I have always said that I don’t have a testimony. I grew
up in church from the age of two and there was never a time that I didn’t know
God. I don’t have a life-changing revelation or epiphany to share, and I was
always a little envious of those who did. My testimony might not be the
immediate, exciting event of some other Christians, but I do have a testimony,
and this is it.
I grew up in church and as a child I would proudly
proclaim that I was a Christian. It was a very small community Baptist church
in the UK, however when I was a young teenager, after some hurt from other
members, my family moved to a Pentecostal church. I remember my first time
there, they prayed for my mum and she fell to the ground and I ran outside in
floods of tears, shouting, “you’ve killed my mum!” Some members of the youth
came out and explained that she had been touched by the Holy Spirit. I didn’t know
what that meant, and I was uncomfortable. The music was more exciting than our
previous church and they had proper instruments: drums; electric and bass
guitars; singers with microphones; even bongos. People freely danced all around
the room and waved beautiful flags in a mesmerising pattern that I couldn’t
avert my eyes from. Nevertheless, as I got older, I stopped attending.
I still called myself a Christian, believed in God,
prayed occasionally, and upheld many of my morals and values, but it was very
much in the background. As a teenager I had a significant interest in the
occult. I had been searching online for ‘Witch’ schools, and, looking to
understand some unexplained “supernatural” events through my childhood, I was
very much interested in all things supernatural, but too scared to delve too
deep in fear of God’s judgement.
I then found myself stuck in an abusive relationship with
an unbeliever. Aged only 18, I had a mortgage and engagement ring, neither of
which I wanted. I was afraid to leave him for many reasons, but mostly because
I was afraid of what that would mean in terms of how God saw me – my virginity had
been taken, it happened without my consent, but the fact remained that I wasn’t
a virgin. I felt that the Bible would
consider us to be married and, in leaving the man that had “known” me, and
potentially entering a different relationship in the future, I would be a
sinner; an adulterer; an abomination to God. I felt like a prisoner with no way
out.
I dug out my old Youth bible and started with Genesis. I
wanted to read everything it said about premarital sex, and divorce, and being
“unequally yoked”. I had so many questions and I wrote pages and pages of notes
but when I got to Numbers, it all just seemed too much to digest and I gave up.
I “Googled” my concerns and came across a Religion & Spirituality forum on
Yahoo! Answers. I spent most of my days and evenings on the forum, asking and
answering questions and participating in lively discussions. I developed a
hunger to know more about this God that they were talking about, a very
different God than the one I thought I knew in my mind. I began praying that He
would show me He was real. I cried out to Him to show me His will in my
situation, and to save me from the life I was living. I begged Him to revoke my
free will and just have His way in my life. I believe that it was during this
period that I became a Christian. I cried out to the Lord on my own, with my
nose buried in the tear-soaked carpet, sobbing along to the only worship music
I knew; Hillsong. I bought myself a new Bible and spoke to my mum about going
back to church.
It was the summer of 2008 and the Pentecostal church we
had attended a few years before were having revival meetings in the sports hall
of the local college. I attended on Sunday evening with my mum and it was like
nothing I had ever seen or experienced. The preacher was full of energy. He was
jumping and shouting “FIRE!”, walking up and down the rows, touching people on
their heads and blowing on them, causing them to visibly shake as if they had
been electrocuted. I didn’t understand what was happening but I wanted to feel
what they felt. There was some kind of cool-down time where the band were
invited back to tinkle on the piano keys and play softly in the background, and
the preacher started talking in a gentler way, inviting a response.
I was crying. I don’t think it was a spiritual response
like they were trying to illicit, but I was called up to the front and he
prayed for me. I was nervous, and probably trembling which they took as a work
of the Holy Spirit. His hand was on top of my head and I stumbled a little.
While I was trying to regain my footing, he whispered, “It’s ok, babe” and
while I wouldn’t say he pushed me, I definitely felt led to the ground. They
put a tablecloth over me and carried on and I was laying there on the floor
wondering how long I was supposed to stay there. What was supposed to be
happening? Was this where God would talk to me or touch me somehow? Should I
close my eyes or keep them open? Nothing really changed but I was led to
believe that this was the ‘done thing’. It was the way in which the Holy Spirit
worked in you. If you wanted to feel God’s presence or be a real Christian,
this was what you had to do.
