Testimony of a Japanese Unification Church member who left after 11 years of faith
From February 1989 to October 2000—a period of 11 years and eight months—I was a member of the Unification Church, belonging to the “40 Million Couples” group as part of a “Blessed Family.”
My entry into the Unification Church began with a visit involving palmistry. On that particular day—contrary to my usual habit of keeping the door closed—I opened it to find a neat, lovely young woman standing there. Perhaps because a friend was visiting at the time, I decided to let her read my palm without much hesitation. I believe I asked about my marriage and my children.
At the time, I had a strong desire to improve my family situation and my relationship with my parents, so her words gave me a sense of hope. I was also frequently pondering questions about the spirit world, the coexistence of good and evil within the human heart, the nature of the universe, and God. I wondered, for instance, why I found certain tasks burdensome when they concerned myself, yet could willingly perform the very same actions when doing them for the sake of others.
With these thoughts in mind, I visited their video center. The Unification Church’s teachings—covering topics like spiritual karma, the spirit world, God, living for the sake of others, and the purpose of humanity—were a revelation to me; I felt as though scales had fallen from my eyes, and I was rapidly drawn in.
By nature, I was someone who would not normally entertain religious solicitations. However, by that point, I had come to accept everything—even upon learning that the group was the Unification Church or that Sun Myung Moon was the Messiah. I harbored no doubts at the time. The only thing I was told was that “Satan tries to pull you back, so even if you are unwell or your child has a fever, you should overcome those obstacles and come anyway.” (The Unification Church teaches that this is the only path to salvation for humanity and the realization of the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth and in the spiritual realm—a goal desired by God—whereas Satan attempts to obstruct God’s work.)
We were told, “It is better not to speak to family or friends about this (since those who do not yet know the truth are on Satan’s side); if you stop coming, God and your ancestors—who went to such lengths to guide you here—will be saddened.” Furthermore, we were warned: “If you quit after learning the truth, you will realize everything once you enter the spirit world; consequently, both the person who made you quit and you yourself will be resented by your ancestors and end up in hell. You will lose the ability to save your family or your clan, and someone else will have to start all over again to find and guide a person from that clan to this truth. Since this truth is the only path to salvation, your ancestors might even cause a calamity in your home in hopes that you will finally wake up and realize the truth.” One person shared specific examples of this—such as someone who quit but returned to the church after their house burned down, or another who came back after their child was involved in a traffic accident.
Faced with this, I resolved not to quit—indeed, I felt I could not quit—for the sake of my family, my clan, and the realization of God’s ideal world. I began telling my husband I was going to a Bible study group whenever I left the house. Although I was eager to share this truth with him, I decided to wait for the right moment. Despite the heavy sense of mission resting on my shoulders, the study sessions themselves were engaging; the instructors often used humor to make the material interesting, and I found hope and joy in the realization that I had been chosen and guided here through the efforts of God and my ancestors.
Even when my child had a fever, I learned to overcome my parental worry and distress by viewing the situation as a “condition for salvation” established for the child’s sake. I was told, “If you overcome this, God and your ancestors will protect the child, so it will actually be fine.” When I did overcome the difficulty and found that nothing bad happened—or the fever went down—those words felt true to me.
Later, as part of my practical training, I began selling tea. I had never imagined myself doing something like door-to-door sales, so I was reluctant and wondered, “Why am I doing this?” However, my superiors insisted it was necessary to “feel God and understand God’s heart.” Every day after returning from selling tea, the trainees, team leaders, and unit commanders would gather in a circle, and I would be asked, “What kind of God did you encounter today?” I struggled to answer because I rarely felt God’s presence, and sometimes I simply gave answers that aligned with what others were saying.
Looking back now, I feel that I was being unknowingly brainwashed; within just a few months of starting with palm reading visits, my mindset and perspective had completely shifted to those of the Unification Church.
When inviting friends and acquaintances to exhibitions for ginseng, kimonos, or jewelry, I was driven by the desire to bestow “heavenly items” upon them for their salvation. I would push myself to extend invitations—engaging in practices like cold-water showers and fasting to overcome my hesitation—even when, from a worldly perspective, I might have felt unable to ask. Yet, even after establishing these spiritual conditions, people would refuse or cancel at the last minute. If they did attend the exhibition but failed to purchase the items, I would blame myself, believing my heart wasn’t right or that I had fallen short. In hindsight, I realize these were ordinary occurrences—no different from what happens in any regular company—but at the time, I had lost the ability to view things that way.
