Why its Time the Church Retired the Term “Forgiveness”

Hello all. I know its a rare thing for me to sit down and write these days but here I am - answering a particularly poignant question that has popped up in my inbox a bit of late. It’s the question of forgiveness. Now I’ll state up front that I am no theologian. I am a geek who has been in church for all but two years of her life. I’ve been in good churches and toxic ones. I’m sure I’ve likely been in good churches that were only good on the surface. I’ve experienced and witnessed things that would make Jesus’ roll in his grave (a metaphor I’m sure I’m not allowed to use!) and I hope I’ve been part of a small amount of healing for people who have walked some pretty terrible roads. It’s taken me a long time to stop fearing judgement and damnation enough to back myself enough to make the big calls. So I’m here making one today: Church needs to stop weaponising the word forgiveness. If it can’t do that, it needs to retire the term altogether.

I said what I said. Now let me explain. (CW: sexual assualt and other religious abuse)

I’m a communications professional. That’s my wheelhouse. Thus, I am acutely aware of the evolving nature of language, and that words are just sounds we make. We imbue them with meaning that is then shared by other people and then Huzzah - we have something that we can use to express our thoughts and their meanings to other people. One example is the word I just used: Huzzah has no real meaning other than that its an exclamation of something like joy or applause. Pretty vague, but pair it with the body language of the person yelling it and you’ll have a pretty clear understanding of what they’re talking about.

The meanings of words evolve. I’ve heard it said that there is currently no word in the English language that means “literally.” Why? How many times have you heard someone say “I literally died.” or something like that. Well they didn’t die. They’re talking to you right now, and more likely about a funny or awkward situation - not about a medical emergency. No one died. Not even close. The word “literally” is evolving to mean something more like “experiencing a strong feeling or placing a strong emphasis on something.” It doesn’t really mean “literally” anymore.

So then, is it possible there's a gap between what forgiveness should mean and the meaning it has taken on? I defer here to the writings of Maria Mayo, who holds a Master of Divinity and a PhD. She makes some seriously interesting points on this same topic (in fact, go read the article. Its great. It’s here.) The word ‘forgive’ comes from “aphiemi” which, as per usual with Greek terms, translates to a wide variety of things poorly captured by our watered-down English translations. Words associated with aphiemi include “to remit (a debt), to leave (something or someone) alone, to allow (an action), to leave, to send away, to desert or abandon, and even to divorce.” So there’s a wide variety of things it was supposed to mean. But these days, it seems to mean “forget something happened. Don’t do anything about it. Get on with your life.” As if victims of life altering trauma have the option to do that. As if it’s even okay to place such a demand on someone who has sustained such damage.

Interestingly, the prevailing idea of forgiveness as a mental or emotional condition is much more modern. It “traces to 18th-century moral philosophy, not first-century Christian writings, ”says Mayo.

When you read through Jesus’ statements on forgiveness, you’ll find that he speaks mostly about humans forgiving each other. But there’s another element in there: repentance. If we repent, turn away from our sin in action and intent, forgiveness is available to us. Fine. Good. Perfect.

So what’s the problem?

The Weaponising of the Word

We have witnessed the floodgates open in terms of abuse allegations against churches and church leaders in recent times. I won’t rehash it again as I’ve blogged on it very recently and dropped names. Plus, lets be honest, most of you reading this would have a harrowing story or two pop to mind without my assistance. Sadly, there is a common story that runs right alongside allegations of abuse within religious circles and faith communities (not all of them, blah blah blah).

The modern day church too often weaponises the term ‘forgiveness’ against victims of abuse or mistreatment for whom there is no repentant transgressor. The term ‘forgiveness’ is then taken to mean ‘lose your chance at justice’, ‘sweep this under the rug’ or worse, ‘allow your abuser to keep abusing.’

