Keeping my history from the previous post in mind, let's fast-forward a decade or so...
I graduated from a fairly strict Christian liberal arts university in the late 90s. Attendance included accepting a curfew, a dress code, required daily chapel, no dancing, and, obviously, no partying. It was a situation where, just as you're supposed to be learning to be an adult, you weren't treated as one.
As many evangelical kids do, I got married young, about a year after I graduated from college. While I was lucky enough to marry a really good man, I married into a pastoral life. He was already working at a megachurch in another country, and because the chaos and unpredictable nature of ministry was probably familiar and comforting in some way, I didn't think twice about moving there and joining him. I felt I knew what to expect from a life of ministry, even if it wasn't necessarily what I was called to for myself.
Almost from Day 1, I understood pretty quickly that I didn't fit the mold of a traditional pastor's wife, most especially in a megachurch setting. It became more and more difficult for me to assimilate and pretend to agree with ideas I didn't agree with--or, honestly, even see as biblical. It was harder every day to smile and say I was okay and look like I had it all together. I was dying on the inside because I didn't feel like I could get behind the desire for exponential church growth (why, though?), the prosperity gospel, or the disregard for the mental/emotional health of the staff--the ones who are charged with caring for the hearts of other people, day in and day out.
Because I crave natural quality time and connection, early on in our time there, I tried to get a fun group going. I saw a need for connection amongst the pastoral staff. I planned a couple of nights where we, the pastors, could all just hang out outside of the church setting and get to know each other as real people. That idea lasted one or two times. Most were too busy or didn't see the value in it. Life behind the sparkly, smoke machined, well-lit megachurch curtain was not easy to get used to, especially for someone who loved true connection.
More than once, other people in leadership made remarks to my husband (and even to my parents when they visited the church) about me and how I wasn't fitting into the vision. There were even comments about how my younger brother would be a better choice for the position, like they would have preferred the chance to switch me out and get him. Someone was even assigned to "handle" me, under the guise of mentorship and wanting to know the real me. If it weren't for the handful of people I truly connected with over my time there, and who truly loved me for the me that they saw, I think I would have fully withered on the inside. They are still wonderful friends to this day.
All the while, because I couldn't reconcile some of the things I was seeing with what I felt was what God intended church to be, I slid deeper and deeper into depression. The constantly disgruntled and underappreciated church staff would never have said anything to the head pastors about the issues they saw. We were young adults pastors to a group of young people who had come out of a youth group that had a constant rotation of new youth leaders in and out--they were burned out and didn't trust us. There was a roped-off VIP section at the front of the church during major meetings with security around the guest speakers. There was basically a club for ministers who came to the conferences, and the ones who were generally the biggest in size and donated the most money were considered top tier. There was always the long, drawn-out pre-offering guilt trip reminder that if you give to God (ie. the church), you would get blessings back--also sometimes referred to as "heaven's economy" (aka. prosperity gospel). I also felt there was exploitation of volunteers who came from all over the world to donate their valuable time to the ministry.
I felt stuck, and I just didn't fit anywhere. I was very lonely. In the middle of all of this, two of my grandparents died. I didn't know the city we lived in very well, so I was nervous to go too many places by myself. I was in another country, so it already didn't feel like home. I was away from my friends and family and all the people I had felt spiritually and emotionally connected to. 9/11 happened and I felt so far away from my home country, even though I was only an hour and a half from the border. When I had my first child, I was quickly in the throes of postpartum depression and anxiety before it started being a regular part of the pregnancy and birth discourse.
No comments:
Post a Comment