At my last family gathering, I was casually discussing movies with Back actors when a family member interrupted to ask, "Did you know that our ancestors owned and sold slaves?"

...

What do you say after that? "Pass the biscuits, please?" My initial reaction was to be defensive, or to deflect the blame. As a white person myself, I know how easy it is for white people to become uncomfortable when race comes into a discussion, let alone when the conversation reveals your family's ugly history. After all, what do the decisions of white people from hundreds of years ago have to do with me today? We're quick to say, "I wasn't there - that wasn't my fault."

Today is Juneteenth, the Emancipation Day of African Americans. This holiday reminds me that even though slavery was abolished years ago, Black people are far from being "emancipated" here in my country. The effects of what my ancestors started two hundred years ago are still seen today in how our culture treats and interacts with people of color.

The United States is a racially illiterate country. We claim to have "color blindness," and even though this may be said with good intentions, this just serves as an excuse to avoid the topic of race altogether. We proclaim that race is meaningless, a social construct, yet we're deeply divided by race. We as white people rarely realize it - we're so used to the temperature of our cultural water. White people dominate the social hierarchy. Our country has a system of racism embedded within its very foundations. I may be against racism as an individual, but racism is so much more than individual choices. Racism, by definition, is a system, and I still greatly benefit from this system that is controlled by people who think and look like I do. And the fact that my ancestors owned slaves completely reinforces this point: the consequences of their decisions are still very much present today.

The truth is, even though I wasn't there hundreds of years ago, even though I had no say in the horrors my ancestors committed, this history is part of my collective memory and collective identity as a white woman.

It may not be my fault.
.
But it is my problem.

It's my problem that 54% of white evangelicals feel threatened by our culture's changing ethnic demographics. It's my problem that the election of racist leaders and politicians (one of whom is the president) is largely due to the votes of white Christians. It's my problem that the area in which I live is highly segregated, none more so than the local churches (a symptom of a national problem). It's my problem that my race has a huge sense of entitlement and privilege, and when challenged, falls into patterns of white fragility. It's my problem that Blacks have the highest poverty rate in the country. It's my problem that Black drivers in Missouri are 91% more likely to be pulled over by police than white people (and that's just one state out of 50). It's my problem that Black men like Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Walter Scott, Freddie Grey, Philando Castillo, Eric Garner, John Crawford, and Alton Sterling, to name just a few, have been shot and killed by police. It's my problem that Black (and Hispanic) men are over-represented in prison. It's my problem that hate crimes against people of color have been on the rise in the past few years.

It's my problem that people of color have been saying these kinds of things for years, but other white people might actually listen to me because I have "authority" as a white person.

I still have so much to learn in how to own and fix my problems. I have a long way to go in understanding my culture's deep racial divide and the ways that I, as a white woman, have perpetuated and benefited from it. I have so much deep listening to do, and if I said something wrong in this post, I hope that my readers who are people of color will correct me.

Because of the God I believe in, I know that change is possible. Juneteenth gives me hope - change happened 154 years ago. And if we want change to happen today, we need to start having these awkward conversations with both our family members and our friends. We need to enter into the tension.We can't constantly rely on people of color to educate ourselves.

It's OUR problem. Let's own it and do something about it.

For further learning:
Why It's So Hard to Talk to White People About Race (Article)
I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness (Book)
Beyond Color Blind (Book)
Why It's So Hard to Change Our Minds (Webcomic)
Slavery to Mass Incarceration (Video with beautiful art)
Allegories on Race and Racism (TED talk)
Color Blind or Color Brave? (TED talk)
Be the Bridge to Racial Unity Facebook Group

The American church has a current obsession with talking about the "nones." This segment of the population, the group that claims no religious affiliation at all, is the subject of just about every trending study. They're the scapegoat, the problem, the evidence of our culture's moral decline.

What I fear that the American church fails to realize, however, is her culpability in this emerging demographic. Most "nones" didn't start as "nones." No, most "nones" were at one point part of the church. They just decided that the church wasn't for them.

They were "dones" before they became "nones." And I totally get why.

