It's Not Technically Gaslighting
Recently, in my travels, I came across this church sign:
Back in my younger years, I would've seen this, nodded sagely, and said, "Yes. Putting jesus first, others second, and myself last is sure to bring joy. What a clever and profound statement."
Not anymore. Now when I see a sign like this, at best, I roll my eyes. At worst, I go off on a tirade and end up turning around my car to take a picture of the sign so I can rant about it later online lol.
This message communicates a belief that is so, so essential to modern christianity—which is that you should always put others first. Always. And it is especially emphasized for women, whose entire role in life is supposed to be that of service.
Give, give, give, and never, ever take, they say. You don't want to be a burden, you want to be a blessing. jesus gave everything to save you, so you too should give everything in service to his "great plan." And they use jesus's words to emphasize the point as well:
"Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all." mark something or other.
"Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of christ." galatians.
"Now that I, your lord and teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet." john.
"...whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the son of man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." matthew.
It goes on and on and on. And it's not just the gospels and paul (I fucking hate paul) who harp on it, but practically the entire old testament as well.
But there's a basic logical fallacy inherent in this idea of being the lowest of the low, of being the last of the last, which is this: if everyone is successfully "the last," then doesn't that technically make everyone first? And if everyone is trying to be a slave or a servant or at the bottom of the pile, who exactly is at the top? Maybe the people who want to be at the top? Aren’t the people who don't give a shit about being at the bottom going to slide into leadership roles? The people who are least qualified to be role models? The people who are the worst candidates for leadership?
This creates societal pockets rife with abuse. This system is the perfect opportunity for predators to hunt. And there are so many prey. Everyone who is actually a humble person, who is actually trying to live a good life, everyone who wants to embody the servitude of christ—guess what? Simply because they are trying to be good and live life right, they are going to have to put up with a lot of shit from predators who want power and control. And those predators who benefit from their servitude? They’re going to milk it for all its worth.
That's how you end up with brian houstons and bill gothards.
When I was 17, I was part of the youth group band at my church. It was a mini-mega-church, as I like to call it. We had on average 800+ attendees every weekend, and the church functioned with a sort of corporate hierarchy, with a head pastor and sub pastors, and had the fancy lights and loud music and charismatic sermons you'd expect at a mega church.
Sunday night was youth group, which operated like a full-fledged church service. Kids would come into the sanctuary and us, the band, would play popular christian music. We had a pianist (me), a drummer (my little brother), guitarists, a bassist, and singers. Sometimes we even had brass or woodwinds. They even had a light designer who would do impromptu light shows. And a haze machine.
It was basically a weekly live music concert for teens that lasted anywhere from twenty to forty minutes. Then the youth pastor would get up and preach a youth-directed sermon. Usually the message was something along the lines of, "be christian in school!" "don't mouth off to your parents!" "don't masturbate!"
My little brother also played in the adult band, because he was the best drummer in the county, despite only being 15. My family would arrive at church at 7 AM on Sunday mornings, sit through a rehearsal and three church services, and then go home for an hour or two, before returning by 3 PM for youth group rehearsal. We would rehearse until 5 PM, and then had to be performing the "welcome music" (just the musicians, not the singers) at 5:30. Then we played until 6:30, got a "break" for the sermon (during which we were required to sit in the audience), and then played again until 7:30 or 8 PM. At that point, we were responsible for tearing down our equipment, loading out, and shutting down the sanctuary.
They didn't provide food for us. Or drinks. If we wanted something, we had to buy it from the church kitchens. My mom was so upset by this, she started making a meal every sunday for all the kids who were in the band (there were usually 7 of us).
There weren't volunteers to help us set up and take down our equipment. We didn't get money for maintaining our instruments or for gas, for driving back and forth from the church. We weren't allowed to take breaks.
I remember once during my senior year, I was exhausted. I hadn't gone home that day; I'd been at the church since 7 AM, and it was my fourth performance that week, between high school band/jazz band/church stuff. I just wanted to be alone for a few minutes. So during the sermon, I told my friends I was going to sit in the lawn outside the church and pray.
I had been outside for less than five minutes when an adult volunteer came out and told me I wasn't allowed to be out there. I explained I was exhausted. That I was in the band. That I'd been there since 7 AM. That I just needed a few minutes to breathe.
She told me it was against the rules, and that as a member of the band, it was my responsibility to sit in the audience and set a good example for the other teens. She made me go back inside.
I didn't know how to be angry back then, but I was just a little bit rebellious. I told her I had to grab my stuff from backstage. I found a dark corner and hid. One of my friends' dads, another adult volunteer, found me, gave me a little smile, and left me alone.
We were the first people to show up, and the last people to leave. We did manual labor. Emotional labor. We were on display as examples of "good christian youth." We were expected to be perfect, without blame.
There to obey. To do the bidding of the church. Not to obey god, but to obey the leaders who decided what god's bidding was. After all, we were only teens. How could we possibly claim to understand god's will?
And those humans, who claimed to know the will of god, exploited children for their own gain. They exploited us.
I know how to be angry now. But I can't deny there is a complex amalgamation of feelings whenever I think about this time of my life. Some anger, yes—rage, even. Sorrow too. And confusion, cognitive dissonance.
Because while yes, they exploited me, I also can’t deny that I liked being there. I liked playing the piano and performing. I liked spending time with my friends. I liked feeling like I was doing good work, like I was serving god, like I was needed and important.
But, it turned out, I wasn't important. I was a cog in an exploitative machine.
As soon as I graduated, they brought in a younger pianist who was much more skilled than I. Most of my friends, I never heard from again. I never again heard from the youth pastor who I served so willingly. Nor the music pastor. Nor my sunday school teacher. Nor the adult volunteers whom I worked alongside every week. Even my friendships with the teens I played alongside lasted less than a year after I left.
They made me feel important, necessary, and needed. So that I would keep serving. So that I would continue to provide unpaid labor ranging from performing to cleaning to setting a good example for kids my own age.
That ever-present message of service and submission—it's not exactly gaslighting. They weren't trying to sow confusion, necessarily. They weren’t outright lying. But they were trying to get me to believe without question. To serve without question. To obey without question.
And it worked. For a time, at least.
As much as it hurt me, I'm lucky they abandoned me. If they hadn't, I might still be there. Sacrificing my health and well-being and happiness in the service of lies.
