When the Church Rewards Dysfunction

For years I have been walking a path that has led me to some deep healing in my life. This has included working with mentors, therapists, and spiritual directors. It has led me to have some painful and terrifying discussions with people I love, and has stirred up memories I had either tried to ignore, or had completely repressed.

It is not an easy process. In fact, it is one of the most difficult things one will ever do. It is no wonder, then, that those who have gone on this journey, or help others on theirs, often refer to it as “doing the work.” Because it is work. Hard work. And it is hard work that, I’m sad to say, is often undermined by participation in church communities.

We all have dysfunctional behaviors in our lives. They are behaviors that we usually developed as kids. They are dysfunctional because kids don’t know how to respond to difficult experiences, let alone traumatic ones, and so they adapt the best they know how.

These behaviors can look very different from one person to the next. When I was growing up, I endured many traumatic and painful encounters. Some were at the hands of family members who didn’t have the emotional tools to deal with their own pain. Others were at the hands of oblivious or even predatorial church members. As a child, I blamed myself for many of those experiences, and I responded by trying to be the most well behaved boy I could be. I became a people pleaser.

Others may have responded to their own pain in other ways, such as rebelling against any authority, or lashing out, or developing a constant hypervigilance. As self-defeating as the coping mechanisms can be, they are the best we know how to handle life as kids. To their credit, they usually get the job done-that is, they help us survive childhood

One day, however, we grow up-at least on the outside. Those coping mechanisms, which may have served us well in our childhood, become our worst enemies. They start to sabotage our relationships, thwart our career ambitions, and threaten our health. At that point, we have to make a choice: keep doing what we’ve been doing, or “do the work.”

There was a problem I faced early on in my attempt to do that work. I was a pastor at the time-on top of my experience of growing up in the church as a pastor’s child. Naturally, I was deeply immersed in church culture, like the practices,  protocols, and ingrained beliefs. I had been taught that the church was the best place for one to be. I was taught that it would help one grow and mature to become the person God had designed them to be.

This was becoming less and less true in my experience. In truth, it was seldom ever my experience, but I had been too indoctrinated and entrenched in the church world to ever see it. The sad reality was that while I was at a place where I needed to do the work and face my unhealthy defense mechanisms, the church was reinforcing them. That is, the church was rewarding me for being a people pleaser.

Because of my unhealed trauma, I was stuck in fight or flight mode, where any hint of anger or distress was a trigger for my old wounds, so I did everything to keep my environment peaceful and under control. I deadened my feelings and pain so that I could focus on the feelings of others. In the church this was seen as being selfless and considerate, the perfect traits for a pastor. In reality, I was just playing a role, fueled by my unhealed trauma, to keep others happy, and that fit right into what the church needed to operate.

Now, to be clear, I cannot speak to everyone’s experience in the church. I can only speak to my experience and to the tales of friends and family members. The unfortunate truth is that so often the church has less to do with healing and transformation and much more to do with maintaining its own survival. Anything that contributes to that-even an unhealthy coping mechanism-is welcomed with open arms.

I didn't need someone to commend my people pleasing; I needed someone to ask me why I felt the need to live that way.

How could that be anyone else’s responsibility? How could they know what I was going through when I didn't even know? That is an issue, because one cannot lead  you where they have not been themselves, and the reality is that so many church leaders have been chewed up by that system and have never done the work of true inner healing. When one has healed, they can often spot defense mechanisms from a mile away.

We need elders-in the true sense of the word. Not just someone who can quote scripture, but someone who understands the wisdom between the lines because they have lived it, because they have faced their own pain. As someone has said, “Religion is lived by people who are afraid of hell. Spirituality is lived by people who have been through hell.”

Of course, churches are not the only arena where one’s unhealthy behaviors are rewarded. It can happen at work, in families, and in whole societies. But the church promises that if you do what they tell you, then God will take care of the rest. So parishioners are left spinning the hamster wheel and wondering why they still lack a sense of peace and meaning.

I realize I may be coming off as jaded. If you are part of a spiritual community that does know what doing the work looks like, then I am incredibly thankful and happy for you. If yours does not, don’t let that community keep you from taking the journey of a lifetime. If they are unwilling or unable to help you do your work, then find someone who can and will. It is the road less traveled, and is filled with treasures you won't find anywhere else.

What Do You Do In The Fog?

“This is crazy,” my wife commented.

“I know. I’ve never seen it like this before,” I replied.

We were growing tired as we focused intensely on the car in front of us. We were driving north to visit my parents in Iowa. It was a trip we had taken together at least twenty times before. This time, though, a dense fog had rolled in and had limited our visibility to the vehicle in front of us.

