Healing from Religious Trauma

by

United Methodist Insight Special

Back in January, when I first broached the idea of retirement, my former pastor Dr. Geoffrey Moore asked a question that brought me up short: "What are you retiring to?"

I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I grew up in the great retirement mecca of Florida, where upscale people retired to neat little houses in seniors-only neighborhoods and lower-income folks settled in immobile "mobile homes" in "55-plus parks." I used to edit their newsletter-like accounts for the local weekly newspaper, chronicling who won the bridge tournament, when the next outing was scheduled, and who just got back from their dream vacation.

Of course, that was 50 years ago, when people didn't live nearly as long as they do now and retirement was seen as a second childhood, carefree and full of play. There's still a big element of that attitude among upscale folks who can afford to retire to enormous housing developments in sunny climes, but since I was eligible to join AARP two decades ago there's been a social shift. People who "retire" from their first professions start new businesses or go back to college to study new subjects for their second or even third acts.

Geoffrey's question has buzzed for months beneath all the other urgent issues of the moment, from the highs of GC's "Love Train" spirit to the lows of breakaway pressures in Liberia, Nigeria and Zimbabwe. Those stresses were topped off by my husband John's lung cancer diagnosis and – praise God! – a phenomenally successful surgery that has cut out all trace of the dreaded disease.

Discernment arrived

Shortly before we geared up for John's surgery, I finally discerned an answer to Geoffrey's question. When I leave active journalism, I'm going back to the ministry for which I trained three years at UMC-related Perkins School of Theology: spiritual direction. To that end, I've enrolled in two hefty online courses to update my skills with a new specialization called religious trauma.

I became a spiritual director in 2013 because I could no longer resist God's call to help people find their way to divine union. Years of visiting local churches, sitting through annual conferences, and enduring vitriolic General Conference sessions left me convinced that John Wesley's methods for "going on to perfection" in love had departed or gone underground in the UMC.

This time as a spiritual director, or "spiritual companion" as a new term puts it, I've decided to prepare myself in a distinct area of religious trauma. One of my online instructors, Dr. Gill (pronounced "Jill") Harvey, defines religious trauma thus:

"Religious trauma results from an event, series of events, relationships, or circumstances within or connected to religious beliefs, practices, or structures that is experienced by an individual as overwhelming or disruptive and has lasting adverse effects on a person’s physical, mental, social, emotional or spiritual well- being"(Global Center for Religious Research & North American Committee on Religious Trauma Research, 2020)."

Doesn't that sound like the United Methodist Church of the past 52 years? Each of us can name an event, a circumstance or a broken relationship that has scarred us in the church. Ironically, it's pastors, who've borne the brunt of such trauma especially during the coronavirus pandemic, who are most in need of healing from religious trauma. Even Wespath's ongoing study of clergy health has been recommending spiritual directors for pastors since 2008.

Among United Methodists, some forms of religious trauma are obvious, such as the "incompatible" language. But what about the false theology that the Holy Bible is the infallible, inerrant "word of God" handed down from on high instead of a wonderful, terrifying library of believers' experiences of God stretching over centuries? Or the appellation that the Bible is "the word of God" when scripture and tradition tell us that Jesus, the Christ is God's Word made flesh? What about congregations that justify their racism and/or sexism with cherry-picked Bible verses? And most recently, what about the evil spirit of disaffiliation that spread wicked lies to break apart the United Methodist Church?

Spiritual direction isn't therapy

Before I go further, let me make clear that I am not a therapist. Spiritual directors are not therapists as a rule; we are companions for people who are seeking a deeper relationship with God (see an excellent story on spiritual direction by Ellie Davis for Religion News Service). If anything, we spiritual companions are a vocation of listeners. We listen intently to what our directees tell us about their faith journeys and we reflect back what we discern about where they are on their path to God. Even though we may suggest they try a certain spiritual practice such as the Ignatian examen prayer or lectio divina, we don't "fix" anything.

To understand our directee's spiritual state, however, it's necessary to understand when their stories indicate a need for psychological therapy. That's why I'm working toward a certification in religious trauma, to recognize fully what religious trauma looks like so that I know when to recommend they see a qualified therapist in addition to pursuing spiritual direction.

It may seem incongruous that someone who's eager to leave journalism's grind would take on something as challenging as religious trauma study. However, decades of observing such harm, long before we had a name for it, have convinced me that people need to tell their stories of being wounded by religion, and they need to tell them to someone who will listen  without judgement. That's a spiritual director's calling, to be a "deep listener" who can point out the many guideposts that God sets out for us on our faith journeys – if we know how to recognize them.

I have half a century of listening practice as a journalist combined with religious experience and seminary study that has gone unused while I documented the decline and rebirth of The United Methodist Church. My elderhood provides the opportunity give these gifts in full measure to our community.

So, I'm not done yet; I'm just shifting gears.

Since my seminary days I've loved the Gaelic term for spiritual companions, anam cara, meaning "soul friend." Now I pray this anam cara will help seekers find renewed assurance that God loves them just as they are and wants nothing more than to be as close to them as their breath – ruach in Hebrew, pneuma in Greek – that gives life.

Veteran religion journalist Cynthia B. Astle has written about The United Methodist Church at all levels since 1988. In 2011, with the help of St. Stephen United Methodist Church in Mesquite, Texas, she founded United Methodist Insight as a media channel for news and views for and about marginalized and under-served United Methodists. She steps down as Editor on Dec. 31, 2024, and is now preparing to transfer Insight to a new set of leaders.