The Church: Love of God or Covert Abuse?

I lingered in the car long after the garage door had come to a close. The heat from my quad exhaust radiated throughout the garage as a single bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. What was supposed to be a chill evening with a friend had unfortunately morphed into something far more sinister. The mental strain of our conversation weighed heavy on me as I finally made my way into the house. How could a conversation birthed out of genuine connection turn into a compassionless rant about hell, sin, and God’s judgment? His words might as well have been knives. “These people out here are going to hell, bruh. They’re living in sin,” he said indignantly. “We’ve got to be holy.” He lambasted the choices people made with their lives as if he were faultless. His ears were not open to anything other than his points of view.

The Bible was his reference. It was the basis of his indignant call to action. It brought back memories. I was reminded of the many years I spent in that church, stumbling in the dark trying to find the light of free thought. It’s interesting how we’re asked to use logic in every other area of our lives, but when it comes to the things of God, we’re met with anger when we don’t understand. Use faith, they say when we become inconvenient. Our faith has brought us a mighty long way, make no mistake about it.

I’ve spent a majority of my life in the church and I honestly wish I hadn’t. The constant in-fighting regarding doctrine and theology became confusing at best. The “love of God” they bestowed felt more like covert abuse. Sincere questions triggered crusade-like attacks and differences of opinions led to stark condemnation. Often times the pastor loved to hear himself talk to the point where he believed we had to consult him before we made any major decisions in our lives. If you didn’t get his approval, you were banished, forgotten, and in some cases, the unfortunate object lesson in his sermons.

I can still remember the forced prayers and angry verbal lashes when we failed to follow orders. The subtle programming is hard to recognize. I lamented my youth for it. I spent a great deal of those years believing it was my duty to convert others. I was taught to ignore people’s own personal convictions, because after all, Christians know what’s best for everyone. Each person I could convince to believe in Christ became a notch in my belt. My church began to feel like a cult that bred us to become machines used to progress the “Kingdom of God.” Their use of the Lord to cut down, judge, and destroy the self-esteem of others began to cause me to take personal inventory. I cringe at the thought that I used to be this way. Years of extreme control destroyed my zeal. If that was love, it certainly didn’t feel good. One day, I decided to no longer participate. Church friends looked at me differently when I decided to walk away. I was the ultimate sinner, it seemed. Suffocated, unable to breathe, I had to leave for my own sanity. The Pastor I once looked up to as a young man no longer looked my way. I felt like a dirty outsider at first, but soon after, I gained my second wind; I was free.

Our spirituality is deeply personal; our faith in God is just that: our own. Over the years it’s been difficult for me to separate mainstream Christianity from racism, misogyny, and hatred. Some of the most radical people I’ve ever met were found right in the church. As a Black man, I often wondered why my church never dealt with slavery and the darker side of the faith. My views on institutionalized religion have dramatically changed.

While my experience is uniquely my own, I know others who share my critique of the church. I write this piece as openly and honestly as I can. I share these words to spark conversation. This is my truth and I’m not shying away from it. Know-it-all Christians will attempt to diagnose my thoughts. Some will read this and immediately begin to label me an unbeliever with a reprobate mind because of my authenticity of thought. I accept that and quite frankly expect it. Life isn’t black and white. If you dig beneath the surface you’ll discover you can believe in God and still question what you believe. This earthly experience is a remarkable journey.

Today, I stand tall as a free-thinking Black man who is no longer bound by the fear of my sincere thoughts and ideas. I’ve casted aside the box I once allowed the church to keep me in. In conclusion, I leave you with this: always remember you’re free to grow and evolve. People won’t always agree with your growth and that’s okay. Above all you must stay true to yourself.