My goal in this blog was to work through some of my history in a way that was therapeutic for me, but also remain anonymous and hopefully find others struggling with the same issues. I think that was too much. To be able to heal, I think it's better for me to process the things that happened, and writing general, angry articles is really just stoking anger without healing. I'm going to try something different.
Childhood Lesson #1: Provocation is not punished, but visible sin is.
Part of growing up in an aspirational "core" RP family is that we were always on display when we were in public. Infractions that might be overlooked when we were at home were punished, sometimes severely in public.
From a young age I knew that Sunday, the Sabbath, was the day that we had to be on our best behavior, and that was especially true in worship. While my parents were up to the task of keeping us in line, my siblings were determined to act perfect, but also enjoyed seeing how far they could push me before I would blow up in some way that would be disruptive. My parents, would respond by painfully reminding us what was appropriate. That might be the "vulcan neck pinch" or a vice-like grab to the soft tissue just above the knee, or in desperate circumstances, I'd get taken out and spanked.
Spanking in an RP church was not necessarily a private discipline. I think many parents these days want it to be discreet and private, but in most RP churches I've been in, there simply is not enough sound barrier between the best spanking spots and the sanctuary.
So, there was a painful lesson I learned early on by what was punished and what wasn't. It's not wrong to goad someone else into disrupting the service. It's wrong to disrupt the service. My siblings were rarely, if ever punished for making faces or drawing silly pictures and showing them to me, or grabbing my knee and pinching, despite my protests. It was always my visible lack of self-control that received discipline.
Adult reflections: Interestingly, this still seems to hold in a slightly different way. For some reason everyone has skin in the game of hiding sin. It's the person who finally exposes it that receives the condemnation of the community. Isn't it fascinating how many of the recent pastor scandals involved elders who knew about the sin and yet remained silent? Were they simply deceived, or did they actually realize that exposing the pastor would cost them everything?
Childhood Lesson #2: Only the authority's version of the truth matters.
One of the most memorable and humiliating disciplines I endured was in front of my church friends. With multiple siblings there were always breakdowns in communications. This specific Sunday there was a covered dish dinner after the morning service. As usual, the kids hung out while the grownups set up the tables and got the food put out. Then my dad came storming out of the church. "I've been looking all over for you. I told you to come downstairs for the meal and you didn't come." I protested, "you didn't say anything to me, I've been with my friends the whole time", but that just fueled his anger. I got spanked HARD in front of my friends. Interestingly, I never remember my church friends receiving much more than a reprimand in front of me.
Adult reflections: This one seems obvious. Once the leaders have decided what happens, there is never any defense. This is a major flaw in the RP Book of Discipline. It allows for elders to prejudice themselves under the guise of "informal discipline" without giving the member the ability to defend himself. By the time there is a formal trial, not only has guilt been decided, but also generally what punishment will be served. If this is ever appealed, the prejudice of the Session is never an issue.
Childhood Lesson #3: No one is on my side.
I'm not saying I was a perfect little child, but, having older siblings who knew how to manipulate the parental discipline system made me painfully aware that I had no recourse. At one point being spanked unjustly was such a common occurrence that it was hardly worth trying to protest the injustice, yet, stupidly, I still protested and I still was spanked harder for protesting.
All I knew about authorities were the adults at church, so I listened and waited for a way to let them know about this injustice. Instead, all I heard were others gushing over how well behaved we were. That was it. I knew that no adult would ever listen to my story. No adult would ever believe a snot-nosed kid over his pillar-in-the-community father.
Adult reflections: I've seen this time and again in the RP church and more broadly. In fact, this is written in the law and order of the church. If a "member" appeals or complains against the decision of a Session, the member's appeal must be in writing. It must first be sent to the Session (who then receive a head-start in defending their position) before being transmitted to the higher court. At the higher court, the "member" has no standing, and typically is not even present. However, the Session is represented by at least the pastor and an elder.
Childhood Lesson #4: I exist to feed the ego of my authority
I had some talents as a kid, but being punished for not being "perfect" in public created a bad side-effect. An intense fear of performing. One day I was commanded to perform on the spot for someone my dad wanted to impress. My fear overruled that and I refused. As I was receiving the spanking of my life I realized that my intense fear would be no match for my dad's ego.
Adult reflections: I've shared this story to very few RP leaders as something I thought was a clear example of abuse. Surprisingly, the reaction I got was the authority must have been right. No clarifying questions were asked, there was no theological defense or even questioning of my account. Just complete utter refusal that this could have been abuse. This is really the culmination of the last three lessons. This, more than the spiritual abuse I've suffered, is why I think the RP church is supporting abuse and abusers. In fact, I see kids of elders with that same blank look of fear on their faces as I must have had. Almost emotionless. For me, it was a cry for help that never came.
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