Reading the Bible Again
Reflections in the aftermath of Spiritual Abuse.
It was the first time I’d opened a Bible in eight months.
I got through one chapter. Then two.
Words like “whore” and “nakedness” jarred my spirit, and I had to close it.
I shoved it beneath the chair, and a month passed before I remembered it was there.
Strange, this book I loved so much is difficult to even see. The study Bibles and chronological Bibles and theological books representing things like “Atonement” line my shelf, but I can barely look at them.
This book was my companion every day. It soothed my soul. It helped me talk to God.
Now I wonder when the day will come when I’ll feel that way again. Will I feel that way again?
Wondering, today, is different than worrying. Many a well-meaning friend has worried at my inability to read my Bible or attend any sort of formal service. They are worried because they (like many of us) were taught these things were a sign of faith.
It makes sense the lack of these things might signal a loss of faith to these well-meaners.
There was a time not long ago I might have engaged their anxiety, but I do not feel the need right now. I demand their patience. They can wait one year, or five years, or ten years. They can wait, as I do, for the return of this affection.
For it will return, I believe. There are already some glimpses of that return. I find myself surprised by it—as perhaps someone who’s lost a dear, close, loved one finds themselves surprised when they feel happiness again.
I glimpse the return when I hear an old familiar phrase and I am not jolted with an internal clenching that leads to spasms, unceasing, until I have breathed my way through it.
I feel a glimpse of affection return when I am grateful for this breath.
Sadness turns to anger. Anger to pain. Then back again. I know the cycles of grief. Round and round the cycle goes. While the force may lessen with time, the cycle will never cease.
I grieve the wicked men who made me hate this God I love.
I have experienced Spiritual Abuse in many contexts, but there are two chronic cases in my life. I grew up in a bible-based, familial cult system that used the Bible and God to keep me and others in bondage to fear and shame. It used the Bible and God to cover a dozen other types of abuse.
Many years later, I found myself in an abusive church system. I was degraded and demeaned. Verbally, psychologically, and emotionally abused. Finally, I was betrayed, and used as a scapegoat for the maliciousness of others.
Such experiences take a toll on someone’s soul, and no matter how strong a person’s “faith” you do not escape such experiences unscathed.
I am no exception.
Photo by Philippe Bourhis on Unsplash