I was born in the 1970's, and the only memories I have about the first
26 years of my life are completely dominated by the
Worldwide Church of God and
Philadelphia Church of God. It
was my mother who had been "searching for the truth" for most of her life
and after tasting varying denominations and flavours of Christianity (and
discarding them) stumbled across the writings of
Herbert W. Armstrong and decided
"Finally, here's what I've been looking for!" and became a member of the
WCG. She, like so many others, was unshakably convinced that she was one
of the specially "called, elect of God," attending the "one true church on
earth," and gave HWA and his ministers an almost unnatural reverence as
the vessels through which "God's" revelation was delivered.
Before long, we were all being bundled into the car and taken down to the
local school hall every Saturday morning to be "privileged" enough to
begin our spiritual education. I think I was about five or six years old,
and my siblings a year older, and three years younger. To say that our
lives would be forever impacted by my mother's decision is an
understatement of celestial magnitude!
My younger years are still a little hazy. I only have fragmented images in
my mind of at one time hunting in the garden for brightly-colored eggs,
opening birthday presents and looking at the images on our TV every
December of a jolly person in a red and white suit, and being filled with
an overwhelming sense of excitement and wonder. These images and memories,
and of course the feelings associated with them, would soon dissipate and
vanish like vapour on a hot afternoon. What would replace them would be
feelings of confusion, isolation, self-loathing, but most of all fear.
Going to "church" every Saturday as a young child was simply torturous!
There were about 400 in attendance in our local congregation, and I
remember looking around at all the stern, somber faces of the adults, as
they dutifully took notes and listened to the minister droning on,
thinking that this was something I should some day aspire to. What about
the other children in the congregation? I dare not look at them during the
sermon lest we start making faces at each other, or engage in any other
activity to make the two plus hours go by, which might distract either the
minister from speaking, or the adults from writing. Having children who
misbehaved was, of course, an enormous stigma for any parent who would be
reprimanded by the minister for having a less than iron-grip control on
their kids, and so the threat of retribution by a publicly embarrassed
parent was always high! I remember my mother didn't even allow us to go to
the toilet during the sermon lest it reflect badly on her parenting
skills. So sometimes we just had to sit
there trembling with a full-to-bursting bladder until at least the closing
hymns.
It wasn't until much later in life that I realised that these restless
children weren't being naughty, they were just doing what children do to
keep themselves amused--I mean, how much coloring can one kid do before he
gets bored?
Once the sermon was finally over, the fellowship time afterwards was
hardly a write-home-about event! We, of course, still had to conduct
ourselves in a godly manner considering we were still in "God's
house"--definitely no playing or running around. Unsurprisingly, the only
friends I had as a child were those of my own age at services, and I only
got to see them once a week. What a shame I couldn't play with them. Tea
and coffee was served, including juice and cookies for the children--which
we eagerly lined up for, but woe betide anyone who had the audacity to
line up for seconds! That was left for the adults. I remember thinking
that the best thing about going to services was the juice and cookies, and
I'm sure I wasn't the only one.
When it was time to go home (which seemed almost never at times as there
seemed to be some sort of competition among the adults as to who could
stay at services the longest), we had to endure lectures from our mother
as to how naughty we'd been, and how she'd never been so embarrassed,
etc., and we'd all say sorry, and promise to be good next week. (For years
to come, I would engage myself in a fruitless enterprise of trying to be
as "perfect" as "God's" ministers were, and make my mother proud of me).
Arriving back at home provided no reprieve, because it was still the
Sabbath (until sunset) and we couldn't go and play outside, or sit down in
front of the TV--but we
could busy ourselves with completing our Y.E.S. and later Y.O.U. Bible
lessons. Exciting stuff! Protesting made no difference, as more often than
not the only reply forthcoming was, "You want to end up in the lake of
fire, do you?" Words fail me to describe what the threat of such
unimaginable suffering does to the mind of an impressionable youth!
As if the weekly Sabbath wasn't enough, there were the annual Sabbaths.
More "church" that lasts all day??!! At least you got a decent lunch, but
of course nothing with even the hint of anything that's been anywhere near
a pig, shellfish, or non cud-chewing-cloven-hoofed beast during its
lifetime. Many of us succumbed to our "evil, selfish, human natures" and
ate too much during these feast days (more shame for Mom) and could barely
keep awake during the afternoon service (more embarrassment,
more threats). This was another area in which there appeared to be some
competition among the brethren who could bake the most elaborate and
delicious dishes and desserts. (You could imagine the prestige if the
minister picked the desert you brought over everyone else's!) This kind of
attitude was somehow not considered pride, however, as it was expected
that you presented your best effort to "please God!" The least favourite
annual Sabbaths were always going to be Day of Atonement (who wants to go
hungry for 24 hours?) and the opposite, Days of Unleavened Bread (where
you get to eat nothing but "plywood" for a week and the pleasure of
two
holy days to look forward to).