Classic example: Josh Duggar of 19 Kids and Counting was busted for sexually abusing some of his sisters. He was sent to a church based rehab thing (which I seriously doubt the therapeutic credentials of) and then a big show was made of his sisters forgiving him. Justice was not done. It was swept under the rug. Years later, he is up on child pornography charges that make my stomach churn. The burden of forgiveness was placed on his sisters, the victims, while the burden of repentance with an active “turning from evil ways” was not adequately placed on Josh.

I wonder how his sisters feel. I don’t wonder what they say. I know what it’s like to be a good Christian girl and say the right things. But often this comes with a searing sense of betraying ones own soul. This never brings true healing. In my observation, it re-traumatises the victim because, when what they needed was a police report, a supportive community and a therapist, they were given trite scriptures justifying leaderships desire that they shut up about it. The meaning with which the word ‘forgiveness’ was imbued was made very, very clear.

That is traumatising. That is hitting out at vulnerable people who need the support of the church community. If Jesus was in the room, he wouldn’t be telling the victim to shut up. He’d more likely be throwing a table at those who demanded such silence and who got in the way of justice. I’m also quite sure that, should the perpetrator have a genuinely repentant heart, Jesus would forgive. But that doesn’t mean justice wouldn’t be done.

Remember: render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. If sin is lawlessness, then there is a penalty for that even if you said you’re sorry.

While yes, the New Testament talks about forgiveness a lot, there is a condition. Maria Mayo writes, "The author of the Gospel of Luke repeats the same story, but adds a condition to forgiveness, stating that church members must forgive boundlessly "if there is repentance" (17:3).

So here is my hot take: The burden of forgiveness should not be pressed upon the victim of crime or abuse. The burden of repentance needs to be placed on the perpetrator. And that perp needs to “bear fruits worthy of repentance.” I.e. Hand yourself into the police if you have committed a crime. Even if your pastor says you don’t have to. Your pastor is not above the law of the land. Not ever.

Side note: Like many survivors of the more toxic aspects of church, I’ve heard the whole “turn the other cheek” line quite a bit, along with the old line about the Bible never contradicting itself. Here’s a fun one for you then - the Bible also says “an eye for an eye.” So while we can shrug off the little things and move on with our day, there is certainly no Biblical precedent for letting major abuse or mistreatment fall under the category “turn the other cheek.”

Just like there is no Biblical precedent for forgiving where there is no repentance. Even Jesus on the cross didn’t forgive, he prayed that God would. Modern translations of the Bible don’t tell us which version of Aphiemi was used in that moment. All we know is that Jesus died bearing no ill will towards the ones who taunted him, as unrepentant as they may be.

Which brings me to the next big point: what then do we do with our hurt?

Therapeutically speaking…

While undoubtedly, I’ve been known to write with a pen of fire (I think I can thank my grandmother, the original Kit, for this gift), those who know me see me as a soft-hearted and compassionate person. I can be both things - fiery and soft-hearted - because of two things: therapy and boundaries.

Not once has my therapist used the word “forgiveness” to me. She knows, as any good counsellor would, that such a word would shut down my processing of all the things I’ve gone through. It would stunt my progress towards peace and happiness. To be pushed in any way towards a certain end would be tantamount to therapeutic sabotage.

Under skilled, qualified care, I’m doing amazingly well.

While I am sure pastors and Christian teachers have good intentions for people when they speak about healing and forgiveness in the same breath, the two are not necessarily connected. Survivors of abuse and mistreatment do not need to forgive their unrepentant transgressors in order to gain mental and emotional health. They need to be empowered over and above the degree to which they were disempowered, they need supportive community that doesn’t play down or try to erase their abuse, and they need to be given adequate support to process and work through the trauma. This includes qualified medical and psychological help in many cases.

When we say “Just forgive” we shut down this vital pyscho-emotional processing, disempower the victim again, and stunt the growth towards healing. As well-intentioned as this might be, it is damaging. I’d argue that the road of true healing, psychoemotional processing of trauma and then empowered choices regarding justice or clemency is the hard road. the right road, but the hard road. “Just forgive” is easy in a way. You don’t have to face the damage. You don’t have to sit in the wreckage and look at it. You don’t have to decide anything.

