truth. justice. & the american way

I have a skewed relationship with truth, justice, and the American way. I grew up in a home that valued all of these things, and whenever there was a debate/argument outside our house, the story would usually be retold within our walls, favoring the teller. If there were an unresolved conflict due to the debate or any chance that the teller had to get “forceful” about their point of view, the teller would simply justify their action as, “Well, you know, truth, justice, and the American way.” I grew up in a home where certainty was valued above all else. Our certainty stemmed from biblical truths, which in turn originated from our church. Our church, as I see it now, was built on power and control. We were encouraged to be good soldiers for our faith and never back down to the “enemy”. Sometimes, the enemy might even be among us, in our church, our home, or even our very best friend. I was taught that the enemy was anyone who disagreed with the truth being taught at our particular church by our particular leadership. Some outside influence was allowed as long as those men were on a very specific list. The list would sometimes be updated, and we would be notified. As a child, I learned not to question authority. Whatever they told me, I believed as truth. I took on the persona of the “good girl,” and I wore that badge proudly. My church taught me it was acceptable, even favorable to God, to hate a certain people group. So I hated them. All in the name of truth. My church demanded justice when something didn’t go their way in local or national government. So I stood with them, demanding something be done with this sinful world. My church displayed the American flag right beside the Christian flag, and I proudly recited both pledges, vowing to give my life for God and country. 

When my father was diagnosed with cancer, the year I turned eight years old, I joined the church leadership to wonder what great sin he must have committed to be punished by God in this way. Later that summer, when I was sexually abused the first time, I sought God with my whole, tender heart about what horrible sin I was committing, and that this was my punishment. I’ll do better. Be better. Please God, don’t send me to the bad place.

By the time I’d graduated from high school, I was ready. I’d committed the verse and its meaning deep into my heart: 

I Peter 3:15, “But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear:”

I went into my adult years equipped. I was a good, Christian soldier. I knew what I knew and believed what I believed. The enemy better watch out.

My adult experience with my type of churches is that faith is finite. You receive your free gift of salvation somewhere along the line and then … bam … you’re in. Sure, if this happened after childhood, you have some Jonah and the Whale type stories to catch up on. But there’s a finite amount of information taught from the pulpit. During my twenties and thirties, intermixed with raising two children and clinging to an abusive marriage, I was taught things at church; however, I’m now realizing I never grew. What was taught was the same story, just packaged in a new and exciting way. Serve the church, serve your family, and look neither to the left nor to the right. Think exactly this way and do not question authority. Look down on this whole population of people, and here’s how to do it really well without them noticing. Except come to find out, they noticed. You must protect certainty at all costs. Wonder and awe do not exist. 

According to shame researcher, Brene Brown, love and belonging are hardwired into everyone. We yearn to matter to people. Brene Brown defines love in this way:

“We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honour the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection. 

Love is not something we give or get, it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves. 

Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal and the withholding of affection damages the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare”.

I  resonate with this definition as something I yearned for my entire life from my religious community. However, I’m a social Enneagram one who grew up in severe abuse and dysfunction. As a result, give me a rule and a box to fit in, and I will jump in without ever even noticing I’m in there, much less try to find my way out. When someone in my life models black-and-white thinking or certainty, I tend to follow that person wherever they lead. Through my 20s and 30s, I read my Bible and prayed, but it was with my own all-knowing arrogance that God wasn’t even invited. I joined my community in singing and saying, “Holy Spirit, you are welcome here.” However, none of us stopped doing long enough to hear what He could be saying to us. There was no fellowship with a triune God because we had all the answers, and there wasn’t anything He could add to our lives. 

Now and then, something stirred in my soul as a dissension of what I was hearing. I’d be pulled in a direction that I knew my church wouldn’t welcome. Sometimes my heart would break for someone in the group I’d been taught to hate. Frankly, sometimes my heart would break for myself. I would dip my toe into speaking out against what was happening, and just as quickly, remove it when I received swift backlash from my community. It’s been my experience that people, and I am one of these people, want to belong so strongly that reasonable thought is given up. My need to belong was too strong to go against the groupthink. 

Again, as Brene Brown notes, shame thrives in silence, secrecy, and judgment.  

Eventually, the shame that permeated my body and my need to belong no matter the cost fought an epic battle in my soul, and thankfully, God won. He woke me up. 