Then there were the difficulties of being alienated from your peers at
school and certainly members of your extended family who cut off all
further contact for your strange unorthodox beliefs. No Easter, no
Christmas, no bragging rights as far as birthday presents were concerned,
being away from school so many times to go to "church" so often, eating
strange lunches (more "plywood"); not being able to show interest in any
sport, musical or other extra curricular activities because these were all
just "worldly pursuits," which didn't matter because we're all going to
a place of safety soon anyway.
Soon? How soon? --Just soon.
One became acclimatised to one's environment after a while--a "there's no
sense fighting it, cause you won't win" mentality infiltrated its way into
one's mind sooner or later, so you didn't fight, or think, or reason or
anything really. You cocooned yourself off from everyone and everything
with no ambitions and no desires, waiting for that magical phone call:
"Time for everyone to flee folks. I know some of you have been waiting for
a very long time. Thanks for being so patient." I guess I gave up waiting
for that phone call.
I couldn't imagine the financial burden the WCG would come to exact on our
family. My Dad didn't go to services, but he was a man who loved his wife
very much and would support the decisions she made regarding our spiritual
upbringing, It was turning us into obedient, compliant, respectful people
after all--no wonder, with the amount of exposure to the "church" we had. No point complaining to him about our reservations because he would
support her, reminding us that children were supposed to "obey your mother
and father." Secretly though, he hated the WCG with every fiber of his
being, seeing that he also had to miss out on Christmas, birthdays, Easter
etc. My mother worked very hard, but didn't earn much money, so after her
tithes were paid, there wasn't much left. Poor Dad, time for him to spend
more money he didn't really have, time to take out yet another extension
on the mortgage, so that we could travel to the
Feast of Tabernacles site each
year. They eventually sold their house, I think to try and get ahead and
started renting. That was fifteen years ago now, they're still renting and
don't have a cent to their name.
I did my utmost to be inconspicuous and blend in during High School, not
draw any more attention to myself than was absolutely necessary--very
difficult when there was to be no dating, no discos or balls, no
recognition of any sporting prowess. I guess I wasn't bad looking, but the
only way I could cope with any interest anyone of the opposite sex showed
me was to completely ignore it, so they of course gave up after a while. I
only had one good friend at school who wasn't in the WCG and who did his very
best to try and understand my lifestyle and beliefs. But eventually we
drifted apart and haven't spoken to each other in a long time. I had a
pretty sharp mind, and most subjects seemed relatively easy to me. Years
and years of disciplined note taking and study habits in services paid
off, and I got pretty good grades. Every year, however, I had to work
twice as hard to catch up on all the material I had missed while away at
the FOT. I never considered the possibility that University would be an
option for me
because, for a start, it wasn't Ambassador College, and how would I
cope with doing exams if they were on a Saturday? I had a very logical and
scientific mind, loved chemistry, biology, physics and mathematics at High
School, but a lot of the lab classes at University were on a Friday night,
which was the Sabbath, which was "God's time," so that was out of the
question.
I was completely resigned to my fate--all or nothing. My entire life was
the "church," and there was absolutely no compromise. All I saw of my life
was going to services week after week, my once curious mind sitting in
some state of limbo, waiting, waiting, waiting--there would be no end. And
then something extraordinary happened. People at services were whispering
about some book called
Malachi's Message, and soon after my life was going to change
quite dramatically--or so I thought.
I must admit it was like a breath of cool, crisp, fresh, sweet air to a
drowning man. After stagnating at WCG services week after week, year after
year, something dramatic was happening, suddenly I felt alive, as if all
those years were finally going to mean something, and I grabbed onto it
with all the strength and enthusiasm I could muster. Somewhere in the fog
in my mind I must have latched on to the different direction the doctrine
in the WCG was heading and it really didn't sit well with me. So when
Gerald Flurry came along and
labeled the WCG as "Laodicean," in some twisted way it made
sense to me--well, I guess it made sense to my mother first. There had
always been a rebellious element in our local WCG congregation, (as
inevitably there should be) who were enjoying the more relaxed attitude in
rules that were being exhibited by our local minister, and my mother was
always commenting about this or that person's attitude and admonishing me
not to associate with them. So it seemed the most logical thing for me to
join the PCG to "earnestly
content for the faith once delivered to the saints" and "stay faithful to
the trunk of the tree" and other such
buzz-phrases.
So I made the decision to leave all of my WCG friends behind, people I had
known my whole life, as I wanted to be part of the "very elect" and
definitely not one of the "Laodiceans."
Unfortunately, two of my siblings did not share my convictions and were
quite happy to stay in the WCG which, of course, divided my family right
down the middle. It was after the split in the WCG that people I had once
associated with for years, now crossed the road to avoid "accidentally"
bumping into me, and my father's hatred for the WCG seemed to grow a
hundred fold. I remember quite clearly the many arguments he had with my
mother about how evil an organisation was that pitted family member
against family member, and pleaded with her to leave, but we were by that
stage completely
institutionalised,1
and would not listen.