But what we know from research regarding PTSD and trauma is that the body remembers. Trauma will find its way out of the shadows and up to the surface, no matter how many times you said the words I forgive.

One thing that makes me laugh these days is the contents of my shame shelf. Yes, you heard it. I had a shame shelf. Over the years, following my disclosure of abuse, I was given by various people quite a collection of books. I’d say most of them were gifted by well intended but poorly informed people. They were books on forgiveness, on how women need to be less bitter and then they’d feel better or how reading a prayer out loud would fix everything (*eye-roll). Would it surprise you that while this was the best advice available to me, I was at my worst?

They went on the shame shelf, right next to fiction novels I wouldn't dream of admitting I own. When I learned to laugh at the lot of those books, I threw them out (But okay. I kept the Twilight series. *Gasp). With them went my shame over having faced abuse in religious settings or communities. I realised the shame doesn’t belong on my shoulders. It belongs on the shoulders of those who did me wrong. I don’t hold it against the people who gave me those books. Frankly, I’ve only got a finite emotional budget to spend each day and it would get spent real quick if I dwelt on the actions of good people who were ill-informed. So I choose to laugh at the shame shelf and educate myself so I never make the same mistake, no matter how well-intentioned I am.

If there is no repentance, there is no capacity for real forgiveness if for no other reason than the victim then spends the rest of their life wondering if the perp is at it again. I can tell you this though. Forgiveness, where there is remorse, is amazing. I had the incredible experience of having one transgressor ask for my forgiveness. It was beautiful. It came at a time where I had benefited from enough therapy to have the skills to extend compassion and forgiveness while also maintaining boundaries. It goes down as a red letter day for me, because I felt empowered and in no way bitter at all. That was genuine repentance and forgiveness.

There are others from whom I will never get such a question. My pursuit of therapy has allowed me to have the skills to process that, set boundaries that maintain my emotional and mental safety (and that of my children) and move on. It does not mean never getting justice. It does not mean sweeping anything under the rug. It does not mean denying any of the things that happened. It does not mean remaining in a place where I am at risk of any sort of damage, even emotionally. And if I choose one day to seek justice, it doesn’t mean I am wrong in doing so.

Its rare for me to use my personal situation in such an example. I know this. But when so many people have suffered deeply personal abuse in situations similar to mine, its unfair to not use it as an example.

I have a mixed relationship with spirituality these days. I call myself post-Christian, because I’m so good with Jesus but I’m so not okay (for the most part) with church. But this is what I know: Jesus would not want the church to be a place of abuse and mistreatment, where the vulnerable are further disempowered and their need for justice and healing disregarded or even sabotaged. Jesus wouldn’t weaponise the word forgiveness. Neither should we. And if we can’t do away with even the slightest tendency to put pressure on victims to forgive unrepentant perpetrators, then we shouldn’t use the word at all. When Jesus offers us forgiveness if we repent, then its bad logic to think the same conditions don’t apply when we are called upon to decide.

Just some thoughts on a contentious topic.

You may now hit me with your hate mail. I’ll either forgive you if you ask nicely, or make fun of you at driveway drinks with my friends. It’s completely up to me.

As for the rest of you, I hope you get some context, relief and validation from this.

Peace

Kit K.

P.S. If you happen to go to a church that supports vulnerable people, has clear lines of accountability, transparency around protocols for reporting grievances and keeping people safe, and stands up for marginalised or traumatised people - I like that church. Just saying.

Religion Shouldn’t Hurt

Dear Bloggosphere,
There’s a hot new instagram bandwagon. I’m jumping on it. Sort of.
Religion Shouldn’t Hurt. That’s the movement. Thats the hashtag. That’s the message. It’s geared at helping survivors of religious trauma to tell their stories.
Here’s why I’m keen to use my teeny tiny section of the interwebs to talk about why it matters.

