Growing up as a teen in Philadelphia Church of "God"

 

There is an excellent yet deeply sad letter on Exit and Support Network from a young woman telling what life was like growing up as a teen in the Philadelphia Church of "God". Her story is similar to those who grew up in the Worldwide Church of God or any of the other hundreds of splinter groups out there. Just more proof of how unChristian and morally bankrupt the entire Armstrongist movement is at its core.

Here is a snippet from her story:

"When I started high school and developed a social life outside of the group is when things got out of hand. My father, still drinking, but this time able to hide behind the fact that he was a prominent member of “the church,” would criticize every one of my friends. They were okay to talk to at school but I was not to spend any time with them outside of that. This is not something a social teen can do. Kids need to experience growing up no matter what religious practices they have. So this turned into an ongoing and sometimes very dark battle between my parents and me. I went to PCG’s church camp and while I met a few people who were feeling the same way I was about the strict rules and the unanswered questions, most of the teens there were very cold-hearted and seemed to be in some sort of popularity contest over who was the best teen Christian. I soon found out that a lot of these so called “good kids” were not at all. They were manipulative, judgmental, rude, arrogant and selfish. A very few of them were sincere. 

 

More than anything I was confused as to why I couldn’t get a straight answer for anything. My father would always say, “Well, because that is the way God wants it.” I wanted to be in the school plays and was not permitted to because I couldn’t wear the stage makeup and also because me being in the “spot-light” was considered vanity. It’s a school play, for crying out loud, not a Broadway musical! I missed out on dances, choir events, friends, and more importantly, my high school years because of rules that didn’t make any sense. Social interaction wasn’t the only thing that suffered. My class work came after my Bible Lessons and since my father was sure the Great Tribulation would come before I even graduated, I never really had a great deal of interest in school work. In my sophomore year in high school I started to think about college and what I wanted to do after I graduated. Neither of my parents encouraged any kind of education after high school. They were sure things would come to an end before then. I began to work harder in school and managed to get my grades up to a reasonably good average and on a number of occasions was actually scolded for not paying enough attention to my “church-work.” 

 

Things began to get worse and I grew very hostile towards my parents as well as the PCG. Most Saturday mornings began with an argument between me and my father. I had my home personality, my school personality and my church personality.1 I had to live a lie at home to keep any sort of peace. At services I would just turn myself off and turn into the girl that everyone wanted and expected me to be. I took notes on sermons, I discussed topics with my peers and other members of the group. I acted like it really was my way of life. In all actuality, I wanted to cry when I walked into that place. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs when the sermons would say things about how we need to make sure we are not judgmental and then turn around and flat out say that the world would be a much better place if certain people were killed. I hated feeling like I was supposed to be so much better than what I actually was. I began to sink into a deep depression and almost ended my life. My mother took me to the doctor (a very rare thing) and I was given an anti-depressant that would “make everything ok.” I took this hoping it would give me a few pseudo peaceful moments at home and at services, but in the long run it didn’t do a damn thing. I told my mother I wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t know why I was upset all the time. I knew the reason I was crying every night in bed and why I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I was unhappy in the “church.” I did not believe it to be the truth. I was sick of living a lie and a double life. That next morning, my parents gave me the choice I had been waiting for years to make, and for the first time in my life, I did not keep the Sabbath." 

 

To this day I have an extremely hard time finding a place where I am comfortable. Some have called the WCG and the PCG a “cult.” I agree to this wholeheartedly. The typical association might not be the right usage but the idea is there. You have to be let into the group by an official, you have to strictly abide by the laws of the group; once you have been disfellowshipped, you are not to have contact with the people in the group, etc. In many ways it is a cult2 and the emotional damage is also very apparent in the people I have talked to about it, including members of my own family who were also raised inside. There were many ministers and deacons that I came across in the group that were very hard on the younger people. My little sister and I both had been told by Craig and Colleen Craig Winters that our clothing was much too poor to be worn to church services. Dennis Leap, at Philadelphia Youth Camp, would openly make examples of people at the camp that were doing things he didn’t see as appropriate. I was an example on one occasion. I had been injured pretty badly while playing soccer earlier that week and had been on bed rest for the last few days. His way of thinking seemed to be that physical injury and illness were a direct result of “spiritual sin.” He made a point to make sure everyone knew that the real reason I had been injured was not because of actual physical strain, but because I had sinned and was paying for it physically. Can you imagine hearing that? This is a small part of what I and many other young kids were subjected to at these camps.

Read the entire story here:  GROWING UP IN “THE CHURCH” WAS THE HARDEST THING I EVER HAD TO DO