This awakening took me down a lonely path of deconstruction. I decided that everything I knew about God and religion was going to get torn down. My foundation was God. He’s the constant. Everything else had to go—support beams, decorations, lights, windows, everything. Slowly, standing firm on the concrete foundation of God, I researched and studied Genesis, and a support wall began to emerge. Again, I poured myself into the Gospels and sat there a long time. The Sermon on the Mount took me a year. Four sturdy walls were built that could support a roof. I took no one’s word for anything, yet I heard from everyone. I weighed the opinions and the Greek. I leaned heavily into Jesus’ words. I removed all certainty from my body. I said, “I don’t know,” and wrapped those three words around myself like a weighted blanket. I don’t know, grounded me – it still grounds me. 

The church wasn’t happy with me. I lost friends. I had hateful things said behind my back and to my face. Numerous people told me that they’re praying for me. They’re concerned I’m not even saved. Look at my fruit – it’s rotten. How dare I go against the leadership? What exactly is my problem? Losing my community was the most painful experience of my life. And the most freeing. 

Then I moved, got cancer, met new people, and started attending a new church. The loneliness of disease and living in a new place facilitated the toxic yearning for belonging. Suddenly, God wasn’t enough anymore; I needed God’s people. This new church was better and allowed much more free expression of religious practice. But it wasn’t perfect (no church is), and it wasn’t too long until I fell into old patterns. I shut my mouth against gossip and cover-up. I wanted to be a part of the cool kids’ table. Then, I lied to 46 people. I own this. I did it because I was told to, it was for the best, and it was part of the script. Six days later, while part of a woman’s conference, God took hold of my heart and ever so gently said, “Amee, you lied to 46 people.” Due to my reconstructed God house, I’d been hearing from and allowing God into my life, I listened to that gentle rebuke and blew my life up again.  Thankfully, my God house was built. I just had to walk back in the door and sit on the couch. I repented to God. I sought amends the best I could. And I eventually allowed myself to be removed from that community.

God is so good to me. Right now, I’m having the time of my life. Not to be too fantastical about things, but colors are brighter, smells are more fragrant. Just yesterday, I was hiking in a nature preserve and had to stop and breathe in the scents of the forest. It smelled green. Green is my favorite color to look at and to smell. Through the practice of centering prayer, my mind’s chaos quiets. I hear God clearly. I feel His love. I’m brave to follow His leading even when it seems to be going against the flow. Well, brave 90% of the time. I mess up, and He welcomes me back with love. I apologize to the people in my life as often as needed. I see the world for what it is. God shows me the root of someone’s pain. 

Recognizing the root of someone’s pain is beneficial because, as it turns out, many people are struggling without a sense of community. Or, they’re hanging on with everything they have to a community that doesn’t see them or love them. People are hurting – physically, spiritually, emotionally. Brene Brown teaches that shame cannot exist where empathy is present. I’ve noticed that empathy has gotten a bad rap recently. I have some theories about this …

A great deal can be learned about empathy. Brown offers a brief description using these four principles:

1. Perspective taking, or putting yourself in someone else’s shoes.
2. Staying out of judgment and listening.
3. Recognizing emotion in another person that you have maybe felt before.
4. Communicating that you can recognize that emotion.

Empathy was what I needed to overcome my shame. I had to find people who were willing to step inside my pain without judgment. Who were willing to say, “I don’t know your exact lived experience, but I remember what it’s like to feel something similar.” I needed people who say, “Me too.” I need people who are comfortable with “I don’t know.” I’ve found a small community that offers me these things. I offer them right back.

Several years ago, right in the middle of my deconstruction, I received a phone call from an old friend. She’d recently left her church and was shocked at how her friends quickly turned their backs on her. It was my privilege to walk alongside her in her grief. Following that phone call, I received a Facebook message from another acquaintance asking if I’d be willing to meet with her a couple of times to talk about some hurt she’d recently experienced in her church. We began meeting, and she asked if I’d meet with a friend of hers who was struggling in her marriage. And then that friend asked if I would meet with her friend. As part of my sexual assault advocacy career, I was certified in trauma life coaching, and all of a sudden, a small ministry was born. I now meet with men and women who are struggling with faith, marriage, gender roles, and all-around struggles that come with being human. I don’t offer them anything magical – just empathy surrounding their situations and holding space for them to process and plan what they’d like their lives to look like.

I’m excited about some things God is developing in my life. Every decision is shrouded in the question of how it serves to love God or my neighbor better.

Not in a morbid way, but in an informative way, I was recently thinking about what I would like to be said about me at my funeral.  I would be honored if someone stood up and said, “She tried to love God well, and I know He loved her. I didn’t always agree with her, but she always made me think. Her love showed me the way to God.”