We live in Northern California now, a place where fog is so common in certain places that it is even given a proper name. We don't really think anything of it here. In Iowa, though, a dense fog was a rarity. Suddenly, you have to pay closer attention to what you're doing. You have to focus, and you have to slow down, at least until it begins to dissipate and you have some clarity again.

Clarity is a comforting quality to possess while driving, and while moving forward in life. It is reassuring to have confidence about who you are and what you're meant to be doing. Sometimes, though, fog can roll in and make everything fuzzy.

Recently, a memory resurfaced in my body. When traumatic occurrences take place and we are incapable of processing them, our mind protects us by dissociating from what happened. The body never forgets though, and when we are ready, it will remind us.

I was reading a passage when the memory came back to me. The passage contained the word “defenseless.” When I read it, I had a sensation in my body that I never remembered having before. I read the word again, and the same thing happened. Soon, a painful encounter from when I was little arose, and it has weighed heavy on me ever since.

I am no stranger to facing my past. My road to healing began 14 years ago when my wife and I participated in a spiritual formation seminar. It has continued ever since, through therapy, spiritual direction, and countless conversations with friends and mentors. I don’t think anything has thrown me quite in this way, though.

As I met with my spiritual director and spoke to her about the whole experience, the only metaphor I could think to explain how I was feeling was the dense fog we drove through that night in Iowa. I wanted clarity. I wanted resolution. Instead, I was surrounded by murky uncertainty.

My director asked me a simple question.

“What do you do in the fog?”

“You slow down,” I replied, feeling a bit embarrassed to answer such an elementary question.

“Then maybe that’s what you need to do,” she commented.

Slow down. It’s much easier said than done. I put pressure on myself so often to do more, create more, accomplish more, and to do it all faster. We know how to respond in an actual fog  When it rolls in, it can be frustrating. It hampers your schedule. All of a sudden you have to leave earlier for things, or accept being late. But we accept that you have to take it slower. That’s what you do in a fog. It seems harder when our sense of purpose and direction becomes hazy.

As we continued driving that night, the car in front us-which we so often see as an obstacle to our preferred speed-suddenly became our lifeline. We could go forward because we could see their lights. We couldn’t see anything in front of them, but trusted that they were following what they could see too.

Eventually, when we’re facing our own inner fog, we will be given signposts that help us know which way to go. I don’t know where processing this painful memory will ultimately take me, but I have signposts along the way. I can see that what happened to me was not my fault, that it did not mean I was a bad or dirty child. I can see that God did not approve of what happened, even if it did take place in a church. Those are lights in the haze leading me forward, even if it is a little bit at a time. I’m learning that whatever pace we need on our journeys is okay, because our journeys are as unique as we are.

We made it to my parents house that night, albeit later than we had planned. But we made it, without incident, without injury, by going slow. Because that’s what you do in the fog.

Bored Out Of My Mind? Yes Please!

As Thanksgiving approached this year, our family prepared to travel back to the Midwest for the holiday, something we hadn't done in over ten years. I was determined to allow myself to relax, which meant not being consumed with my phone.

I'm sure I'm just like many of you: intending to check something on my phone and later realizing I've been on it for thirty minutes or more.

I did pretty good, I think. Other than occasionally falling into the black hole of fantasy football statistics, I enjoyed what was going on around me instead of being glued to the phone.

The Friday after Thanksgiving, we went to visit some of my wife's family. We both have lots of family connections to Ohio, which makes it convenient to catch up with them. I was sitting on the couch next to my mother in law, staring into space, when she commented, “You must be bored out of your mind.”

She's always thinking about others and how she can make their day better, whether that be by offering us food or pointing to different options for entertainment.

I've been thinking about that phrase: bored out of your mind. Being bored seems to be an ever present fear in our culture. The sheer number of options for streaming movies and channels is quite dizzying. Streaming was not a thing when I was a kid. You watched whatever happened to be on at the time. If you wanted to watch it later you could try to tape it, assuming the VCR offered that feature. My parents’ generation had far less options, instead being limited to the 3 channels or so that were offered on the TV.

There's something about being bored that makes our skin crawl. My son has never been a fan of school, except for the socializing. The rest of it is terrible because it's…boring.

Recently, whenever I've sat and allowed myself to be understimulated, allowed the noise of the TV and the brightness of the phone to fade away, I have noticed that there is much more going on around me than I realized.

I notice the color of the walls or the contrast of the decorations. I notice that things look different than the last time I slowed down, and that I've neglected to appreciate them. I notice that there are blessings all around me.

But maybe it's not what's around us that makes us so leery of slowing down and letting the noise subside. Maybe it's swirling thoughts going through our head. Anxious thoughts. Angry thoughts. Fearful thoughts. Thoughts we didn't even know we had. Thoughts that might disturb us.

