"Friendly Fire"

Photo by Igovar Igovar

Dredging Up the Past

Have you ever dealt with something and just wanted to forget it even happened?

During one of my sessions with my therapist, which has been helping me deal with my panic attacks associated with me being assaulted, she threw out this statement:  "I think you're also dealing with PTSD associated with how The Salvation Army treated you, too."

Red warning lights went up. My brain immediately said, "Don't go there!"

And I knew it was true.

I experienced "Friendly Fire" from the only Army that boasts to have no weapons.

The Warnings

Before I became an officer (a pastor) in The Salvation Army, I had two people pull me aside and warn me against it. One had been a missionary to Germany, like I had been, and told me that the field in Germany was extremely difficult and was filled with a lot of heartache and loneliness.  The other was my mother, who, herself, was (and is) an officer. She warned me that I didn't realize how hard and difficult it would be for me.

This was right before I entered our seminary, which is called the College for Officer Training.

I wish I had listened to them then.

What was the Abuse?

Lack of Personal Time

It was little things that sometimes developed into bigger things. As an officer, my time was not my own. When I lived in Germany, it could often be counted on that I had at least one day off per week. Usually this was Monday. When I came back to the United States, this was harder to figure out. I would try to take Saturdays off, but invariably Salvation Army events would be planned for that Saturday where I was required to attend.

With no days off, I got burned out quickly. My work day was rarely 40 hours per week. It often was more like 60 hours, if not more.

No Legal Standing of Employment

As an officer, I was compensated with an allowance, but I had to sign a legal document stating that there was no employment relationship between The Salvation Army and me. Rather it was a "spiritual" relationship. Looking back on this, I realize now how terrible of a situation this was and the fallout from my termination as an officer left me with no legal recourse, even if I wanted to pursue one (which I didn't).

When I was terminated, my pension, home (which was a parsonage), transportation, etc., were all taken away.

One might say that I voluntarily signed up for this. Yes, this is true, but it still led to a very abusive relationship with The Salvation Army.

No Freedom of Thought

My divisional commander (which is akin to a bishop) would monitor my social media posts. There was one point where I voluntarily agreed not to post anything that would seem to negatively speak out against The Salvation Army. I abandoned the group I had formed for Progressive Salvationists and curtailed my social media to just photos of my family and talking about my jogging. My divisional commander even monitored what articles I read and what I "liked." In my termination papers, he stated that he didn't think I had really changed because of what I was liking on social media. (They wanted to see whether or not I was still progressive.)

My personnel secretary (akin to an HR director) called me a heretic for stating that the Bible is rarely clear on matters of sexuality.

No One Holds Them Accountable

When I was going through a divorce, which triggered my termination as an officer, my defense had to be submitted to a nebulous Officer Review Board, which I was not allowed to meet in person because they were made up of my peers. Any appeal I made had to be submitted to our International Headquarters in London, which is not an easy task to accomplish.

I gave up.

It's Not All Black and White

To characterize The Salvation Army as totally evil would be a misrepresentation of the facts. They are not completely evil. They do a lot of good work, which I was a part of and which I will always cherish as some of the best things I ever did. They formed the spiritual foundation of my life and gave me a love of music that I hold dear to this day.

But . . .

When I became different to them, when I was outed as a bisexual person, I was tossed to the side.

As a soldier (layperson) of The Salvation Army, I found no welcome in my local congregation. I had to fight to become a member.

At that point, I knew that if I had to fight to become a member, then I really don't belong any more.

Little Things Trigger Me

I just realized at how upset I get when I am confronted with anything Salvation Army related in my day-t0-day life. I saw a notice that the Chicago Staff Band would be doing a concert near me. There are many progressive Salvationists in that band, even an openly gay member, but I don't know if I could feel at ease at all watching them perform.

A report about The Salvation Army in Lexington, Kentucky, whose congregation I attended as a college student, recently gave a horrible anti-LGBTQ sermon. I saw that and was furious.

I will drive by a thrift store and see that red shield, and I'm reminded again of what was done to me.

What happens now?

I will continue my therapy. I will seek help through this as I work through the trauma I underwent. I doubt The Salvation Army will ever apologize to me. As a top-down hierarchy, it is very difficult to enact any change, unless it comes from the top. The current general recently said some unsavory things towards the LGBTQ+ community. Several letters of complaint were sent to him, as well as a petition, but there has been no response from the International Headquarters.

I'd love to forget everything that happened to me. That would be such a gift.

Forgiving is even a harder thing to do, especially when the other side believes they did no wrong.

I will keep on living, taking one breath at a time.

Maybe that's all I can do.

Dealing With Doubt

Image by chenspec from Pixabay 

Being Vulnerable

Judging by the readership of my blog, I shouldn't be too concerned with being vulnerable. My blog has mostly been for my own benefit and not for others. I am, of course, happy when others do read the blog and it has surprised me at just what sparks everyone's interest. I have discovered that what interests me most tends to be uninteresting for others and what I consider to be innocuous turns into a huge blaze of controversy.

So maybe I'm not the best judge on these issues.

Still . . .

I have been plagued with doubts:  doubts mostly dealing with my faith. I miss being certain about what I believe.

Evangelized by Mormons

I once read an article by the philosopher, Peter Rollins, who hosted something he called "The Evangelism Project." It is a unique take and perspective. Instead of going to other communities to evangelize, one goes to a community to be evangelized. I found the concept fascinating. Instead of telling other people what is wrong with the world, we listen to them tell us what they like about the world and what they think of us and what they can bring to us.

