It Hurts

Some reading this site may have never gone through the pain of being ex-communicated. For you, I include this poem, written by Jan Groenweld, an Australian, who was apparently hurt by an organization similar to the Assembly of the Body of Christ. There are unfortunately many groups in the world just like the ABC. Permission is granted for reprinting this poem provided reference is made to the original source.

I have experienced, or know someone that has experienced, nearly every single emotion of which she has written. In this situation you find yourself suddenly very alone, often angry and filled with grief. Only time heals these deep wounds.

"It Hurts"
By Jan Groenveld
IT HURTS to discover you were deceived - that what you thought was the "one true religion," the "path to total freedom," or "truth" was in reality a cult.

 

IT HURTS when you learn that people you trusted implicitly - whom you were taught not to question - were "pulling the wool over your eyes" albeit unwittingly.

 

IT HURTS when you learn that those you were taught were your "enemies" were telling the truth after all -- but you had been told they were liars, deceivers, repressive, satanic etc and not to listen to them.

 

IT HURTS when you know your faith in God hasn't changed - only your trust in an organization - yet you are accused of apostasy, being a trouble maker, a "Judas". It hurts even more when it is your family and friends making these accusations.

 

IT HURTS to realize their love and acceptance was conditional on you remaining a member of good standing. This cuts so deeply you try and suppress it. All you want to do is forget - but how can you forget your family and friends?

 

IT HURTS to see the looks of hatred coming from the faces of those you love - to hear the deafening silence when you try and talk to them. It cuts deeply when you try and give your child a hug and they stand like a statue, pretending you aren't there. It stabs like a knife when you know your spouse looks upon you as demonized and teaches your children to hate you.

 

IT HURTS to know you must start all over again. You feel you have wasted so much time. You feel betrayed, disillusioned, suspicious of everyone including family, friends and other former members.

 

IT HURTS when you find yourself feeling guilty or ashamed of what you were - even about leaving them. You feel depressed, confused, lonely. You find it difficult to make decisions. You don't know what to do with yourself because you have so much time on your hands now - yet you still feel guilty for spending time on recreation.

 

IT HURTS when you feel as though you have lost touch with reality. You feel as though you are "floating" and wonder if you really are better off and long for the security you had in the organization and yet you know you cannot go back.

 

IT HURTS when you feel you are all alone - that no one seems to understand what you are feeling. It hurts when you realize your self confidence and self worth are almost non-existent.

 

IT HURTS when you have to front up to friends and family to hear their "I told you so" whether that statement is verbal or not. It makes you feel even more stupid than you already do - your confidence and self worth plummet even further.

 

IT HURTS when you realize you gave up everything for the cult - your education, career, finances, time and energy - and now have to seek employment or restart your education. How do you explain all those missing years?

 

IT HURTS because you know that even though you were deceived, you are responsible for being taken in. All that wasted time........ at least that is what it seems to you - wasted time.

THE PAIN OF GRIEF
Leaving a cult is like experiencing the death of a close relative or a broken relationship. The feeling is often described as like having been betrayed by someone with whom you were in love. You feel you were simply used. 

 
There is a grieving process to pass through. Whereas most people understand that a person must grieve after a death etc, they find it difficult to understand the same applies in this situation. There is no instant cure for the grief, confusion and pain. Like all grieving periods, time is the healer. Some feel guilty, or wrong about this grief. They shouldn't -- It IS normal. It is NOT wrong to feel confused, uncertain, disillusioned, guilty, angry, untrusting - these are all part of the process. In time the negative feelings will be replaced with clear thinking, joy, peace, and trust. 

YES - IT HURTS BUT THE HURTS WILL HEAL WITH TIME, PATIENCE & UNDERSTANDING 

There is life after the cult.

Copyright (c) Jan Groenveld Cult Awareness & Information Centre, PO Box 2444, Mansfield, 4122, Australia (61-(0)7-3216 8514)

12-Monroe WA

 

By 1973 "the group" had been growing and changing for about four years. The turmoil over tithe, autonomy and power, while still brewing beneath the surface, was all but invisible to newcomers. Newcomers simply accepted the way things were was how it had always been and had no clue about the previous turmoils. Since the newcomers knew no different they were not seeking to go back to “the old way”. My dad now "back burnered" the disputes festering during this period and that helped end most of the arguments pervasive in the King and Snohomish county area. At the Monroe farm where we moved to, the focus changed to preparations for starting a "traveling ministry" instead of simply moving about the Seattle home groups. My dad also began to devote much of his time to writing and produced several booklets; 17 Ways, Righteousness, Peace and Joy, Concerning Baptism; and papers such as the "Dear Jon Letter" shown below.

Dear Jon Letter

(Click page image above for entire text.)

During Spring Break 1973 my dad was leaving the house and invited me to go with him.  On this venture we went to a bank where he met a man from "the group" named Doug. Doug was a Vietnam veteran who had been severely injured during a surgery gone awry years before. Because of the botched surgery he had received a sizable settlement from the VA and, on several occasions, my dad sought funds from him to keep things going. Doug made frequent “special offerings” for  the requested needs and, on this particular day, we met him at his bank to pick up a check for the purchase of an old school bus. It was my dad's intention to use the bus as a traveling home while ministering state to state. The school bus had been  converted to a camper and he felt it was livable. That plan was immediately vetoed by Yvonne after she took one look inside. The bus would have been great for camping, but full time living would definitely have been primitive. My dad set to work gutting the bus  with a plan to rebuild.

