In my current job, I have a lot of time to listen (to books, podcasts, etc…) and to think. Much of my listening has been dedicated to educational resources to help me make sense of what happened to me in the cults and unhealthy groups in which I’ve been a member. Much of my thinking has been to use this information in imaginary conversations with my former leaders in an attempt to bring them to the point where they finally admit, “I’m a narcissist, I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t treat people the way I treat them. Also, here’s the time and money back I stole from you.”
Unfortunately, the probability of me having a conversation like this with any of my former leaders is very low, and the probability of any of them owning up to their hurtful behavior is lower still. Even if I was given an opportunity to present my case, I’m not sure I’d take it. I have very little expectation that my former leaders would listen to me for any other reason except to take what I say and twist it in their own defense.
But knowing this doesn’t keep the imaginary conversations at bay. Sometimes I even find myself arguing with friends or family members who haven’t acknowledged the hurt and pain I’ve experienced in these groups. Like a lawyer presenting a case before a jury, I argue my points and present the evidence, again and again and again.
If there’s anything positive that comes from ruminating thoughts like these, it is a coherent understanding of the working of cults and the pathology of narcissists, but, mostly, it’s exhausting. The justice I want to see, I will never get. Even the most sincere apology, even financial reparations, won’t give me the years back.
However, I think there’s something that has helped me start to move forward: the type of forgiveness Jesus displayed during his death. When he was being nailed to a cross, he looked at the soldiers around him and asked God to forgive them. He understood they didn’t know what they were doing.
I know I’m not Jesus. I know I haven’t been crucified. My emotional and spiritual suffering at the hands of abusive religious leaders has not been on the same level as Christ’s. It hasn’t even been on the same level as many of the horrible stories I listen to while I work. At the same time, there are some similarities.
When I think back over the beliefs and behaviors of the leaders I followed, I see people who, fundamentally, don’t know what they’re doing. They don’t know how to honestly assess themselves. They don’t know how to relate to people with kindness and patience. They don’t know how to respond to criticism without defensiveness and manipulation. They are not happy people and their lives don’t seem to be going in positive directions. Perhaps, on the surface, when they interact with people who venerate them, it seems like all is well. But if you have come into conflict, big or small, with people like this, you have met their interior brokenness and likely been hurt by it.
I don’t have the power, knowledge, or love to bring my former leaders to account. The work involved to heal their antisocial pathologies is beyond anything I have the capability to accomplish. Even the work involved to expose them to their followers would be monumental. So, the only option I have left is very similar to Jesus’. I have to entrust my claims for justice and accountability to a person who actually has the ability to bring about both: my heavenly Father.
In this place, where I’d tend toward hoping for punishment and retribution, I see Jesus’ heart for forgiveness and healing. It is God’s heart for harmful people who don’t know what they’re doing that they repent and become whole.
I don’t think this means minimizing the harm abusive people do to others. In fact, I think doing so prevents forgiveness from happening by taking away the need for forgiveness. I’ve seen friends and family fight to blind themselves from the harm they or other people have suffered in an effort, I believe, to shield themselves from the world’s fallenness. I have done this myself and harmed others in the process. An honest reckoning with abuse is difficult and complex, but minimization is inherently dishonest.
Also, forgiveness doesn’t mean bypassing accountability. A narcissistic, abusive leader will often make a show of repentance as long as he doesn’t have to suffer any meaningful consequences. In such cases, “I’m sorry you felt that way,” is a common defensive tactic masked as an apology. Unfortunately, for many people like myself, in which abuse is suffered in a system designed to prevent accountability, accountability is impossible. In situations in which accountability can be implemented, work for it.
Even if abuse is taken seriously and the perpetrators are held accountable, survivors are still faced with the reality that the harm done to them cannot be fully healed by empathy, apology, or punishment, although all these things are good and helpful. In situations like this, I believe Jesus is leading me to entrust the abuser to him. In the same act, I entrust myself to Jesus. I trust him to deal with this person, hopefully to bring him to repentance. I also know that even if I receive everything I want from him, a sincere apology, admission of guilt, and restitution, my abuser can’t heal the harm he did to me. Only Jesus, through various means, can bandage those wounds, tend, and heal them.
I have already experienced some healing. It comes in the form of realizing I am no longer playing out imaginary conversations quite as much as I used to. I trust the actual judge has seen all the evidence and is working for real justice for everyone involved.
