Jumping Through Hoops

In the Beginning…There Were Hoops.

I learned about jumping through hoops at an early age.

Although I did not find out about it until I was in my thirties, my dad was a closet alcoholic.  My mom helped keep it a secret, but resented being forced into this role.  She lashed out at Dad, belittling him and constantly letting him know that he didn’t measure up.  Dad, perhaps in guilt, fought back passively and retreated into work.

The result for me was growing up in a home where there was always an underlying layer of tension.  Sometimes my parents’ anger and frustration spilled over to the children, in the form of harsh discipline practices.  For some reason, Dad was more severe with his sons than his daughters.  Maybe he thought he was “toughening them up.”  But I was overly sensitive and it made a deep impact on me.  Most of the time Dad was both physically and emotionally distant, and our relationship– what little there was of it– was strained.

I tried jumping through the hoops he set up, but it seemed I could never measure up to his standards.  No matter how many hoops I made it through, I always felt I was a disappointment to him.

As I entered adolescence, Dad began treating me like Mom treated him.  If I didn’t perform up to his expectations, or if I expressed an opinion that was contrary to his, I was told that I was stupid.  I was already bullied at school, and now my own father was bullying me as well.

Please don’t misunderstand.  I know my parents loved me, but they were broken people acting out of their own pain.  The saying is true: hurting people hurt people.

So by the time I was in my late teens, I was severely depressed, emotionally broken, and seriously considering suicide as my only way out.

Born Again…But Still Bouncing

And then I met Jesus.  I got saved, and my healing began.  The suicidal thoughts subsided, the depression receded, and for the first time in my life I was in a place where I felt I belonged.

And yet…there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind.  Did God really accept me, or was I just flying under the radar?  I knew there were things in my life that were displeasing to Him.  Would I someday lose what I had found?

I had heard about eternal security, but I was experiencing eternal insecurity.

It didn’t help that my pastor didn’t believe in eternal security.  He taught that a Christian could lose their salvation, that someone could backslide so far that their heart would be seared and they would be labeled “No Deposit, No Return.”  This intensified the fear that I would cross the line once too often, and God would say, “That’s it.  You’re out.”

I began to fear that God would start treating me the same way Dad did.

That’s when I began jumping through hoops again.  I was in church every time the door opened.  I went street witnessing.  I became a deacon.  I taught Sunday School.  I showed up for Saturday workdays.

I did all the “right” things.  I became an expert in jumping through hoops.

And I became trapped in performance-based religion.  My good works weren’t really rooted in my relationship with Jesus.  I was trying to prove that I was worth something.  I wanted to show God that He didn’t make a mistake when He saved me. 

My pastor was about the same age as my dad, and in a way he became almost a substitute father figure.  Four years after I was saved, the Lord called me to work full-time in that ministry as a teacher in our Christian school.  I thought this would bring me closer to the pastor, that I would start to have the kind of relationship with him that I didn’t have with my dad.  And I thought it would further solidify my standing with God.

Yes, I was a Christian.  But I was looking at God through a “father-filter” that was flawed.  I still feared His anger and rejection.

I was still jumping through hoops, and longing for freedom.

The Hoops Get Harder

But becoming an employee didn’t bring me any closer to my pastor.  He had become ill with polycystic kidney disease, and began dialysis and a regimen of drugs.  He had always been somewhat of a domineering person, but as his health began declining his narcissism and need for control increased.  The ministry began to change, and slowly we became more insular and isolated from other Christians.  We were on the way to morphing into a cult.

As his health continued to deteriorate, my pastor’s personality began to change.  He became angry, frustrated, subject to sudden fits of rage.  You could never tell what might set him off.  When we had deacons’ meetings, I would purposely sit as far away from him as possible, shrinking down in my seat because you never knew who he would lash out at, or why.  My heart would pound when he entered the classroom, fearful that he would find something that displeased him.  I began getting violent tension headaches from the stress, and kept a bottle of Extra Strength Excedrin in my desk. 

The pastor’s health decreased and his verbal abuse increased.  He began calling me stupid…just like Dad.

The school we had was not set up as a traditional school.  We used a curriculum where students were assigned work packets in each subject based on their ability, and they worked independently while the teachers circled the classroom, answering questions and giving individual tutoring as needed.  When we lost a teacher, I was required to monitor two classrooms at the same time.  I was assured that this would only be temporary.  But the weeks spread into months, and then a year passed.  I kept asking when a new teacher would be hired, but all I got was “We’ll work on that.”  One day as I was frantically racing back and forth between the two classrooms, the pastor came in and asked how it was going.  Trying to be humorous I remarked, “Well, you’re either going to have to buy me roller skates or tear down that wall!”

The next day I arrived to find two of our assistant pastors tearing down the wall separating the classrooms. 

That’s when I knew there would be no new teacher.  I was expected to continue being a good worker bee, silent and compliant.  As far as the pastor was concerned, my worth lay in my work performance.

So I continued to jump hoops.

When my pastor died, I went through a mix of emotions.  I was grieving, but at the same time I felt a sense of relief, and then I would feel tremendous guilt for feeling that way.  Talk about confused! 

Initially I felt a little hopeful that things would change.  But his eldest son took over the ministry, though he was not a pastor, and soon began leading in the same heavy-handed way modeled by his late father.  Tension built between our other three pastors and the founding family.  I spiraled back into depression.

The Beginning of the End

One day the son called me to the house and told me there might be a church split.  If that happened and I decided to leave the church, I would not be allowed to teach in the school.

The split came.  The three pastors left, and I had a choice to make.  My wife had been ready to leave for years, but the decision wasn’t so easy for me.  I would be losing my church, my job, and possibly many of my friends.

But I’d also be losing one more thing.  There would be no more jumping through hoops.

Although I was a Christian, I could see that my life was a mess.  I was dealing with deep-rooted issues from the verbal, emotional, and spiritual abuse that had occurred throughout my life,  and I knew I needed help.  But if I stayed with the church, there was no one left to help me because all three pastors were gone.

So the decision was made.  I left the church and lost my job.  The church split was incredibly painful, but I clung to Jesus and begged Him to get me through this.

And He did.  Because He’s always faithful to His children.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing.  I began seeking help for the depression and the other issues in my life.  That took the form of both medicine and counseling, psychological and pastoral.  Progress was incredibly slow, but little by little the Lord brought healing to my wounded mind and spirit.  It would take quite some time before I could finally accept that my position in Christ was secure.  I was His child, adopted into the family of God, forever and ever.  I could walk in security and freedom, my actions no longer motivated by fear but by love.  I could see God as He truly is, and I could see who I truly was also.

At last the hoops were gone.

I know my story may be difficult to read.  But I have found freedom in Christ, and one of the reasons I started this blog was to help others find the freedom that took me so long to discover.  Perhaps by sharing my story, I can ease and shorten the journey of others.

If you’ve been jumping through hoops, I’m here to tell you that you can stop now.  Your loving Father has so much more for you.  There is healing for you.  There is freedom in Christ.  Open your heart and mind to Him, and seek whatever help you need to move forward… and leave the hoops behind.

 

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