The local PCG congregation I now fellowshipped with was reduced to 90%
of which I was accustomed to only a week before and consisted mostly of
adults and people in their 70's or over. There was only one other person
there the same age as me. I didn't mind because I was content in the
knowledge that I was among the very "elect" and it felt good--as long as I
didn't think too long about all the people I'd left behind, including my
brother and sister. I continued to go to services every week, kept the
annual Sabbaths (the fare at lunchtime now was only a shadow of what it
used to be) and the FOT. I heard the sermons, and kept my notes--books and
books and books of notes--about "time no longer," "the last hour," "king
of the south" and on and on it went. Exciting stuff! But as time went on,
the excitement that I felt when there seemed to be plenty of action began
to dwindle. My local congregation grew a little at first, but shrank year
after year as people either lost interest, or moved overseas. I was
finding it increasingly difficult to talk to people in their 70's, 80's
and 90's, as obviously we had differing interests. More and more frequently
I was hearing about how much deeper we
had to reach into our pockets with our holy day offerings to help fund the
final warning work. I had a mediocre job, which remained mediocre because
of my insistence of being unavailable to work on Friday nights, or
Saturdays, and didn't earn much money. I still lived with my parents who
charged me rent to help pay their bills. I couldn't move out and find a
place of my own because I couldn't afford it, nor could I leave home and
rent an apartment with local PCG people. There were none my own age, and I
also
could not move in with worldly people. That would be "sin through
association." Every cent I managed to save seemed to be spent towards
FOT--accommodation costs, meals, airfares, entertainment--not just for me,
but my mother as well, because she never had any money. I guess I did
waste some of my money, but I was a young man in my early 20's and didn't
have anything really important to spend my money on.
As a teenager, I had normal teenage desires and wants. I wanted the
girlfriend, the popularity, the social calendar. These were normal desires
for a person of my age. I instead steered clear of these things because of
my upbringing in the "church." There used to be plenty of people of the
opposite sex in my local congregation, none of which I had ever considered
one day marrying and having a family with. Firstly, because since I had
grown up with these people, I considered them more my sisters, rather than
potential mates, and secondly, dating and relationships was a subject that
was almost never discussed, or given sermons, or direction about. There
always seemed to be an unspoken rule: "You want to date? Don't even think
about it! We're watching you teens closely. You can't be trusted, you're
not baptised and even if you are, you will need permission and
counselling. Then you may hold hands, but that's it!"
As the years went by in the PCG, the mystery and beauty surrounding
marriage, sex and children seemed something that would be forever out of
my grasp. To meet someone I could one day marry meant that I would have to
travel abroad to larger congregations, which I could really only do by
traveling to a FOT site somewhere and hope that a spark be ignited by
spending a little over a week there (which I couldn't afford to do anyway,
so why bother?). I was resigned to my fate once more and settled
comfortably in the stupor of meek compliance.
And then something happened--another life changing event. I did an
internet
search on the PCG and stumbled upon a very interesting site and began to
read.
In the end, I was tired. Tired of the continual sacrifice, tired of
wanting and never getting, tired of waiting for something that we were
assured would happen in "a short time," and it appearing always around the
next bend. Luckily for me, my long dormant, logical brain began to spark
into life once more. What started as a smouldering ember of frustration
eventually built to a crescendo of all consuming white-hot rage!
"Why??"
"Why does it have to be like this??!!"
"Why do there have to be so many rules??!!"
"It isn't fair!!"
"Haven't I sacrificed enough??!!"
The fog that had once again settled in my mind was blown away in an
instant. I made the decision to leave. The "church" had stolen 26 years of
my life, and I was determined not to let it take anything more from me. I
left home and lived with my sister for a while. (Thankfully she and my
brother had stopped going to the WCG years earlier and had not joined any
other offshoot. They make their own mistakes from time to time as everyone
does, but on the whole enjoy peaceful, fruitful lives.) Things improved
for me at work. I got a couple of promotions and was respected by my boss
and my colleagues. I met a woman and had children whom I love more than
life itself. I have learned what love really is, and not a day goes by
that I don't hear, "I love you Dad, you're the greatest" from my kids, and
they from me. I think back to the emotional abuse (and physical sometimes)
I was subjected to in the name of religion and will never consciously push
my own personal beliefs onto my children nor make them feel guilty for
following their own paths. Life's too short and precious to try and make
carbon copies of ourselves.
These days, when I think about it, I utterly despise what the WCG and PCG
did to my mother, my family and me (and my dad) and continue to do to
other families around the world, and also continue to do to the minds to
those who still attend, blindly dedicated to a lost cause. When I read
stories on the ESN pages of people who
have been impacted by the WCG, PCG, etc, my heart truly breaks for them,
for what they have suffered, and rekindles every time the fury I have for
such an exploitive organisation. My faith, as a result, has been irreparably
disintegrated.
Writing my own testimony to you completes my own personal road to
recovery, and in advance I thank you for taking the time to read it.
By
Brandon
- Child
survivor of WCG, ex-member of WCG and PCG
April 27, 2007
Footnotes by ESN:
1
A better word would be "mind controlled." For more info on this period of
time in WCG, read: An
Open Letters to Our Acquaintances in The Church of God (by ESN founder).
Articles
For Those Who Were Emotionally and Spiritually Abused
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