I have seen the Church be capable of unspeakable horrors. I've seen churches place the appeasement and comfort of the attendees over her mission to love and redeem the hurt and broken. I've seen churches worship political platforms and nationalistic identities over and against the One who was slain. I've seen churches bully and abuse their staff members and lay members. I've seen churches silence prophetic voices, perpetuating self-promotion and self-preservation over Jesus' call to grace and justice.

I've wrestled and cussed and railed and lamented. I've become frustrated, angry, indignant, and cynical.

But then I think about what the Church could be. I remember the time a church gave me permission to ask hard, uncomfortable questions without passing judgment. I remember the time a church strategically moved into a specific neighborhood because they wanted to live with and meet the physical needs of the impoverished people who lived there. I remember a time when a church radically welcomed LGBTQ people, offered their building as a place for the homeless to stay, fully funded a Syrian refugee family's immigration. I remember when a church cried with me, prayed with me, and sat with me when my heart was breaking.

This is what the Church is capable of. This is what God's kingdom looks like. This is why I believe it's important to do life and mission with other individuals who are committed to God's beautiful dream of God's kingdom being realized here on earth as it is in heaven.

More often than not, the American church fails to reflect this ideal. And it is because of this failure that the American church is dying. We're quick to put the blame on the "nones" or the "dones," blind to the ways that we have often chased people out of the church. It's easy to blame the quitters, but it takes some hard, honest examination to admit that the fault may lie within our own churches.

There have been several occasions when I've wanted to throw in the towel.

But then I remember that if I love Jesus, then I have to love his friends. They're a package deal.

Church is messy. But I'm committed to being a change-agent in the church right now, so that when the new church rises from the ashes, she remembers who Jesus has called her to be.

I've taken much needed breaks from church to reassess and heal. I've taken breaks to find God and to refocus on the mission. But at the end of the day, I'm not ready to give up yet.

God hasn't give up on his Church, and I hope that one day, in the midst of breaking bread, worshiping, and reading Scripture together, we can learn to how love and forgive and reconcile again and again.

In my last post, I identified 10 signs that you're in an abusive faith system. Spiritual abuse is real, and the very worst thing we as a Church can possibly do is avoid talking about it. Maybe you read some of the signs on the list, resonated with them, and are asking, "Now what?" Here are 5 ways you can begin the healing process.

1. Talk to some trusted individuals.
When I was in the middle of spiritual abuse and felt like I was going crazy, I talked to a trusted friend who is a pastor. I made an appointment with a spiritual director. I talked to a man in my small group who specialized in corporate conflict resolution. All three of them cried with me and told me that what I was experiencing was "abuse."

Carefully pray about who to approach, but don't be afraid to voice your concerns to some trusted friends and mentors, even if it means breaking one of the "rules." You shouldn't be alone and isolated in your abuse, and in order to properly understand what it is you are experiencing, you need some outside perspective. Be honest and vulnerable. It's worth it.

Today marks the anniversary of when I resigned from a church because of spiritual abuse. It was both one of the bravest things I've ever done and one of the most painful things I have ever done. Often times pain comes with bravery.

When I resigned, I sat down and wrote a statement that detailed why I was leaving. I prayed for days over what to say, and I shared my statement with some trusted mentors and pastors to make sure I was being both truthful and gracious. I memorized it so I was ready to give my statement at any moment's notice. Let me tell you, crafting my story and memorizing it in such a way was at the prompting of the Holy Spirit. The very next week, without any prior notice, I was given the opportunity to share with the staff about why I was leaving. I mentally pulled up my prepared statement and told my co-workers that I was leaving because "my values were incompatible with the values that have been placed on the staff."

Immediately afterwards, the leadership brought me into a meeting where I was bullied, belittled, accused, and blamed. It was traumatizing. I'm still recovering from it.

I've deliberated even writing about my experience, fearful that my desire to share my story would come off as either divisive or vengeful. Neither of those is my intent. The reason why I tell my story is because spiritual abuse is something that we need to talk about. Bringing this ugly, hidden side of the church into the light diminishes its power.

One of the very worst things we can do is pretend that spiritual abuse doesn't exist.