Subsequently, during a service, a leader declared, “The time for hiding this from your family and clan is over!” Taking those words to heart, I wrote a letter to my husband that very day, revealing that I had joined the Unification Church. (I later learned that no one actually took those claims seriously; however, as my faith was still shallow and I was busy raising children with little awareness of the outside world—unaware of just how antisocial the Unification Church was perceived to be—I simply took the teachings at face value and revealed them to my husband.)
From that day on, a battle began within my family and with my parents. My husband researched the Unification Church, brought home books by its critics, and vehemently opposed my involvement. Yet, I refused to listen to a word he said. I told myself, “He doesn’t understand the Divine Principle,” “Satan—who lurks behind him—won’t yield because I haven’t devoted myself enough yet,” and “Surely, the day will come when he understands.” Although my husband tried his best to make me quit, the more he opposed me, the more deeply I became convinced that “if I alone don’t uphold this faith, my family will end up in hell,” causing me to become even more immersed in the religion. I also began telling my husband small lies; I would secretly buy kimonos and jewelry, and each time I was found out, the rift between us widened.
Not everyone who faces strong opposition from their family ends up becoming deeply involved, but the specific background of each family plays a complex role in the situation.
It varies depending on the family background—such as a history of suicides or repeated divorces—and on how the individual perceives the situation. Looking at the circumstances, women whose husbands do not actively oppose them—husbands who say, “Do as you please, just don’t ask me to join”—seem to maintain a moderate level of faith. They don’t want to quit entirely, partly out of fear that some calamity might befall them and partly because they do believe in the teachings of the Principle.
Sun Myung Moon once said something to the effect that “it is better to keep your name on the membership roll and simply not attend than to leave the movement entirely; it is better to remain connected, even if only by a single strand of hair.” So, there are indeed people who take that approach. However, even though a moderate level of faith might be enough for salvation, many people struggle desperately to deepen their faith. This stems partly from a sense of personal responsibility and the belief that suffering and walking alongside God and the Messiah brings blessings (which their descendants will inherit). They also dread the prospect of facing criticism from their ancestors in the spirit world—ancestors asking, “God and the True Parents have sacrificed themselves to build an ideal world and save humanity; we guided you to this path, so what have you actually done?” (Stories about the spirit world are frequently shared). Furthermore, when viewing things from a heavenly perspective—considering how God, as our Parent, feels—we understand the mindset of a parent who wants their child to embrace hardship for their own growth. Even though it is painful for a parent to watch their child suffer, they do so because they know it is for the child’s own good. Understanding this, we (as children) find the strength to persevere and even experience joy, no matter how much pain or sorrow we face. As we continue on this path, we stop paying heed to the words of those who oppose us.
There was a time when my family’s surveillance of me intensified, making it difficult to attend church. However, since the church requires us to maintain communication through “reporting, contacting, and consulting,” I would make calls in secret whenever possible to stay connected and uphold my commitment. Around the time of the 1992 mass wedding ceremony—which made headlines on TV and featured figures like Junko Sakurada—the group’s controversial practices, such as “spiritual sales,” were widely reported, and the news inevitably caught my eye. I had just moved and hadn’t yet transferred my church membership, so I had nowhere to go and no one to contact; although the media coverage stirred something within me, I quickly stopped watching to suppress any rising anxiety or doubts. Perhaps, deep down, I felt that even if I were to discover this faith was wrong, it was already too late to turn back.
As I settled into full-time work, about a year passed, and my faith deepened again after a series of chance encounters with people I knew well from the church. At the same time, however, the lies began to multiply. My husband discovered my purchases of paintings and my financial donations; while I understood his anger and pain, the church’s teachings framed even these lies as justifiable—or even good—acts. Yet, in real life, the church also taught that no matter how busy or overwhelmed I was, I had to manage the household perfectly and devote myself to loving my husband, children, and parents. Consequently, even as the rift between us widened, I strove to push myself beyond my limits. When I failed to meet those expectations and faced my husband’s or family’s anger, I would blame myself for not being devoted enough. My life became defined by these contradictions.