Sometimes bandwagons annoy me. They tend to isolate one side of a story and ignore the complexities behind it. They can be little more than virtue signalling. They can offer up a quick blast of cathartic venting but give very little else to people who are impacted by dark side of the cause at hand. The “Religion Shouldn’t Hurt” movement (currently trending on Instagram in certain circles) is about empowering people to tell their stories of religious trauma in the hopes that we can gain a little traction when it comes to curtailing the corruption and abuse that exists within some (yeah yeah not all) churches.

To be honest, some of the stories are chilling. They contain details of people who turned to the church in their darkest moments and somewhere along the road, the place that should have been a safe haven became a breeding ground for more trauma. Others, like mine, involve people who were born into churches. We were baptised (or dedicated) there as babies. We played by the rules. We memorised chunks of the Bible, chapter and verse, and yet fell victim to the darkness within these communities.

Let’s be clear on this, too: the church that covers up abuse is also the church that retraumatises the victim. On this, as on so many things, we need to do much much better.

Anyway! I’m not actually going to tell my story. I’ve told snippets of it on “A Tiny Revolution” and on an upcoming episode of “A Spiritual Adventure” but I’m not going to rehash it. Why? Because awareness of religious trauma shouldn’t hinge on the salacious details of someones mistreatment. The fact is that Religious Trauma Syndrome (RTS) is being talked about more and more. There are pushes to get it recognised in the DSM-IV (A diagnostic manual for psychologists) as its own class of trauma syndrome rather than a subset of extreme stress disorders. The recognition that RTS is unique in its presentations is important. This is not just about the amount of people who suffer from complex PTSD post religious abuse. Its about the layer of existential and eternal dread that gets layered over the top of it when abuse renders it impossible for someone to engage with their faith or faith community because of what it will do to their mental health. Too many people are forced to reckon with whether or not it is okay to defend themselves against their abuser, or whether God will judge them for that because the abuser is in a position of power in the church. Too many people have to walk away from church to recover from the trauma it caused, and by doing so face the existential dread of whether or not God will judge them for that too.

If God is love, and I believe that to be true, then God would love an RTS sufferer enough to recognise the pain caused by the institutions of religion and the toxic theology they too often condition us with. If God is love, then we surely won’t be damned for doing what we need to do to recover from the wrongs done against us in God’s name.

So point one is that Religious Trauma is real. Very real. Painfully real. Point number two is that it is conditioned quite deeply. Autonomically deeply, a lot of the time. Let me explain.

In the 1890’s, a Russian physiologist named Ivan Pavlov did some experiments on dogs. Yes, I’m talking about Pavlov’s Dog in a piece about religious trauma. Go with me here.

Dogs, like humans, salivate when they smell food. That is what we are meant to do. Our autonomic nervous system, which is responsible for all the functions we don’t think about (heartbeat, sweating, blood pressure, salivation among other things), organises it for us. We can’t control it - directly anyway. Pavlov played around with this concept. Every time he bought the food out, he would ring a bell. Soon the dogs began to associate the bell with food. Then, when the bell rang on its own, they would salivate anyway.

Their nervous systems had been reprogrammed. We call this classical conditioning.

It is present in every day life. My son vomited his Easter eggs all over the car last week. For the next week, he was sure chocolate made him sick and he would feel sick at the thought of it. Because I’m a dedicated mother, I reconditioned him by showing him he can eat chocolate without spewing. He just couldn’t eat a mountain of chocolate and then look at a phone in a car.

Still, the visceral response of feeling sick at the thought of chocolate once you’ve spewed it all over the car is one type of classical conditioning. Your body responds automatically to the stimuli because of a bad reaction to it. But its not the only way conditioning occurs. One of the earlier, more horribly unethical examples of classical conditioning was the case of little Albert; a nine month old baby who loved playing with the little white lab mice at first. But they conditioned him to fear those very mice by sounding a loud bang every time a mouse was released. He would cry at the sound but grew to associate that fear response with the mice. Eventually it was discovered that Little Albert had been conditioned to fear not only the mice, but all white fluffy things.