I was first exposed to spiritual abuse when I was teaching a college class on the Biblical narrative. After our session on the early church in the book of Acts, a middle-aged woman came up to me with tears in her eyes and recounted her story about how the church she had attended for over 20 years abused her and her family. The lead pastor eliminated all forms of accountability, created an us-versus-them culture, and shut down all opposition. Listening to her story, I wondered how anyone could be a part of a church like that. As this woman shared her doubts and confusions, I wondered how you don't realize that what's happening is a form of abuse.

And then I experienced it myself.

Spiritual abuse is subversive. It's not always apparent, especially to those who are caught up in it. Most of the "rules" and behaviors are left unspoken. Thankfully, my experience became a little clearer when the leadership gave the staff five things we needed to do "in order to not be fired." Four out of the five rules actually make this list. But not everyone's experience is as clear as mine was.

Now, from telling my story, I have been amazed at 1) how little known spiritual abuse is; 2) how many people have experienced spiritual abuse but haven't had the words to name it for what it is.

I am by no means an expert on spiritual abuse, but here are 10 ways I've seen it through my own experience and the experiences of others brave enough to tell me their stories:

1. The church has a celebrity pastor who falls into defensiveness and pride.
This is a pattern we see in many large churches, especially evidenced last year with the "Church Too" movement. This pastor may have started out with strong leadership skills, but the idolatry of his personal platform causes him to slip into protectionism, which is often birthed out of insecurity. Suddenly, the leader's image takes priority. He becomes equated with the church, and the church could not function in his absence. Most decisions boil down to whether it makes him look good. He considers himself above critique and surrounds himself with "yes people" who will always agree with him. His insecurities cause everyone else's insecurities to spiral out of control.

2. The biggest priority is guarding the image of the church and its leaders. At all costs.
Those who are part of the church are not permitted to tell truth. They are forbidden to point out reality and to question or critique. They must maintain positive attitudes at all times and are not allowed to express their feelings unless they make the church look good. Protecting the reputation of the church and those in power becomes more important than protecting the dignity of those the church serves. Further, when the prophetic gift is silenced, self-promotion and self-perpetuation becomes the mission. Without prophetic criticism, the church's calling is lost and replaced with this new self-serving identity.

3. There is no accountability.
Whether it comes about intentionally or by accident, the church structure eliminates all forms of accountability. The leaders remove themselves from the accountability of the staff, the elders in the church, or even the denomination at large. Church boards or advisory councils are non-existent, and if they do exist, they were hand-selected by the head pastor and serve as more "yes men." Those who have concerns with church decisions are forbidden from approaching the boards and councils, often threatened with punitive consequences.

4. You are forbidden from talking to anyone about a conflict.
Obviously, there is a huge difference between gossiping and seeking advice and support. The former is characterized by a spirit of animosity; the latter is characterized by humbleness and a desire for reconciliation. Preventing staff or laypersons from talking about their problems creates further problems, sometimes even perpetuating abusive relationships that may already exist. It breeds isolation and prevents Biblical conflict resolution from taking place. And because you can't talk about problems or address the dysfunction, you start wondering whether you are crazy (you're not).

5. You are not permitted to do anything outside of your role.
Don't get me wrong: it's important for staff members and volunteers to achieve their objections and complete their ministry responsibilities with excellence. However, when they are prevented from serving in other ministry areas and are told to "stay in their lane," control and dominance have become priorities. Very rarely is calling confined to a lane, and churches do themselves a disservice by limiting the Holy Spirit's empowerment. When people are told to stay in their lane, the efficiency of the local church's system is given priority over what is ultimately best for the kingdom in the long run.

6. Fear and shame become weapons to drive people into submission.
There are no healthy systems for conflict resolution. Instead, tactics of fear, intimidation, and isolation are employed in order to "resolve" conflicts. Shame is systemic. Anxiety becomes a strong reality and staff members or laypersons do not know who they can trust.