Here we have a golden opportunity-if we utilize it.

Maybe the problem with boredom isn't that it's unpleasant. Maybe we just don't know how to be bored properly. Those thoughts are often the main culprit. When we're bored, we don't just notice the walls and the people. We notice our thoughts, and if we don't know what to do with them, it can be pretty distressing.

So, what do we do with them? The mystics and saints teach us to learn from them-to learn our hang ups and patterns, but also to learn that they are not us. Our thoughts are fleeting, but our identity-which is secured in the Divine-endures.

We get stuck in our heads. Boredom helps us to see that and gives us an opportunity to see our thoughts and let them pass.

Then we can get out of our heads and are left with what's real.

My mother in law and I embraced the boredom and took in the moment: the kids playing, the family conversing, the joy of being together. I suspect as a mother of three grown children and a grandmother to two little boys, she's probably much better at it than I am, but I am learning.

The next time boredom is offered to you, take it and enjoy the opportunity. If you use it wisely, you might even get bored out of your mind.

Brain in the Image of God

It's happened so many times I wouldn't even dare to count. My wife has a much higher standard of tidyness and cleaning than I do, and so many times she has corrected or critiqued something that I've done around the house…and I flipped out.

Not externally. That's not the kind of person I am. You will very rarely see me yell or make a scene. But internally, my world would spin.

“Why can I never be good enough? Why is everything my fault?”

It's what we call a trigger. That word has become very popular and is often overused. When a trigger is negative, it brings us back to a time of trauma in our lives. Our body reacts as if that trauma is still happening, which is why it can feel like our world is out of control.

This happens to so many of us, perhaps all of us. It happened so much to me that it was affecting my marriage and other important relationships.

I began seeing a therapist several years ago. We've done a lot of work together, but one concept he gave to me has been especially helpful.

That concept is called the ‘noticing brain.’

Normally when I have been triggered in the past, I have used my left brain faculties to try and move forward. This is the part of the brain which we typically use to gain insight and solve problems. When a trigger happened, I would frequently try to analyze where it was coming from, what caused it, and what I needed to do to resolve it.

Of course, insight into our trauma can be helpful. It can be extremely beneficial to be able to name what the trauma was, why it happened, and why it impacted us the way it did.

However, when we are in the midst of a trigger--when the trauma is being re-lived--insight doesn't actually help much.

Why is that? Here's what I learned and what has helped me immensely. Trauma is stored in the amygdala, the part of our brain responsible for detecting threats and initiating survival instincts. Thus, when we are triggered, our amygdala is what is taking over. Here's the key to understand: the left brain functions I mentioned have no direct connection to the amygdala, so reasoning and insight have no effect on the trigger.

There is, however,  a part of the brain that does have a direct connection to the amygdala-the prefrontal cortex, or what many call the ‘noticing brain.’

What this means is that when we are triggered, it is not particularly helpful to analyze the situation. Even less helpful are judgment statements like, “I thought I had figured this out: I can't believe I'm going through this again.”

What is extremely helpful, however, are noticing thoughts of presence and curiosity. These are thoughts like,

“I wonder why I'm feeling this way.”

“I'm sensing that my emotions are on high alert.”

“My stomach is churning and my chest is tight. I'm going to sit with that.”

In hindsight, this makes so much sense. When we see a therapist or even talk to a compassionate friend, they don't help us by fixing the situation. In truth, such a task would be impossible in most cases. However, something in us begins to shift when the person listens and affirms what we are experiencing. No judgment. Not even a solution. Just presence.

It strikes me how much this reveals the image of God within our brains. We have the capacity for logic, reason, problem solving, and intuition. These are all beautiful things. What brings healing to the most wounded parts within us, however, is the part of our brain that is simply present.

The part that can be still.

The part that can be still and know that God is with us.

The part that can be still and know that God is within us.

No wonder believing in a God who is vengeful and judgmental doesn't bring the best out of people. Such thoughts only contribute to the impact of trauma in our lives. And when we live from such wounded parts, we tend to live in ways that baffle us. We do not know what we do in those instances.

Thankfully, Jesus has an offer for such a moment: forgiveness.

He has an antidote for our wounds: presence.

He has a promise for our moments of anxiety and fear: he will be in us, and we in him.

Perhaps the noticing brain is a key part of that. I think it is. It is helping to bring me back to the present moment where his love is always offered, where we are always included, and his peace is always available.

It is another instance of our true identity: Christ in us, the hope of glory. 