It’s worth noting that during my time in this particular
church, I have definitely experienced, both personally, and by observing other people,
the altar-call respondent being physically pushed to the ground. They do it
gently and in a way that’s not obvious; a strong open hand on the top of your
head, bending down to touch your feet – naturally you’re inclined to follow
them, or a hand on each shoulder with the “catcher” grasping your elbows from behind,
sometimes a whole arm around your shoulders and a palm on your chest, with a soothing
rock back and forth whilst praying passionately, often followed by a jab to the
diaphragm as they pray for the “rivers of living waters” to come flowing from
our “innermost being”.
October 2008, the day before my 20th birthday,
I was attending an evening meeting back at the regular church and felt that I
should be baptised. That was the ‘done thing’, right? The proof that you’re a
Christian? I approached one of the elders who had been preaching, and he asked
me if I was a Christian. Now, as I have mentioned above, I considered myself
Christian for years but I had never specifically prayed “The Prayer”; the
“becoming a Christian” prayer. In fact, I had avoided even reading it in fear
of taking some kind of eternal oath before I was “ready”. Whatever that means. He
led me in the sinner’s prayer, instructing me to repeat after him, line by
line. He then led me to the Pastor and registered my interest in being in the
next baptismal service.
A couple of months later I found the strength to leave my
abusive situation, once and for all. I moved back home to my parents’ house
and, in an effort to be as close to God as possible, believing that the only
place I felt at peace was church, I started attending the Saturday morning
prayer meetings.
In this interim, I reconnected with an old schoolfriend
and we quickly became inseparable. He was also an unbeliever but I made
exceptions because he was supportive and kind and seemed interested, or at
least respectful of my faith. I figured it was only a matter of time and
perhaps I could bring him to know God if he would come to church with me enough
(spoiler alert: this was twelve years ago. We’ve been married for almost 7
years and have three children together. He’s still an unbeliever. I continue to
pray for his salvation.)
I was baptised in the name of the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Spirit in February 2009. It was an evening meeting and there were
around 7 or 8 of us being baptised. I still didn’t feel any different and I
didn’t receive the gift of tongues which was seemingly the sign of being saved.
The belief was that in order to demonstrate that one was truly saved and had
been baptised in the power of the Holy Spirit, they must speak in tongues, it
was almost a requirement. I prayed for a baptism in the Spirit and begged the
Lord to give me the gift of tongues so that I could be a real Christian. I was
given a copy of The Supernatural Ways of Royalty by Bill Johnson and Kris Vallotten,
apparently all the youth had been given a copy, and I was in that odd stage
between youth/adult but as they told me I was a “baby Christian” and needed to
be “milk fed”, I must have qualified. I read it immediately and although there
were a few parts I struggled with, I was left feeling optimistic that I was
better than other people – the “paupers” – because I was a child of the King; I
had rights and privileges as a beloved daughter of God (I no longer have the
book, unfortunately, but it was something about arguing with God about what we
want and, sort of advocating for ourselves until He changes His mind. Because
we’re His children and we can do that, according to them).
My mum and I were then invited to attend an Alpha course.
It was wonderful and I really enjoyed it. There was a group of around 10 of us
and when we completed the course, we weren’t ready to stop our Wednesday night
meetings so we continued for a while and started working through a second-stage
Alpha course, until the leadership team told us that we weren’t allowed unless
we became a “Connect” group, discussing pre-approved and selected topics, which
wasn’t what we wanted.
On our last meeting we were joined by a woman who was
beloved by the church and who told us that we would all go home that evening
having been baptised in the Holy Spirit and received the gift of tongues. One
by one we were taken into a small upstairs room and prayed over quite
aggressively until we were "baptised with the Holy Spirit" and
received the gift of tongues. The lady kept telling me to make sounds, “just
babble until you get a word”. I felt intimidated and uncomfortable and they
weren't stopping so I'm pretty sure I just blurted out a random nonsense word
over and over until they were satisfied and declared that we had all been given
the "gift of tongues". We were sent home and told to
"practice" our new word.
