Image of my brother David and I in 1973.
I remember as it clearly as a six-year-old, being kicked out of class for asking the Anglican Minister to bring Jesus in so I could see he was real. But it wasn’t until very recently that I learned just how livid that minister was for what I’d said—as a child.
Now I guess you could call that an abuse, but this article is actually about my father, and the spiritual abuse he suffered as an atheist at the hands of this minister.
My mother and father had, like ourselves, lost a baby daughter (Debbie) to stillbirth in isolated North-western Australia in September 1973. Living in a small mining town 1,000 miles away from family meant a heavy reliance on whatever support one can find. The church seemed the logical place.
Mum was invited to Bible studies at the minister’s home under his wife’s leadership. She really enjoyed these times as she was with a friend she’d grown up with who had also lost one of her children. She felt supported.
But it wasn’t until recently that I discovered that my father actually spent a considerable amount of time with the minister; enough time to have chatted at some length about matters of faith, loss, suffering and theodicy.
Now, you need to know that my father is the quietest and gentlest of souls, sensitive emotionally (in a very good way), and has always been very kind and selfless, and a person me and my two brothers consider as the best kind of husband for our mother. I’ve often wished I could be half the husband than my Dad is.
What occurred was, within these discussions, whatever care was needed was pushed to one side, because the minister couldn’t (or wouldn’t) work with an atheist. Given my Dad’s personality, he would hardly have challenged the minister, nor would he have sought the minister out. Yet, somehow they spent some time together.
The result of this time spent together somehow reinforced my father’s resistance and he remained an atheist. The minister wouldn’t step into our home if Dad was there, and Mum had to convince the minister that Dad should attend the baptismal service at the church where Mum and us three boys were all baptised. But the minister insisted Dad sit right at the back and not take any part in that service.
It shouldn’t have amazed me that this happened to my family, but it angers me that right at the time when my family needed support and the love of Jesus most, a minister put other things first.
That minister should have pastorally cared for my Dad. And when he failed to do that, because Dad wasn’t exactly being cooperative because of what his heart was saying, he withdrew what could have been precious support, and support that could actually have wooed my Dad toward the faith. Think of the potentially difficult situation that may have placed Mum in; she wanted to take part in her faith, but the minister wouldn’t work with her husband. All this in the midst of a couple grieving the loss of their daughter.
That is spiritual abuse, folks; that you have a vulnerable family in need of support, and the minister, as a helping professional, putting his own frustrations into the foreground.
This kind of experience polarised my Dad. It’s where the words came from out of me as a six-year-old (prove Jesus is real). It’s where my brothers and other family are at (i.e. resistant to faith). All because one minister decided he needed things done his way, not the Holy Spirit’s way.
Lesson for ministers: have faith in God, that as you sow your care, your care will make a difference. Will you be assisting everyone toward salvation? No. But that’s not what God’s called you to do. God wins the souls. You’re the faithful worker. Trust that your care will make a difference. Keep it simple. It’s what you’re there to do, not cause more pain.
Be faithful… and humble… and don’t offend people so they’re turned off faith. You don’t know when they’ll be open to God, but if the door’s already locked shut, your Lord never stood a chance.
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