The Mirror of the Present Moment

When you talk to someone at length about what it means to explore healthy spirituality, or to grow as a person, most people will speak of a common thread: being present. There may be different motivations for this. For some, they recognize that they have failed to appreciate the good in their lives, and want to make sure they are present to enjoy what's really important to them. Some come to see that God, the universe, whatever one wants to call it, is only accessible in the present moment. Others get so overwhelmed by stress, emotions, addictions, etc. that the only way to survive is to take one moment at a time.

No matter the reasons for wanting to be more present, one truth remains: it is really damn hard.

As much as I want to be present, there always seems to be a really good reason not to be. Maybe I just want to spend a few more minutes on a project while my son is talking to me. Maybe I think I can figure out how to solve the problem waiting for me tomorrow while I finally get to watch that movie I've been dying to watch with my wife. At the end of the day, though, I often fail to be present because it's just too hard.

For many of us-probably most of us-there were times in our lives when the present moment was so unbelievably frightening that we felt the only way to survive was to not be present by any means necessary. This mostly happens when we are children and don't have the tools to deal with traumatic events in our lives, but it can happen as adults too. An accident, a betrayal, or a loss can be so devastating that we have to withdraw from what's facing us. We form all kinds of defense mechanisms to keep ourselves safe. 

It happens, and often it is absolutely necessary.  The trouble comes, however, when we get stuck in those survival modes to the point where we think that they define us. Maybe we keep people at a distance, or lash out at others before they get us, or bury ourselves in work to earn approval from others. Eventually, that becomes "just the way I am." Lying beneath all of that, however, is the authentic self that is longing to come back out and play. 

Being present is hard because it requires us to put down the shields that serve to protect us but also keep us from living. It is like a mirror, revealing everything while sugar coating nothing. It requires us to let go of who we think we are to find the truth underneath. It takes hard work and it takes people with whom we feel safe to move forward. Richard Rohr calls it the "cross of the present." It is where we come to let our illusions die.

As painful as it can be to be present, it offers us so many gifts. 

It teaches us that we are accepted. 

It proves to us that we are enough.

It shows us that we have what it takes. 

It reveals to us who we really are.

It confronts us with our addictions-to success, to deception, to manipulation-and leads us to liberation.

It offers us truth.

Being present is so, so hard. It takes a lot of work. Then one day, you catch a glimmer of your true self coming out, you feel the light of freedom illuminating your heart, and you sense the message of the present moment seeping through:

You are loved.

You belong.

Welcome home.

God Is Good, and So Are You

When watching a movie, starting anywhere other than the beginning can be very confusing.  When the “The Bourne Supremacy” came out in the theaters, my wife was itching to see it. After watching the first Bourne movie to get caught up, we rushed to the theater to catch the movie in time.  We ended up being a few minutes late, so we were not surprised to see the movie had already started when we found our seats.

The movie was confusing.  There were characters and developments that went unexplained, and we were scratching our heads.  45 minutes later, the movie was over. “That's got to be the shortest movie I've ever seen,” I told her.  Come to find out, we had actually walked into the wrong theater where the movie had already been playing for over an hour.  That was embarrassing! No wonder we were confused.  

In my experience, Christians often make a similar mistake when looking to scripture.  You would think, given the way the Gospel is preached in many churches, that the bible starts with Genesis 3, the story of humanity going against God and experiencing a fall.  Many preachers rail about the sinfulness of humanity, and how we are utterly depraved. What seems to be ignored is that this is not how the story of humanity begins. That moment comes earlier when scripture tells us,

"God created mankind in his own image,
    in the image of God he created them;
    male and female he created them...God saw all that he had made, and it was very good."

This is the beginning of the story, the origins of who we are. We were created in the image of a good God. We don't need to try to be good as much as we need to learn that we are good. The rest will follow. 

So why do we so often get the story so backwards? We could talk about all the church environments where the story is begun in the wrong place, where we are told we are rotten "sinners in the hands of an angry God," as Jonathon Edwards put it, depraved and devoid of goodness. 

But for many of us, it starts before that. We often don't need the religious environments to tell us that we're bad; they're only confirming what we have suspected about ourselves. Because when we're young, we only know how to think in binary, black and white terms. If we do a bad thing, we assume that we are bad. And if bad things are done to us, particularly by grown ups, our childhood selves can't wrap our heads around the adults in the room being messed up. They're the adults, we're the kids. So once again, we assume we are bad.

But it is, of course, not that simple. Whatever our past looks like, whatever mistakes we've made, it doesn't change who we truly are. We are not bad people who need to be punished; we are scarred people that need to be healed. And as we learn of our innate goodness, it begins to hurt more and more to live out of our false identities, to live as though we're bad. The truth of our goodness lights our way.

Bishop Kalistos Ware reminds us, "The creation in its entirety is God’s handiwork; in their inner essence all created things are “exceedingly good." That includes you. Nothing that you've done or has been done to you can change this. You are good.