an hour. I lost it at him at last. I don't remember what I said. I think I finally refused to go back to youth group after that. The shout out was for that guy being so hateful that it finally helped me escape the abuse of the church by breaking away and shutting down.
A lot happened there, and in El Centro, too. So much bigotry, hatred, abuse, harm. Never from my Dad. He was a good Christian, one of a small number I have known. Or my Mom. But there was cruelty and corruption lurking beneath the sanctimonious surface.
I stopped myself from writing that review. I told myself, "it's not the 90s any more. It isn't the same people."
I went to the church website for St Mark's. It says:
"ALL ARE WELCOME
St. Mark United Methodist Church embraces diversity and seeks to be inclusive.
We affirm that all persons are individuals of sacred worth. Our welcome knows no boundaries of age, race, ethnicity, culture, gender, sexual orientation or gender identification, economic condition, family status, ability or disability. We embrace and seek to preserve the beautiful, amazing diversity of God's creation.
We recognize that there are differences among us, but believe that we can love alike even though we may not think alike. We proclaim this statement of welcome to all, but especially to those who have known the pain of exclusion or discrimination in the church and society.
We invite all people to join us in our faith journey toward greater love, understanding, and mutual respect. "
I started to cry. It was a good thing to see, but I also felt so much grief, so much anger. I was filled with this outrage. How dare they. How DARE they say these things NOW, while sweeping under the rug all the harm that was done before? Why is there no apology for that? No answer to that? Why do they not speak to it, and pretend it never was?
And why couldn't it have been like that for me, when I was there?
I feel no draw to Christianity. It is not my faith, not my path. I don't think it would have been even in an inclusive church. I was called by my gods, and in them I found home.
But I feel like my pain, the way I was treated, the way other kids and teens were treated, has been erased. I want to call them and demand, "I know it wasn't you, but how can you act like all of it never happened? Where is the justice? What reparations can you offer? What is your answer to what was done?"
But the people who did it would only spew more hatred. They people who didn't, I cannot hold accountable for, because it was the actions of others.
The church, though? Maybe some day I will be able to let go of the emotional attachment to the harm that it did. Maybe writing this out will help start that process. Maybe it'll start peeling away the layers to the worse shit that happened to me in churches. But I won't ever forget, and don't ever, ever want to go back.
And I want to stand up and shout, "I am NOT a sinner, I am NOT evil, I am not WRONG or VILE or an OFFENSE to ANY god because of who I LOVE. I am NOT ASHAMED. And I will NOT be SILENCED! I'm still alive! You FAILED TO BREAK ME. I WON!"
