I walked into my old church yesterday.  The little one on Pine Street in Hancock.  It felt surreal walking in the small lobby and entering into the little sanctuary.  Seeing the door on the right side of the pulpit where we used to have Sunday School class.  

All had changed; but remained the same.

It seemed so very very small.  Just as I was, when I was brought to church.

My mind was open and aware this time and, without fear.

I wasn't there to go to church; but to talk.

With a few ladies.

A polite conversation about abuse and church people.

I entered without the bible.

No phrases or words or sentences did I lean upon.

Nor, was I a spokesperson for a certain religion and its policies.

I was just me...without a religious filter ahead of me.

An old member of this church...and a victim of its teachings and sexual abuse.

This innocent building with pretty windows and polished floors.

It was the people who use to own this church who had filled my head.

My young mind.

Believing.

In fear.

A faith about forgiveness of sins and the fire of Hell if I didn't.  The lies of unworthiness and sin filled body...unsaved sinner.

Now other people own this church and are teaching others words and sentences.

 I find it peculiar that within confined walls we teach.

Not out in the wide world of life.

But words, thoughts and beliefs, papers and books, and authors of eons ago.

Parts of the conversation was limiting when the bible was expected to fit in.

Like an exclamation point after a non-religious exclamation point.

It almost felt like reality wasn't complete with out the good book.

Old old words to add meaning to today's reality.

Words from long ago before we were even born or today's troubles even known.

A voice from legends long ago trying to be "in the know" now.

A very very long distance generation gap. One that my mind couldn't wrap itself around.

When you have to use the big book as your reference point can you truly be present?

I could see a woman who stood behind the bible...faithfully and respectfully...secondary.

Each time the biblical words tried to make sense of the nowadays, it just seemed out of place to me. 

The flow of conversation would seem to have bible hiccups...and then we would go on.

They didn't happen often. 

I am not sure what I contributed in this church environment, for my experiences were void of biblical content.

I didn't hand over my sins to Jesus, nor do I feel unworthy and in need of saving.  

I was complete as I entered and at peace.

No more God's Peace could be added.

I wasn't seeking.

There is a committee and a few of its members are traveling to different church locations, speaking of abuse.  Recognizing that abuse does happen within religions, their parishioners and even within churches...to teach them the signs, and offer solutions.

They are doing their best to raise awareness and break the silence.

It is a start.  

I can't know the way to enter into churches and speak. Nor can I know what the people in the pews need, expect or want when the topic of abuse comes up.

This isn't an easy when you have to dance around the formalities of their religion.

What you say and offer, has to fit within the guidelines of church.

And, I am not sure this will dovetail successfully.

As a person sitting listening, I was confused.

There seemed to be a message of the church and then the experiences of the women.

Not always did they match or even enlighten each other.

I am just not certain you can religiously heal abuse.

Or religiously speak of it.

There almost seems to be an abused person and a religious person wrapped into one.

And, each of their needs don't meld.

In fact, I think they are in direct opposition.

Which makes their job impossible.

Now that I see this.  I can also see where there were two distinct voices speaking.

Who do you talk to and how do you silence one while speaking to the other when both occupy one body?

An incredible feat to be sure.

My mind is a whirlwind trying to sort this all out.

It is like there is a religious voice, an abused voice, and an innocent voice all wanting to be seen, heard and acknowledged. Which one is the one who is the one to lead them out?

Perhaps the little girl who first walked in.

I know, that at one time, I entered this church completely whole and innocent.  

And was taught differently...in that little room on the left of the pulpit.

Just as abused changed me at home. Religion changed me at church.

It was a full circle moment to go back with my awareness and strong sense of self. My little girl fully grown and whole.