I’m sceptical by nature, and I like to analyse
everything. I wasn’t convinced that I had received the gift of tongues but I
tried to practice and develop them. I was advised that the more I practiced,
the more words would come. I felt like I was blaspheming in some way, or at
least mocking or disrespecting God. I confided with a couple of women that I
was worried I had made it up and I was just speaking gobbledegook. They laughed
and said, “No, of course it’s real. That’s your heavenly language. You just
need to practice it”. So, then I worried that in not believing it, I was
also grieving or blaspheming the Holy Spirit. It was a no-win situation.
In church the “prophetic messages” in tongues came thick and
fast. Everyone seemed to be doing it, and I struggled to believe it was real. I
found myself trying to test other people’s tongues, for instance, occasionally
I picked upon the odd word which sounded like a familiar Spanish word, and I
waited to hear if the interpretation included the word I had recognised.
Sometimes the “message” was very short but the interpretation went on for
several minutes. Other times there was no interpretation and I wondered how
that fit in with 1 Corinthians 14:28 “But if there is no one to interpret,
let each of them keep silent in church and speak to himself and to God.”
There were several things over the years which bothered me and I struggled to
get on board with, but I rebuked myself for not being spiritual enough or not having
enough faith. It didn’t occur to me to read my Bible and test all things
because, as I had been told, I was still a young Christian (even when I was 30)
and I was still learning. When I did raise a question, I was told that I was
still thinking with the flesh or that we were under a new covenant, or that
that was a religious or traditional thought and we didn’t need religion when we
were Spirit-led. Some people feigned interest and gingerly took the pages and
pages of notes and questions I had typed, and never returned with them, or any
answers – I wish I’d kept a copy. Some people would give me a Bible verse to
read instead of a straight answer, and I would still be none the wiser.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
My natural inquisitive nature was beat out of me and
replaced with an “If God wanted you to know, don’t you think He’d reveal it to
you” mentality. Some things are not for us to know. I had always prided myself
on my “different” outlook to my faith. I wasn’t the kind 0f person to blindly accept
something just because I was told to by a person on a pulpit, or because others
were doing it, too. I’ve always felt a conviction within myself and generally,
if I followed that I was OK (some may call it the Holy Spirit’s conviction,
others might call it a gut feeling – I don’t know). For example, I don’t drink
– not because “I’m a Christian and I’m not allowed”, but because I just don’t
enjoy it and don’t feel that it adds anything to my experience or life. Now,
though, I wasn’t that person anymore. I wasn’t testing anything. I wasn’t
researching anything and considering my own views. I was being told what to
think, and what to do. I was being indoctrinated.
I looked around for new churches but I didn’t really know
what I was looking for. I attended a couple of services at the Baptist church
where I grew up, as we were still running a Brownie unit there and had to
attend parade services, etc, but it was so different to what I had grown
accustomed to. There was no “fire”. The
music was boring. Nobody danced. Nobody was touched by the Holy Spirit. I’m
ashamed to say that I thought God had left the building.
The years went by and I remained in the Pentecostal
church, stagnating on the back row with no spiritual growth. I put myself
forward to serve in several areas but was pushed back – it was very much an “if
your face fits” kind of place, and I wasn’t local so I didn’t socialise very
much outside of church meetings and planned cleaning days, etc. Over the last
few years of my attendance, the church went through several changes in
leadership and members coming and going, with two or three significant “mass
exodus” style events, for various reasons. I felt that I would be jumping on a
bandwagon if I left because someone else did, or soon after, and I was waiting
on God “leading” me to a new church, as I had been praying for His guidance on
this for years by now. I suffered greatly with Hyperemesis in pregnancy and had
three children in fairly quick succession, so I wasn’t able to attend church
very much for a couple of years, and when I did force myself to go, I was too
busy parenting a baby/toddler to actually pay attention to the teaching. Often,
I would miss the meeting altogether or only stay for the, heavily CCM-inspired,
worship and feel like I’d been there for the most important part, anyway.