So I did this on my own and allowed myself to be evangelized by Mormons. (Apparently they don't like being called Mormon anymore after their prophet gave them a new revelation.) These young missionaries came to tell me about their views and their beliefs and what they think God would have them do. They were openly candid about their belief in the pre-existence of the soul and that they did not hold to a trinity they way traditional Christians do. They asked if I had any questions for them. I asked them what they thought was wrong with this world and how their Church could help. I asked them what they thought was right with this world. I asked them for their favorite scriptures passages from the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Book of Mormon. Then I asked them why they were part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, besides being born into it.

What I discovered was that these were young men who really hadn't been tried in their faith yet. They were extremely friendly, but seemed uncertain as to some aspects of their faith. Their faith hadn't been tested yet. There's nothing wrong with that. I admired their commitment to the faith and their willingness to say they didn't know the answers to some of my questions (especially when I brought up the controversy surrounding their Book of Abraham).

Then I realized that I was probably no better than them when I was their age. I was all sorts of arrogant in my preconceived notions.

What am I doubting?

I am perhaps going through a crisis of faith right now. This is to be expected.

I reach out, trying to touch God, to somehow feel God through prayer and meditation. Nothing happens. I feel nothing.

I watch a friend slowly die of cancer, desperately clinging to his faith, but in the end still dies, having to be sedated to relieve his pain. He prayed to God to heal him, but he wasn't healed of his cancer and succumbed to death. I heard many people give out platitudes, saying his suffering is over and he's no longer in pain, but he's also dead and died in pain. That death had no beauty in it for me.

Is God even there? If God is there, I certainly don't believe that God is all-powerful (omnipotent) or all-knowing (omniscient). As someone who subscribes to panentheism, I can have some hope that God is everywhere (omnipresent).

History repeats itself.

Growing up I often heard the phrase, "History repeats itself," and "no one listens to their elders." So I thought, "What would it be like if we actually did listen to our elders?" So I tried it out. Often times this worked out quite well, but I also lived quite a bland life. The only "outrageous" thing I did was bring my Bible to school. I rarely dated. I went to few dances and had actually very few friends.

Maybe it was because I risked nothing and tried to learn from the mistakes of what previous people did.

I love the TV series, "Star Trek: The Next Generation." One of my favorite episodes is called "Tapestry." In it the main character, Captain Picard, has a life threatening injury that damages his artificial heart. He got the artificial heart when he was a foolish and brash young cadet, who got into a bar fight. Since then he regretted that bar fight and had to live with the consequences of those actions. While unconscious, he is given the opportunity to reverse that decision and go back into time to that bar fight. When the time comes, he avoids the fight altogether and it warps his future. Instead of being a captain of a starship, he is a junior grade science lieutenant, who never advanced his career and never took risks. Although he avoided getting the artificial heart, his own life become a life of mediocrity.

I often think about that show when thinking about my past. I rarely took risks and ended up with a life of mediocrity. It was only when I took risks that my life experienced challenge and excitement.

What does that have to do with anything?

As I think on all this, I realize just how risky it is to doubt about the existence of God, to doubt about eternal life, immortality, and what happens when we die. I am scared to think that God doesn't exist. I am frightened when I think of dying and no longer existing in consciousness. I am afraid to confront the evidence of the non-existence of God.

Some people who are more secure in their faith criticize me for this. That's fine. They can do this.

There are times when I do see the divine, rare as it may be. I try to recapture it, but it is elusive, fleeting, temporal.

I felt close to God when I was meditating by doing a body scan. It was mind-bending, overwhelming, and left me filled with wonder. When I tried to re-create that scenario, it wasn't quite the same as before.

I felt God at the birth of my children, feeling an overwhelming sense of love that overcame any other sense I had known. It is hard to describe the love for your child unless you have had that same experience before.

I often saw God in unexpected places, just like the story of the Good Samaritan, in non-believers:  in atheists, agnostics, and Satanists. I saw God in the devoutness of a Muslim praying at the break of dawn, or whirling in a Sufi trance. I saw God in the tattoo of my friend, which only held coordinates of a Buddhist temple he once meditated at for 4 hours.

But then I saw hate . . . 

I saw hate in the message from a superior in my former denomination, who told me that he stalked me on social media, seeing which posts I like to determine just what type of Christian I was.

I saw hate in the message from my former pastor, who told me I could worship with them at his congregation, but not be a member.

I saw hate from a group of members of my former church, who felt it was their duty to gossip about me and felt it was their duty to weed out undesirable people in that denomination. They certainly succeeded with me.

I saw hate in the drunken eyes of the man who choked me for being bisexual, who wanted to "beat the homosexuality out of me" like a "dog in a cage."

I saw hate in the words of my termination as an ordained minister of The Salvation Army, stripping away the identity I had.

The vast majority of reasons I have for not believing in God come from those who say they love God. It is that hypocrisy I cannot stand. They say they love God, but then shun a whole group of people because of their orientation.

They say they love God, but then call for the death of other people because of their belief system.

They say they love God, but worship a Flag in God's place, pledging allegiance to a country that murders millions with the push of a button.

A friend once told me that he and I don't worship the same God. At first I was saddened because I thought of this man as a brother in faith, but then I realized that in some way I was glad. I didn't like his God, who would condemn the vast majority of humanity to eternal conscious torment for not believing in the right way. What use do I have for a God like that?

My Mantra

Anne Lamott has this quote I have mentioned before and has become a mantra for me:  "The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty."

And while I see the truth in this statement, sometimes it brings me no comfort. The anguish remains and the doubt plagues at my heart, unforgiving in its relentlessness. The loneliness of this world in the paradox of social media overwhelms me sometimes. 

I don't have a happy ending for this blog. One thing I do realize, though, is that if my faith and the practice of my faith does not make this world or myself any better, then that faith is useless. It is totally worthless and a sham.

My doubt is part of my faith. I don't think I would have any faith without it.