7. There is an "insider" culture.
The main leader creates a special following, and these people feel lucky that the pastor is paying attention to them. All those on the outside want to be part of this favored inner circle. Those who are outside strive to get "in," and those who are already "in" do whatever it takes to stay favored. This often involves staying silent on critical issues so as not to offend the leader (see #2).

8. Numbers are everything.
The gospel of attendance and tithing replaces the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The church measures its entire success on how much new revenue they have or how many people showed up at the Christmas Eve services. Often these numbers are conflated so as to assuage the leader's insecurities. Decisions are made based upon what will boost numbers and not on what will further God's kingdom. The leaders do not publicly talk about sin and avoid engaging in any conversation with the culture that may be deemed controversial, lest it adversely affect attendance numbers and giving.

9. People who do speak out are silenced or bullied.
Those who dare to leave their bunkers and declare their truth are intimidated, shamed, and silenced. They are not met with grace, but with judgment. The leaders are quick to protect themselves instead of humbly listening. They do not want to hear any truth that may be at odds with the distorted, dysfunctional reality that they have created. And when someone leaves the church, they are immediately ostracized. Church members or staff members are fearful to continue communicating with those who are shunned, and if they do maintain a relationship, it's done in secret.

10. Your value is based upon your performance.
You are not appreciated for who you are, but for what you accomplish. The culture is one of utilitarianism. Staff members and volunteers are greedily devoured. You are no longer a pastor, but a "ministry professional." The church demands more and more from them. Rest is an afterthought, if thought of at all, and is understood to be a necessary component so that you can work even harder. Ministers and laypersons are burnt out, stressed out, and used up.

In short, I want you to know that spiritual abuse is real.

You are not crazy.

And you are not alone.

My story has a redemptive ending. Following my experience at this particular abusive church, I began a new career at another church whose values have been the exact opposite as the ones that appear on this list. You can read more about the way God redeemed my story here.


Perhaps you have a story to tell, too. Please send me a message. I would love to talk to you and pray for you.

Here are some further resources that have especially helped me process my own experience. In my next post, I talk about some steps to take if you think you may be undergoing spiritual abuse.

Resources:
"10 Ways to Spot Spiritual Abuse" by Mary DeMuth
Toxic Faith by Stephen Arterburn and Jack Felton
    (For a quick summary of the points in the book, see this concise handout and this summary article).
"14 Signs of Spiritual Abuse" by Mark deJesus
"3 Ways to Identify and Address Spiritual Abuse in Ministry Leader" by Eric Stratton
Broken Trust: A Practical Guide to Identify and Recover from Toxic Faith, Toxic Church, and Spiritual Abuse by F. Remy Diederich

You see, I first noticed that the Old Testament was dying when I was in high school.

"Christina Bohn is"

...

Writing a short autobiography should be an easy task. After all, who knows me better than myself? Yet, these three little words made me feel like hyperventilating a few weeks ago. Friends, it's been a long time since such a simple little clause has caused me this much anxiety. The last time was when the doctor said, "I'm going to insert this in..." before trailing off as she consulted her notes (true story).

This little predicate made me stare at my computer screen for what felt like hours as I tried to figure out what came next. How am I going to complete this sentence? Will what follows be...

Impressive enough?
Interesting enough?
Loveable enough?
Just... enough?

What do you want from me, people?

The laughable thing is that this short autobiography I'm supposed to write is for the back of a commentary that NO ONE will read. Not even my own mom will read it. I can't decide if this should make me feel better or worse.

This writing exercise awoke an existential crisis I didn't even know was brewing inside me. All of a sudden, I was wondering, "Who am I?"

I've always wondered whether Jesus had an existential crisis at any point in his life. I mean, there really isn't a precedent for someone who is both fully God and fully human. There's a reason why the deity/humanity of Jesus is talked about so much in scholarly circles - it doesn't get more confusing than that.

If at any point Jesus did have doubts about his true identity, however, they were quickly cleared up at the very beginning of his ministry. As he was coming up out of the waters of baptism, Jesus' Father said, "You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased."

This right here is the truest thing about Jesus: He is God's Son, he is loved, he is in a favorable relationship with the Godhead. Here's the thing that gets me: Jesus hasn't even done anything yet! There haven't been any miracles, any teachings, any prophesies... Jesus didn't have to do anything impressive to earn his Father's love.