In 2017 I had what I could only describe as a crisis of
faith. My faith in God is, and always has been, unshakeable. I know that He is
real and I have never doubted His sovereignty, His deity, His sacrifice or His
love for me, however I experienced a huge loss and struggled to process it. A
friend’s 18-month-old son was suddenly very seriously ill and I prayed my heart
out for him. I prayed that the Lord would heal him and I reached out to some of
my closest friends in the church. I truly believed that he would be healed.
Unfortunately, he passed away and I couldn’t understand why. A month later my
mum’s best friend who had been closer than family to me as I grew up; my second
mum, suddenly had a major cardiac and respiratory arrest and passed away. We
circled her bedside praying and hoping. I prayed so hard for her to wake up and
promised God that I would do my best to lead her to Him if only He would let
her live. I believed that He would save her, because it aligned with His will.
I commanded it in Jesus’ name according to the way I had been taught in church;
that way God had to act. I got angry and prayed, “I declare that she
will be healed, RIGHT NOW, in Jesus’ name” over and over and I truly believed
it. When we joined hands and circled her bed as they turned off the machines, I
couldn’t breathe and had to step away. I couldn’t understand why God had not
answered my prayer. I prayed exactly the same way that I had seen people pray
in church and miracles happened. Was my faith not strong enough? Was there
something I hadn’t repented for and God was punishing me? Was it my fault? I felt so guilty.
I was reminded of the times I had prayed for other
things, or had others pray for me, and never found the breakthrough they were
declaring over me; never received the healing they promised. I remember being
chastised for talking about my skin conditions and referring to them as “mine”.
She said that in doing so I was claiming them, and that I would never be healed
of something if I kept claiming it. “Our words are powerful”, they would say,
and “God used words to speak creation into being”, I was afraid that if I said
the wrong thing, I would be calling it into being and so I was constantly on
edge with, “I’m sorry Lord, I didn’t mean that” always on the tip of my tongue,
or imagining some kind of verbal re-wind where I would overwrite what I had
just spoken into the world. I was constantly doubting myself. Sometimes we
would be told that if our breakthrough wasn’t coming, we must have some kind of
spiritual blockade, and to examine ourselves: did we have an unrepented sin?
Did we have an unsolved issue with a brother or sister? Were our tithes up to
date? We were strongly encouraged to give financially, almost as a requirement.
This is another thing my husband struggled with. One of the stock phrases,
after “The Lord will bless you tenfold!” was one that was often chanted
altogether by the church, followed by a cheer, “A good measure, pressed down,
shaken together, and running over” – from Luke 6:38, “The amount you give will
determine the amount you receive.”
I stopped praying, other than a simple thanksgiving
prayer every so often. I never prayed in intercession. I never offered to pray
for anyone else. I never asked for a single thing, because He didn’t answer my
prayers anyway so what was the point? I hardly ever read my Bible as it felt
like a chore, and I remembered preachers saying that God could not be contained
in a box, or a book, but that the Holy Spirit would be sufficient for us, so I
sought the “Holy Spirit” when I should have been reading God’s word. I would
listen to a playlist of my favourite worship songs – Bethel, Hillsong, Kari
Jobe, Elevation – and think that that was enough (and I wonder why my husband
never looked at me and thought, “Wow, I want some of that God she’s got!”)