After a few days a man in "the group", Jim, visited the farm to let his Irish Setters run in the pastures. While he was there, my dad showed him the bus, discussed his plan and talked about its deficiencies. Jim walked around the bus, examined all of its details, then simply stated with a smile; "I know how to fix that". By the end of that day the two had cut the bottom off the front door, cut a new door hole near the back and fitted a new main door. It then took two months for my dad and Jim to construct a master bedroom area in the back, a kitchen ahead of that, a tiny bath situated in the middle and to the front were two bunks behind the drivers area for my step-siblings Jon and Lavonne. Later, as Jon and LaVonne became older, two “humps” (as shown in the picture above) were added to the top of bus as loft bedrooms.  On the bus a painted sword tip was initially added to symbolize the “sword of the Lord going out into the land.” This was painted over years later but not added back on.

For me, that spring and final semester of high school went fast. That summer, in July, I would turn eighteen and finally be free. I had only two classes remaining to get my high school diploma, so it abbreviated my school days and I had more spare time. I filled this time mending fences and caring for the herd of cows behind our house.   As graduation approached, the pace of life at the farm became busy as my dad and Yvonne made final preparations for moving into the bus. It was a lengthy process deciding what could go into the bus and what needed to be left behind. The remainders were packed, stored or given away. In May we cleaned up the house for moving out but I was spared me the last few weeks of clean up when I contracted chicken pox and nearly missed commencement.

After commencement there was a small party at a restaurant and, the next morning, my dad drove me to my oldest brothers place in Everett, said a quick goodbye as he dropped me off, then left instructions with my brother he was to teach me how to drive and give me a place to stay. Then he was gone. That same day he and Yvonne and step-siblings finished moving the last things into the bus and hit the road for Grants Pass Oregon. I have many times joked that I never left home, it just moved away from me, but in reality that is exactly what happened.

The Monroe farm brought about the end of an era for me, I was no longer privy to the inner workings of my dad's life. The years of hearing about all the behind-the-scenes turmoil ended and life seemed much more peaceful. I was no longer under Yvonne's constant put downs, name calling and domineering. Many complained about Yvonne’s dominant ways but it is much worse to have lived in the same house.  Where previously I was at three or four meetings per week, I now just attended the usual Thursday Foundation and Saturday Communion meeting. 

It felt good to be free but there were issues. My oldest brother had just returned from Vietnam and, after just a few months living in his apartment, it became clear my staying there was not a good idea. My dad and Yvonne counseled me I should move to Grants Pass Oregon and find work there. I used my final paycheck, and a small amount of savings, to fund my way. I stayed in Grants Pass less than a month because I could not find a job. A man in "the group", Harvey, called and told me he had a job for me in Klamath Falls Oregon at the Winema Hotel. He said I could stay with him and his new wife (also an arranged marriage which went disastrously) until I got settled and found my place to live. So, I moved to K-Falls.

My dad, during this time, moved on to Santa Cruz California from Grants Pass in the bus. There he started three meetings in three homes in three cities. He also had a fourth meeting, monthly, in Paradise CA at the home of a woman named Vivian. Vivian would be responsible for re-introducing one of the stranger doctrines into "the group"; which then persisted for several years...even though it was not actually accepted by most. This doctrine alleged that persons of color were not human but were instead "beasts of the field". They were the same as animals and therefore could not find salvation. This doctrine had shown up in Mountlake Terrace briefly but Vivian was voraciously vocal on the subject and my dad bought in big time. She based this doctrine on the scripture in Genesis which reads:

And the LORD God said unto the serpent, Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the field; upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life: And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel. Genesis 3:14-15

Her take on this scripture was that Satan; the chief "beast of the field"; was a black man, and he had conned "white" Adam and Eve into sinning and... well, it was a very weird teaching but to my, and other peoples, embarrassment dad picked up the ball and ran with it for quite a number of years after that. Vivian had been born and raised in the deep south and was a white supremacist who belonged to a fringe Pentecostal group. How my dad could adopt this teaching was as much beyond me then as it is now.

My dad changed his mind on this subject when a black man named Aubrey; a friend of someone in "the group"; came and asked to be baptized. He held a meeting of a few of the men to determine if this was even possible.  I was at that meeting and the overwhelming consensus was that Aubrey was a man so it was possible. This caused a reversal in his thinking and he baptized Aubrey.

I had lived in K-Falls for about six months when my dad called to tell me that God wanted me to move to Santa Cruz CA to help with his new work. Harvey, and his wife Kathy, were also told that "since God was not blessing K-Falls" they should also move to Santa Cruz. They appointed Harvey as an elder and I moved to Santa Cruz as instructed, pulling the travel trailer I was living in. My dad promised if I moved it to the park where they were staying in the bus he would help me get settled and on my feet financially but after several months a major problem developed in the groups, in all three cities at once, which ended all three meetings overnight.  I never learned of the exact details; but within a week my dad left California completely. He drove the bus back up to the Seattle area and parked it at Apex Airpark. 

Apex airpark was a private airstrip / housing community in Silverdale WA owned by a woman named Roberta Walker.  Roberta had opened her home, and property, to "the group" and held meetings in her home. I remained in Santa Cruz but, a short time later, Harvey and his wife also moved away leaving me alone there, with little money, working part time as a dishwasher and unable to buy food. One of my neighbors in the RV park, and the assistant manager of the restaurant where I worked, helped me out with food while I applied for food stamps but it became clear I could not stay in Santa Cruz. I called my dad to see what I should do. Move to Silverdale, he counseled, but more on that in a later post.

In my next post I will cover the origins of a major doctrine of control used by the ABC and brings about the doctrine of "body council".

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