Nameless, but not Blameless

So, a few years ago, in a galaxy far, far away, way, way back when I was a teenager, I was going to a church with a pushy, aggressive pastor. He shall remain nameless, though not in the least bit blameless. He thought he needed to be in the middle of everything. He was supposed to be told about everything. He was in charge of every aspect of every person's life, whether they liked it or not. A dictator. Anyway, so, I was seventeen, and dating a boy in the church. We had just started to get serious and lo and behold, we ended up in a sort of awkward position of needing to confess our, ahem, indiscretions. Well, we decided together that we should seek the counsel of our pastor, since that is what we were led to believe was the right thing to do. The guy went to the pastor and they had a meeting - over breakfast at a restaurant. He got a verbal slap on the wrist and was told to not do that again. Oh, and are you going to be there for softball practice? After this, I met with him. In his office, behind closed doors. Boy, did I get it. He screamed at me. He told me that everything that I was doing, I was trying to "lure" men. From my acrylic fingernails to my 1966 Porsche 912 that I was driving at the time (this car cost next to nothing to purchase because Dad got a deal on it and cost NOTHING to fix, since he had all the parts - but that couldn't be why I was driving it). The way I dressed, the way I acted, all of it was me trying to get the attention of guys. I don't know where they all were watching this from, because they didn't seem to be within my range of view at the time. I never saw any of these men I was supposedly trying to lure. Considering the source of these accusations, I don't now consider them to be too terribly accurate, but at the time, well, I was young. I was of the impression that he knew what he was talking about. After all, he was a pastor and aren't they supposed to be kind, caring, compassionate? Well, some are not.

Anyway, so after getting verbally abused for quite a long period of time and being told that all that had transpired was MY fault and mine alone, I really didn't feel like participating in any of the reindeer games anymore. I was working at Bullock's in the Northridge Mall. The one that caved in on itself in the Northridge Earthquake eight years later. I told my boss at the time to put me on the schedule every Sunday, so I wouldn't have to see this yahoo. Well, that worked for quite some time. When I again showed my face at church, he inquired as to whether I had informed my parents about said indiscretions. No, I didn't feel they needed to know. Well, he, in his infinite wisdom, felt I DID need to tell my parents and informed me that if I did not, he would. He left me no choice. So, I sat my parents down and told them the whole story. Complete with the tell-the-parents threat. While they were glad to have been informed, they were needless to say, rather unimpressed about the way it all came about. And about their daughter taking the ENTIRE blame for the incident. So, we had a meeting. This pastor and his wife, my mom, dad, me, my sister and brother-in-law. In retrospect, I don't know why they were there, but they were. So, here we are, all seven of us, sitting in my parents living room, talking about the way I was counseled (I use the term very loosely here). And this guy went off. How dare my parents question the way he counseled me? Did they not know that he had lots of experience counseling teenagers and dealing with them? How dare they ask why he did what he did? When they told him that they may leave the church over this, he informed them that they could not TELL him they were leaving the church, they must ASK him if they could leave the church. He turned to my dad, who likes to have the whole story before determining his position and blasted him for letting his wife (my mom) do all the talking. Questioned him as to why he would let his wife ask all the questions. The pastor was so angry that he was jumping up and down in my parents house and at one point, slammed his hand against the fireplace in anger, I guess to make his point. The fireplace didn't budge. The rest of us had eyes as big as saucers. Uh, disbelief. Total. Even his wife. Although she hardly said anything as I recall.

This was the beginning of the end. I stopped going to church. This and a couple of other incidents put me over the top. Didn't have a problem with God, just some of the people running the place. I really didn't go back to church hardly at all until we ended up at the CEC. (A few months at another church where they were a startup and the pastor bounced a check to me for $300 for something I bought for the church and then asked if they could make payments on it. That only added fuel to the distrust fire.)

This was also the beginning of the end for this pastor. I believe I was the first in a very long series of people that got verbally abused and mis-treated by him. His "counseling" sessions left a lot to be desired. His ministry, if you can call it that, never recovered. He apparently ended up being demoted in the church hierarchy and eventually ended up being a janitor or something. His current position is somewhat lower on the proverbial totem pole than what I am sure he ever anticipated. Well, you know, when you beat up the sheep instead of trying to protect them, I don't think God looks too kindly upon that.

There was one woman at that church who had severe emotional trauma. Going back to when she was a child. Horrible abuse. She would have flashbacks at inopportune times. She liked to sit in the front of the church so that her mind would not wander and she could concentrate more easily. Well, he did not want her to disrupt the service. To my knowledge she never did. But he told her to sit in the back of the church so she wouldn't bother anybody else. Nice.

He was pastor of that church and living in the house owned by that church. Life was good. Well, he was eventually removed as pastor, had to move out of the house and did a short stint as a car salesman. Talk about change. Don't mess with the sheep.

No, I was not perfect. But I was not the person he made me out to be either. And it had a rather devastating negative effect on my life for about fifteen years or so. Bummer. Glad I found the CEC. God is good. Healing is good.

You can find it too, at www.iccec.org