March 2020 brought a national lockdown as a result of the
Covid-19 pandemic. I had a valid excuse for not attending church and didn’t
feel obligated to go. Along with millions of others looking for something to
fill our days, I downloaded the Tik Tok app but soon became bored of the silly
dances and challenges. One day I stumbled upon a community of Christian Tik Tok
creators who would share scriptures, testimonies, and encouragement. I was in
my element. It was like attending a hundred different churches in bite-sized,
60 second clips. I was encouraged and felt a hunger to understand God’s word
like these other, much younger, people did. There was one video which stood out
in particular, where a group of young people were going around the room,
challenging each other to deliver the gospel in something like fifteen seconds,
and it hit me that I didn’t know what the gospel was. I thought that the
“gospel” was just the collective noun for the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and
John. When I’d heard people talking about “preaching the gospel” I knew they
were going to talk about Jesus and who He is, what He did, but I didn’t
understand “The Gospel” in the way I should have, as a proclaiming Christian. I
remember times when Jesus’ death and His atoning sacrifice, and His blood –
Pentecostals are all about “praying the blood”, but it was always delivered as
if it was about me and so that I could have a better life. That’s literally
what I was told to believe. “Christ died that we may have life, and have it
more abundantly” – a misrepresentation of John 10:10. Of course, I was taught
about His sacrifice being an atonement for our sin, but the overriding
take-away was that He did it that we might have a good life.
I decided to use the time to really read God’s word. I
was introduced to the idea that Pentecostalism might not be biblically
accurate, and that my reservations about the gifts of the Spirit, namely
speaking in tongues as an evidence of being saved, might not have been
unfounded. The truth is that I never really accepted the label of
“Pentecostal”. I attended a Pentecostal church, yes, but I got married in, and
had my children dedicated at, the Baptist church. I don’t think that I was ever
fully convinced that I fit into this denomination anyway and so I kept on
seeking. I discovered that some of my favourite worship musician and
contemporary Christian artists were involved in what were largely considered to
be heretical or unsound churches. Some of the preachers and pastors I had
admired or been taught to admire for years were considered heretical,
blasphemous, even involved in the occult. My mind was blown and I was in a very
strange predicament of feeling dumbfounded and lost, but also feeling validated
and free. I started looking into some of the claims I had heard and prayed for
the Lord’s wisdom and guidance. I picked up my Bible and asked that God would
speak to me and make clear the words which I had struggled to read and
understand so many times before.
I wrote out a list of the things I was struggling with
(you can read them here and here) and approached several people I trusted, to
see if they could advise me. My main concerns were that of the “gift of tongues”
as an expectation for every believer, which is blatantly unscriptural, and the act
of being “drunk” in the Spirit, again, seemingly going against scripture and
calling the Bible’s authority in to question. Nobody was able to reconcile
these issues for me and so I decided to start from scratch. I began reading the
Bible, slowly and deliberately. Really trying to understand each verse before
moving on to the next. If I couldn’t find evidence for something in the word of
God, I rejected it. Several books from my shelf went on the burn pile – I was
afraid of passing them on or giving to charity, or even recycling in case they
found their way to another impressionable or seeking young Christian and led
them astray. I deleted my worship playlists and looked for biblically sound
worship – this has been the hardest part; music is such a huge part of my daily
life and my preferred way to offer praise to God. I find myself breaking into
song throughout the day (much to my family’s dismay!) or trailing into worship
songs in my prayer time. I’ve found it difficult to remove songs that were so
ingrained in my mind; songs that I have always used in worshiping and
glorifying God with a pure heart. I didn’t listen to any music at all for
several months but have since created a playlist of hymns and biblically sound
worship and I’m starting to be able to offer my worship to the Lord in this way
again.
I reached out to the pastor of the Baptist church where I
grew up. She has become a dear friend to my grandparents and always open and
friendly toward my family and me. Although she has never been my pastor, and didn’t
arrive at the Baptist church until long after my family left, she has always
made herself available to me when I’ve needed support or advice. I approached
her with my concerns and asked her if she was able to help me navigate them.
She very graciously took me under her wing and shared some of her own testimony
with me, inviting me to participate in their email services whilst I was lost
and trying to find my own path. She recognised and called out my gifting for
children’s work and invited me to share some crafts and other children’s
activities to align with their Easter, and Father’s Day, and Pentecost
services. I never thought in a million years that I would return to the
“spiritually dead” Baptist church but I felt accepted and supported and I was enjoying
being part of their family.
