The bad things

This was easy for me to write. I didn’t think I’d have such ease in speaking about the bad.

Before, I didn’t feel so bad about myself; I suppose I was so distracted with church obligations that I wasn’t able to stop and examine my mistakes in detail or understand the magnitude of my actions.

I filled my church calendar so full of activities that I used it as justification for my stupid attitude toward others, especially my family. And why not use that free pass? All I had to do was back my argument with “I’ve already talked to my leader” so I could ignore my father’s authority and scoff at my mother’s advice. I learned to do exactly what I saw from my authority, who learned from their authority, who learned from the devil, I’m sure.

I paid my tithes so as not to lose my subscription to heavenly blessings; although they didn’t arrive in the way indicated in the pamphlets... perhaps it’s more blessed to administer tithes than to give them. My grandmother used to say, “Whoever distributes and shares gets the best part” and I think that applies beyond food. And from what I know, by order of the pastor… I mean God, a car was gifted to one of his sons and several (unnecessary) more were bought for him; I don’t know how true that is, but if it is, it would be a marvelous story of the pastor’s generosity toward himself.

Loyalty or submission? I used to think they were the same: never questioning anything and doing everything you were told. At 25 years old I have problems making decisions (small and large) and I think it’s partly because all my decisions had to be approved by my church authorities. The beautiful process of self‑discovery, trial and error ended up being a vulgar “God told me to tell you,” “God told me to do it” and on my part an immature “leader, can I do this?”

Commitment or fear? I was sure I was doing it out of love for the cause but, when I try to remember, I see in my past self a fear of being rejected, disciplined, or even excluded from those I loved for saying “no” to some request or order. And that child, afraid of rejection, today is a man who is learning to heal and set healthy boundaries (although I don’t always do it effectively).

Honesty or obedience? I believe that when you're at the lowest level of a power chain, you want to surround yourself with honest people; but as you rise, you replace them with obedient people. I suppose a worship leader prefers people who hide his sexual harassment and protect him to the death, rather than people who confront him and urge him to expose his sin, like any common mortal at the bottom of that dirty pyramid.

I could no longer use the church as an excuse; there was no hustle that hid my bad character; there was no position in leadership that justified my stupid attitude of superiority; I lost the human cover that hid my immoral decisions from distancing myself from my family.
I brought my wounds into the open so that they would form scabs; now they were evident to me and to everyone who saw me.
I stopped buying the dressings sold in my hometown to hide my wounds, and I broke the service perfume I used to mask the bad smell of the rot in my character.

I bared myself, and in front of the mirror I could see the bruises that lay beneath the facade of obedience, meekness, commitment, fidelity... I wish the blows had been more visible; that way I could have sought help earlier.

I’m still healing and I need to get this out.
It was 19 years there—how could I not write about it? About what I know, what I saw, and what I heard. And you should know that I know nothing compared to others.
From the past I rescue various people and moments, which I’ll tell you about another time.
I hope, someday, to see with clarity once this passes. Meanwhile, I will unmask the ghosts of my past.
And, with many errors, I will try to separate truth from myths, what’s real from the appearances hidden in my clouded memory.