Thank GOD we now have ethical panels to stop horrendous experiments like this from taking place nowadays. Anyway…

What do Pavlov’s Dog and Little Albert have to do with religious trauma?

I raise these to illustrate that trauma isn’t housed simply in the mind. It isn’t simply intrusive memories. When we have been in environments that hold such mixed stimuli, those memories can be tied up with physical responses. As such, they can be conditioned together. The dread you felt when you heard a certain person say a certain thing can produce a fear response in you years afterwards when you hear that same phrase, or see that same sign. And that response is deeply physical, not just mental or emotional distress. Your body can feel that distress as well. Common fear responses can include sweating, increased respiratory rate, racing heart, sweaty palms, right up to feeling flighty or frozen, being unable to think, or suffering from flashbacks or night terrors.

Church, for me as for many, is a place of mixed memories. It held happiness as well as fear, dread, and humiliation at times. It was a place I took seriously, because I took (and take) my spirituality seriously. I, like many, wanted to please God. I wanted to do what He wanted me to do. I didn’t want to go to Hell. I gave great weight to the teachings of those who took the pulpit. I was raised to believe certain pastors and leaders without ever questioning. Immediate, unquestioning obedience was the expectation.

Church is also a place where one can reach an altered state of consciousness. We do this in worship and in extended prayer sessions. In evangelicalism or neocharismatic practice particularly, these sessions can be hours long, and involve praying in tongues for extended periods of time, yelling in agreement with someone regardless of what they are saying. The logical brain is cast off as we “put to death the flesh” and “Press in to the spirit.” It is an altered state of consciousness.

For the person who has been traumatised in religious settings or by people they were exposed to at church, this is a toxic mix. This toxic combination of mixed memories, orientation towards pleasing God and by virtue of that the church leaders, the music, the prayer, the altered state of consciousness, the friendships, the happiness, the theology (good and bad), the sights, the smells, the sounds - it can all elicit a trauma response from the body that has been designed to protect you. And you can’t just undo this conditioning by acknowledging it. This work takes time, because it isn’t just your mind that learned it. Your body and your primal brain systems did too.

So your body and brain do what they are meant to do. They go into survival mode.

When we say church shouldn’t hurt, it isn’t just about a bad experience. It is about something that goes far deeper than that. Church shouldn’t condition you to fear. It shouldn’t result in people suffering from complex PTSD. It shouldn’t result in abuse or abuse coverups that retraumatise a victim.

It shouldn’t cost good dollars in therapy sessions to recover from this conditioning that elicits visceral, bodily survival responses and fires off the fear responses in the brain.

Yet this is what it does for so many. I’m happy to say that recovery is possible, and that reclaiming a spiritual practice that sits right with you is absolutely possible. There are some amazing voices out there on social media who are leading the way when it comes to deconstructing toxic theology and toxic religious experiences, and my hope is that these show RTS sufferers that they aren’t alone. I know that many of these voices have been instrumental in my own recovery and reclaiming of my authentic self. I hope they are for you too.

If you have been touched by the “Religion Shouldn’t Hurt” movement, if you have suffered trauma in church, please know that recovery is work that takes time and often a good therapist. You are not alone in your suffering. Don’t be alone in your recovery.

Religion, spirituality, should be positive. It should be uplifting. It should inspire us to be our freest, truest, most altruistic selves. It should surround us with love and community. It should bring solace in our most difficult moments but remind us that we can make it through. It should empower. It should care. If these things are missing from the iteration of religion or spirituality that you are experiencing, then I would encourage you to ask yourself, is this what Jesus would do to me? If the answer is no, get out of there and don’t look back. There is a community of people out here who have deconstructed from toxic religion and found a way to be free. Many of us are in therapy and highly recommend it. We all sit at different places on the spirituality spectrum. We (Should) all affirm your right to find your own way and are here to support you if you need it.

That and your local doctor and therapist. I cannot emphasise that enough.

Sending all the love.

Be well. Be free

Kit K.