Jesus was enough, just for showing up. It's like that one class we all took where we just had to show up for attendance to receive full class credit. Jesus was the Beloved -- no prerequisites, no expectations. End of autobiographical sentence.

If God loved Jesus this much but still chose to send Jesus to die for you, how much do you think God loves YOU?

Let that sink in.

Henri Noewen writes that "self-restriction is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us 'Beloved.'"*

You are not identifiable by your successes, your power, your popularity, or your influence. You are the beloved. You are enough, just for being present.

You are enough for who you are and whose you are.

That is the truest thing about you.

Now finish this sentence: [Your name] is...

---
* Life of the Beloved, pg. 21

(This post is part 3 of my 5 part series on things that keep me up at night. You can read the other posts in the series here.)

There are a few things that keep me up into the wee hours of the night, and one of those things is "heaven."

When I was a preteen, I went on a youth retreat at a cabin in the woods. I remember waking up early one morning with some other kids and the youth leader, and we watched the sun rise from our vantage point on a hill. It was magnificent. Until the youth leader said something along the lines of, "This is so beautiful, but we have to remember that God is going to come back and destroy it one day."

Perfect moment ruined. Suddenly, this sunrise didn't feel so beautiful anymore. I remember being overcome with strong feelings of foreboding and sorrow. Most of my youth group memories consist of rapture theology and legalistic sexual ethics, so I guess that this traumatic moment is just one more thing I need to work out in therapy.

I wrestled with this "end time" theology all throughout my teen years. I spent a year reading through the entire Old Testament during my freshman year, and low and behold, a major theological thread surprised me:

God was committed not just to God's people, but also to God's creation. 

That God would abandon his mission to save the entire world was troubling. God spent thousands of years committed to the redemption of heaven and earth - why would he then abruptly destroy everything that he had deemed "good"?

Answer: God wouldn't. And he won't.

Thank God.

Both the Old and the New Testaments agree: God has in mind to renew the entire cosmos, starting with the resurrection of our physical bodies. And yet, our Christian language and theology of "heaven" has persisted. It's everywhere, from the bestseller's list to our Sunday school classes to the American church's "Roman's road" to salvation.

This is the tension that keeps me up at night. I don't necessarily deny that this conscious, intermediate state with Jesus exists after we die, but the problem is just that: this "heaven" is a temporary state. Our theologies make heaven the final destination for the redeemed, when it isn't.

The term "heaven" is never used in Scripture for the final eschaton (end) that God has in mind for his people, and I fear that our continued misuse of "heaven" as such has caused us to overlook God's plan to redeem all things.

This tension was especially manifested when I served in children's ministry. When the Gospel was presented to kids, both preschoolers and elementary students alike, God's endgame was always presented as "dying and going to heaven." There was no mention of God's plan to restore the world, nor was there any mention of the resurrection of our bodies. I worried over what theological pitfalls would arise because of our neglect to present ALL of God's good news. How do we communicate this life after life after death to children in responsible and appropriate ways so that they don’t have to unlearn their concept of “heaven” when they grow up? And how do we do it without scaring them?

I still haven't quite figured it out, friends. I'd hate to mess someone up the way I was messed up as a kid (I already have enough things to keep me up at night). But here's what I've got so far:

"Because of our sin, we are all going to die. But the good news is that Jesus loves you so much that he made a way so that you can be with him when you die. But wait! It gets better! Jesus has a plan to save the entire world, and he's going to make all the wrong things in this world right again. He's going to fix everything, and just like Jesus rose from the dead, he's going to raise you from the dead, too."

I can't help but to think that lots of adults need to hear this, too.

I hope that one of these sleepless nights I'll be able to come up with a better way to articulate this final hope we have in Jesus. In the meantime, I've repented of the ways that I've previously used "heaven" to describe God's final plan.

God has something far better than "heaven" in mind: God's love for us is so fierce, he loves us bodies and all. He will never abandon us, even when our bodies have seen decay.

Now go enjoy that sunrise.