I prayed that the Lord would clearly show me the place
where I could serve and learn and grow in Him, and I attended several online
services from different churches across many denominations, and reached out to
some pastors to share their vision or statement of faith with me, to see if it
was somewhere I felt I could be a part of. I was struggling to find anywhere I
felt that I fit. I was still serving the Baptist church by participating in
their e-services more regularly. I prayed and asked the Lord to give me a sign
if the Baptist church is where He willed for me to be. Immediately I felt
convicted of my pridefulness and felt that I needed to repent, both to God and
also to seek the forgiveness of the church for the thoughts I had had toward
them. I’m a writer; I write lists and notes and poems. Writing is my outlet; it
is the way that I un-muddle my mind and get my thoughts out so that I can work
through them. I started to bullet point
my journey, and it quickly turned into something of an open letter to the
church and I realised that I was referring to myself as a prodigal son who was
prideful and went astray, and humbly asked for them to welcome me back home. It
felt right. I didn’t think it was appropriate to email it out one dimensionally
but Lockdown meant that there were no in-person meetings, so I recorded myself
reading the letter and sent it to the Pastor for her to share. I really felt
that I just needed to take a step of faith in that moment and immediately I felt
at peace in my decision.
So, what now?
I spoke to the pastor of the Pentecostal church and he
was gracious enough to respond to my concerns with a very detailed document,
which I thanked him for. As far as I’m aware, there are no hard feelings. It
was difficult as it was still lockdown so I haven’t been able to speak to
anyone in person during this transitional time. I still hold many people in
that fellowship very dear to me and I love them as the family I once felt a
part of. As scathing as this report may seem, I don’t believe that anyone I
have known personally has been intentionally deceiving others, rather that they
themselves are deceived. I pray that the Lord will reveal Himself to the people
involved in the Pentecostal movement
around the world, as well as the Charismatic, NAR, and associated movements,
and that He will call them to repentance that they may be truly saved.
I wholeheartedly reject and repent of any involvement I
had, and for any time that I may have encouraged another person to follow this
path. I feel heartbroken; almost like I am grieving. It’s all still fairly raw,
and I’m learning more, my eyes are being opened a little more, every day. I
feel embarrassed and ashamed that I had been such a huge cheerleader for this
movement, and that I had shared, and advertised, and bought into so much of it
for so long. I’m angry that I have been deceived and that my own spiritual
journey has been hampered, but more so that my husband’s salvation now seems
even more unlikely – I worry that this has been enough to put him off for good.
I worry that I have lost his trust and respect, and so has God. I’m hurt. My
heart hurts for the damage that has been caused, and the damage that I may have
caused. I’m hurt when I think about the time I spent in deception and blatant
violation of the word of God. I mourn for the inquisitive and passionate young
woman with a hunger and desire to know God, who was shushed and ignored; her
fire hidden under a bushel until it extinguished almost completely, and I thank
God that He kept those embers smouldering enough that I was able to fight my
way back to Him. “I found him whom my soul loves; I held on to him and would
not let him go” (Song of Solomon 3:4)
Currently, I’m still serving the Baptist church and am
now named as their Children and Families Worker. I am excited about this
venture and, although I can’t say that I agree with everything in the Baptist
denomination, or that I will remain here forever, I feel so grateful to have
the opportunity to serve as I continue to learn and grow.
Lord, I thank you for opening my eyes to the truth of what I was participating in. I thank you for the discernment and the wisdom which you continue to bless me with. I am grateful for the experiences that I have had, and the unique opportunity I now have to share Your truth with others. Thank you, Father, that I have now seen the truth of Your word and that You have called me into repentance so that I can now begin to worship you wholly in spirit and in truth. I thank you for restoring my passion and zeal to know You, and Lord I pray that as I seek You more and more, that I will find You, and that I will be comforted by Your word as You speak to me through it. I am grateful for the community that I have been welcomed into; the experiences we share and our collective desire to encourage others to come to You in repentance. Father, I pray that You would open the eyes of many people and call them to Yourself, that they may turn away from their ways and follow You; the real, Biblical, Jesus. Thank You, Lord God, for counting me as one of Your beloved sheep, that I may know Your voice and follow You.