I wrote this post after observing the damage that occurs when religious authority is wielded by individuals or groups who may have credentials but are otherwise no more compassionate or wise than anyone else. The need to address this form of religious abuse is one of the reasons I became a Spiritual Advisor.
To be specific, throughout my theological training, I’ve witnessed groups of chaplains, regional ministers, religious students, religious evaluators and accreditors, and board members. Although many were humane and sincere, some were not. If the leader was not calm, compassionate and with an ego in check, these groups behaved uncharitably and immaturely. I observed all of the following, and I’m not the only one. Ronald Enroth, in his book about church abuse, Agnes and John Lawless in their book The Drift into Deception, Teresa Pasquale, quoted below, and Dr. Marlene Winell in her article “Religious Trauma Syndrome: It’s Time to Recognize it” also cite them, as well as other characteristics.
- Negativity, bullying, and dispensing judgment as if they and their opinions were infallible.
- They gossiped and spread dissension.
- They were self-righteous and operated as a pack rather than as thoughtful individuals.
- Shouted arguments, attempts to pull down the leader through subversive machinations, and ganging up on those they perceived as wrong occurred far too often—in five out of the eight groups to which I belonged. I want to stress that these were standard denominations that included Methodists, Protestants, Episcopalians, Unitarian Universalists, Buddhists and non-dualistic groups. It’s not usually the denomination that’s to blame (at least, not any of the above)—it’s the leadership or individual members of groups.
The Results of Religious Abuse
Teresa Pasquale is the Clinical Director of a trauma and addiction treatment program in Florida. She fills her book Sacred Wounds with client anecdotes of both intentional and unintentional religious abuse—meaning church abuse as well as abuse from religious cults. She also lists the many ways this aggression damaged them. They are listed below.
- nightmares
- flashbacks
- hypervigilance
- exaggerated startle response
- anxiety
- panic attacks
- anger
- grief
- trust and intimacy issues
- isolation
- guilt
- numbing
- disassociation
As you can see, the list is extensive and a little intimidating. So, which healing and coping methods are most helpful? First to mind comes an exercise that is essentially the practice of mindfulness: We distance ourselves from overwhelming emotions by grounding in the present moment, by calm breathing, and by focusing on a nearby object, thought, body part, or respiration. It’s go-to when extreme emotion threatens to untether us.
But real pain impacts us on many levels and sometimes for many years, so it requires a multi-pronged approach. Here are other methods, many of them mentioned by Teresa Pasquale, for recovering from religious abuse:
- The creation of rituals and ceremonies can provide a new sense of structure and security—especially when we’re no longer part of a community that provided the same sense of security.
- Advocacy helps us find meaning in our experiences. We can decide they weren’t just a wasted portion of our lives because we’re wiser now and helping others because of them.
- Speaking of our experience helps integrate it within a narrative of which we’re the storyteller rather than the victim. This helps us regard ourself not as a victimized character but as the creator of our own story. True, the story was sabotaged along the way, but we’ve reclaimed it, have learned the story’s lesson, and can plan for a different ending.
- But perhaps one of the most widely recognized ways to recover from not only trauma, but addiction, grief, and abuse is attending a support group. In this type of communal setting, we recognize we’re not alone. Of special significance is that we often share not just our pain, but the shame we feel for being so “gullible” or “passive” that we became victims in the first place.
There are, of course, a multitude of other ways to promote self-healing from religious abuse, including journaling, physical exercise, and goal setting. But at the end of it all, whether it takes months or years, we find that we’ve reconstructed ourselves.
For some, this evolution requires eschewing organized religion altogether. As Pasquale, who is Christian, explains, “I have found that as long as my faith—personal, fragile, and vulnerable—is not run by any institution or people group, then my heart can stay focused on God, Christ, and Holy Spirit, and I can take human fallibility for what it is—a necessary ingredient in the journey, even and especially when it hurts” (p. 20).
For others, it means finding a flexible group that is supportive of individual responses to spiritual promptings. For still others, it means remaining separate from groups, but involved in spiritual friendships.
Whichever way we choose, our self-image and “way of being” change. More cautious than before the religious abuse—at least regarding others’ opinions and demands—we tread a path that is continually adjusting its path because we now understand that change which leads to growth is part of spirituality. And pain, of course, is often a prerequisite to growth.
Is this an uncomfortable truism? Why, yes it is. Be that as it may, we should learn to embrace it, for through pain we become aware of and humbled by our vulnerability as well as by our capacity to heal. And if realizing this is not wisdom, what is?