----
For further reading:

• A New Heaven and a New Earth by J. Richard Middleton
• Surprised by Hope by N.T. Wright
• God Dwells Among Us by G.K. Beale
• Salvation Means Creation Healed by Howard Snyder

(This post is part 2 of my 5 part series on things that keep me up at night. You can read the other posts in the series here.)

There are a few things that keep me up into the wee hours of the night, and one of those things is my uncertainty.

The Christian culture I grew up in during the early 2000's was all about being certain. There were "proofs" for every single tenant of Christianity, and it was imperative that I, a teenager, could explain the evidence for my faith in depth. The worldview I grew up in maintained that the Bible was infallible and the only reliable source. Science was viewed with suspicion and even straight-out animosity. Everyone who wasn't a believer was dogmatic and immoral. And if you couldn't argue your beliefs with the "enemy," then you were part of the problem.

One day, I came across an article by an apologist that argued that the Bible was scientifically accurate. He reasoned that Jesus' proclamation of the coming kingdom in Luke 17:34-35 demonstrated that the Bible maintained a Copernican view of the world. That someone could be asleep in bed at night and another could be grinding grain during the day proved that the Bible portrays a round earth (?).

I remember reading this argument, plus many others, with great wariness. It seemed like this was reading way more into the text than the Gospel writers intended us to. There was no way that the biblical writers could have ascribed to modern scientific views, and I frankly didn't think that their ancient views of a flat earth really even mattered. I started to doubt, and this uncertainty caused me to deconstruct many of the ideas that I had been taught about the relationship between the Bible and science.

Since then, I've deconstructed many beliefs I've previously held. I've torn them apart and put them back together with the new truth I've discovered. It's quite liberating, actually.

Yet, there are some nights when I lie in bed awake at night, worried that I've either gone too far or not far enough.

I worry about Jesus' call to nonviolent resistance and what that looks like practically. Is it even practical at all? Is it okay if it's not? Has Jesus called me to be "successful" or "faithful?" And if my life were ever threatened, would I stick with my convictions to radically love my enemy?

I worry about human sexuality and the complex nature of identity. I worry about how divided the Church at large is, and how she typically sides on either legalism or license. And what if I'm on the wrong "side?" I wish I didn't even have to pick a side.

I worry about whether I will immediately be with Jesus when I die or whether I'll remain "asleep," waiting for the final resurrection and redemption of all things. The thought of even being without Jesus for a conscious moment terrifies me.

I worry about whether I'm being faithful to my calling. I wonder if there is something different that I should be doing. I wonder if I've made the wrong decisions in the past, and whether these decisions have a bearing on my future.

I worry that I don't speak out prophetically enough. I worry that I've remained too silent.

I worry about things that are too vulnerable and too fragile to voice publicly. I whisper them in the stillness of the night, when I can hide in the cloak of darkness.

Uncertainty is hard. It's easier to be certain than uncertain, and sometimes in our rush to escape the awkwardness of uncertainty we make up or accept simple, contrite answers to our questions.

We live in a culture where we are expected to have an opinion or belief on everything, from the latest political policy to the most recent viral video. When asked about our beliefs, we have the tendency to make up an answer and bullcrap our way through a conversation. We choose saving face over hesitation; we choose the comfort of having an answer, any answer, over the tension of uncertainty.

But there is something beautiful about being able to honestly voice our doubts and say, "I don't know." 

"I don't know" recognizes that not all problems can be categorized as black or white, yes or no.

"I don't know" admits that I still have things to sort through.

"I don't know" acknowledges that I'm willing to sit in the awkward, to sit in the tension, and pursue a conviction worth having.

The pursuit of truth is a process that takes time; it can't be rushed. I'm learning to lie awake at night and accept the tension that comes with my uncertainty, trusting that the Holy Spirit will guide me into all truth in his time. I'm learning that the only thing worse than contrite answers is silence, so I voice my uncertainty to other believers who are on the journey with me. I'm learning that God can handle any uncertainty I may have, and he will never be disappointed in me for questioning and wondering.

I don't know... And maybe that's okay for now.