It’s been a while since I last posted. I feel like the dust has settled after I first went public about spiritual abuse and I have now started walking on the long road to freedom. For the whole year since I first reported the abuse to the NST of the Church of England I found myself spiritually homeless and struggled to connect with God. Since going public with my story I feel like I am finally starting to emerge from my cocoon and spread my wings, although it may be some time before I pluck up the courage to take flight.
I have prayed, but praying has been hard. I haven’t always known what to say, I haven’t always found it easy to express how I am feeling, and I haven’t know what to ask for. Sometimes, I have wondered who it is I am even praying to. I haven’t felt the absence of God. I’ve just felt like I am encountering God in a new and powerful way, and shedding misconceptions and baggage that I have been hauling around since my teens.
I’ve begun to let myself ramble with God. I’m lucky in that I have a studio in my garden where I go to write, craft and think. I’ve sat out there, sometimes for hours, just talking to God, stumbling over my words, letting the conversation go where it needs to go. It’s getting easier. I now even look forward to it.
I’ve gone back to basics with my Bible reading. For a while I trawled through the endless reading plans and devotionals on the Bible app, not knowing which ones I could now trust, unsure if it would just be more of the same. It reminded me of when people fought to have the Bible translated into English from the Latin. They wanted to get the Word of God in the vernacular so that everyone could access it directly, so that no person would need an intermediary between them and God. I felt like God was saying that I too needed no intermediary, I just needed to go back to the Word.
Perhaps unsurprisingly I was drawn to the Gospel of John. “In the beginning was the Word…” I needed to go back to the beginning. I needed to go back to the Word. I needed to go back to Jesus. I prayed first. What a difference it makes when I remember to pray! The Word becomes flesh and takes on a life of its own. It sets my heart on fire. It enthuses me with the Spirit. It gives me hope.
But it wasn’t easy. It was hard work. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to hide under my duvet and ignore the world. But I persevered. Now, like with the prayer, I cannot wait to open my Bible and read what comes next. Today was the feeding of the five thousand, followed by Jesus going over to the other side of the lake to get away from the crowds. Maybe that’s what I’ve needed to do for the last few days, get away from the crowds, be still, so I can get a clear head and hear from God again.
And so I shall keep plodding onwards. I have no idea where all of this is going, but I know I’m not walking this path alone. Tomorrow morning I shall be back out in my studio with God again having a good old chin wag, and diving into God’s Word. Life doesn’t get much better than that.
As I start to heal, one other thing I have been doing is educating myself on what has happed. It is only recently that I have started to begin to understand what spiritual abuse is, and is not. I am one of those people who finds that learning can be part of the journey towards healing. I’ve been reading Escaping the Maze of Spiritual Abuse: Creating Healthy Christian Cultures by Dr Lisa Oakley and Justin Humphreys from thirtyone: eight. It is really helping me. I would highly recommend reading it, whether you are a church leader, someone like me who has experienced spiritual abuse, or you want to be a support to a friend who has. Here’s a quote from Amy’s story:
Spiritual abuse broke me, and I nearly gave up on everything I believe in. Spiritual abuse provoked in me the choices I have made. It tested my belief and my faith. It provided for me the opportunity to put my faith into action.
That’s how I feel. Now, every morning, as I go out my back door towards my studio, coffee mug in hand, it feels like every step I take down that garden path is a radical act of defiant faith. And there, in the silence, I encounter the Jesus who has gone to the other side of the lake to get away from the crowds. There in the stillness I get to pour it all out to Him and to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is listening.
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