Non-Believer Former Members of the Worldwide Church of God

Oh, where to start?

Some time in the late 60’s my mother was ‘called’. They lived in Pennsylvania. Had 5 children who were 7 years apart in age. They were poor….dirt poor. So poor that it was during those years that welfare was set up specifically for the working poor. One could purchase food stamps after he had paid his living expenses. My parents were too poor for food stamps. Didn’t have enough leftover after rent & utilities to purchase food stamps.

I’ve always believed that my mother’s calling was a (subconscious) economical choice. No more purchasing Easter baskets, Christmas presents, birthday presents. And it was all so cerebral. So verifiable. So well-thought out and intellectual. That appealed to her. She had all these cross-referenced scriptual proofs for every single detail. Mind, she didn’t ask any questions… not any that Mr. Holiday didn’t have answers already prepared for her.

I was born on the Sabbath in 1969. That was probably my first mistake. Labor on the Sabbath.

I think, probably, my greatest bitterness has to do with how the church’s teachings were used to abuse me. I was ignored most of the time… unless I wasn’t being a fine representative of The Church — then I’d be beat, lectured, indoctrinated. My mother beat me with a high-heeled shoe one day when I was 15 for wearing make-up. What a sin. “No daughter of mine is going to traipse around painted like Jezebel!” I had scriptures quoted at me with every blow. She even tried casting out some demons. Those teenage demons… I had a few.

At that time I’d started really questioning and paying attention to the different teachings. What’s ironic is the church taught me the critical thinking necessary to question their logic. I didn’t get the whole make-up, hair, skirt-length thing. I remember one sermon in which the minister was a little to fervently decrying make-up and perfumes, possibly even use of deoderant, as a woman’s tools for FINDING A SEX PARTNER. Virgin that I was, this shook me. Was smelling pretty my way of finding a sex partner? I spent a fair amount of time examining my motives and determined that… no… I just liked to smell pretty. At that time they were banning perfume, jewelry (especially if it accented a bosom), slits in skirts (it was the 80’s that was the style), shorter than shoulder-length hair for women (all the old ladies had to grow their hair out), and of course the make up. All this was directed at women. My father wore cologne. Was he seeking a sex partner? No, he was a good husband. He liked to smell nice, too. I left the church then.

When I turned 18, graduated high school and started looking at colleges, my mother sat me down and told me quite bluntly she would only pay for me to attend Ambassador College. Oh, the fury. There was no college for me till I turned 24 and could attend as a non-traditional adult student with state funding. OH, if only she could have had a kid go to Ambassador College and be able to join in the holier-than-thou parade on Saturdays. Oh for shame.

I wish the church had preached good parenting. That would certainly have made a difference in my life. The beatings. Yes, I remember that book. That’s a frightening book. Very frightening. My mother set aside beatings for my father to handle. Little did she know, Dad would parade us into the bedroom, tell us to bend over. Then he’d whisper: “now, I’m going to hit this bed with this belt and you’re going to holler like it hurts.” And we did! Boy did we holler! Our tears might have been tears of laughter, but they were good enough to fool mom. I can say I’m very happy and lucky that my father was a closet subversive. When mom didn’t save the beatings for dad… well, today a child would be removed from her care for the bruises and welts she left.

When I was 27 I had a rough time of it. I had two young children. I had been divorced a year from a very abusive man (shame on me, I should still be married to him — it’s my duty). I was struggling financially and emotionally. It was coming up on Christmas and I had enough money to pay the rent, but that was it. Thinking that I could use respect for my parents’ religion as an excuse for no presents that year, I packed up the kids and headed to mom & dad’s. What did I find, but a house strung with Christmas lights and a Christmas tree in the window! That was one strange Christmas. All the baptist-style preaching I heard those two weeks… it was surreal. I got a real kick out of the fact that the new church leaders were saying a dead man sanctioned those changes. That was funny, really. And my mom ate it right up.

See, now she could afford Christmas presents. Really, if she couldn’t, she’d have went with one of the splinter groups. I have no doubt whatsoever.

For me, it’s been an odd journey. That’s only part of it. I am a confirmed agnostic, though I do enjoy the messages of the Dalai Lama. While the messages speak to me, I cannot say I believe anything. I am fine with that. Being preached to by any Christians — regardless their ilk; is something I just cannot bear. It’s all lies. Some people are truly good — and oddly enough, it doesn’t matter what they believe, they’re just good. That’s what I shoot for.

Feel free to use my first name, but please don’t post my email address.

Thank you for having the site.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 19th, 2006 at 2:58 pm and is filed under Personal Story. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site. Your comments must be approved by the moderator before they will appear.