In November 1997, I defied my husband and family to travel to Washington for the mass wedding ceremony; my faith had become a matter of life and death. The hurdles I had to overcome were far higher than they had been in the early days of my faith. At home, I felt as though I were sitting on a bed of needles; my family’s faces would tense up whenever an issue arose, and the phrase “He who seeks to lose his life shall find it” became deeply ingrained in my mind. Knowing that God and the Messiah understood all my suffering and sorrow—and that my fellow believers understood, too—was the only comfort I had amidst my isolation.
However, I believe the pain felt by my husband, my family, and the friends who knew the situation was far greater than my own. I wonder just how deeply I hurt them and caused them to worry.
Around 1999 and 2000—a time when the world was abuzz about the turn of the millennium—the church’s “Providence,” its activities, and its demands for donations intensified; pressure regarding offerings became blatant, sometimes bordering on threats.
(Of course, because the leaders spoke from God’s standpoint, I didn’t perceive it as a threat. Furthermore, the leaders themselves were pushed to their physical and mental limits—conducting all-night prayers, midnight scripture readings, bowing rituals, and fasts—to the point where it wouldn’t have been surprising if they had collapsed at any moment. Seeing how desperately those in leadership strove to support God and the Messiah, and understanding their own hardships, I felt unable to voice any objections.)
This was the situation at my specific church; I cannot speak for others. Witnessing their dedication, I wanted to support them. There were cases back then of female members making large donations without their husbands’ knowledge, which led to divorce. Yet, the church’s stance was that this was acceptable. They argued, “God understands that person’s circumstances and heart, so there is no problem.” After all, they had fought to the very end for the sake of God and humanity. Would God not bestow a blessing? At the time, I accepted this logic. I resolved that even if it meant divorce or abandonment by my family, I would go to any country if the opportunity arose and fulfill the mission I had received from God—even at the cost of myself. Believers constantly told themselves: “The day will come when they understand,” “Someday, many people will know and accept this truth,” or “Once we reach the spirit world, everyone will know the truth.” Now, however, I realize that such a day will never come. In reality, the thoughts and feelings of husbands and family members are worlds apart from the hearts of the believers. (I later learned through a counselor that we were viewing things from different perspectives, but at the time, I think we both wondered, “Why don’t they understand me?”)
When Unification Church members feel anxiety, doubt, or sense contradictions, they stop themselves from thinking any further, telling themselves, “This is an unfaithful way of thinking” or “There must be some meaning to it.” I now realize that those feelings actually reflected my true self, but back then, I dismissed them all as “bad” and avoided deep reflection.
Furthermore, the situation I was in pushed me beyond my limits. Between the increasingly abnormal lifestyle—church activities (gatherings, exhibitions, evangelism, reporting, communication, fasting, scripture reading, prayer, bowing, meetings, etc.)—and the opposition from my family, the hell of debt, and work, I felt it was impossible to go on living a normal life.
I had long since surpassed my limits; I was living day-to-day, desperately clinging to a stubborn resolve just to get by on my own.
In the autumn of 2000, thanks to the desperate efforts and cooperation of my friends, husband, family, and relatives, I met with a counselor who helped me rescue myself from the situation. I learned about the errors in the Divine Principle and facts that were never disclosed to rank-and-file members.
At first, I resisted and argued repeatedly with my family, reaching an impasse. During that time, I prayed to God and the “True Parents,” and even fasted, asking, “What is the meaning of my current situation?” Yet, receiving no answer, I eventually decided to simply surrender the outcome. It must have been incredibly difficult for my family to watch me go through that. Looking back, I am grateful that they never once told me to “give up my faith.” They always told me to “decide for myself.” Additionally, the counselor’s thoughtfulness—speaking with an understanding of a believer’s heart and position—changed my attitude. Perhaps that is why I was able to listen and open my heart.
From that point on, when I realized—simply by comparing the Divine Principle with the Bible—that the Divine Principle contained errors and contradictions, I was devastated. The moment I understood that a teaching I had held so sacred fell far short of the Bible, the foundations of my belief began to crumble. I gradually started to view what I heard more objectively; however, letting go of a faith I had held for nearly twelve years was not easy. Even though I understood the errors, I struggled deeply because I could not easily bring myself to reject Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han, the people I had met through the faith, or the spiritual world I had come to believe in. Throughout this ordeal, my family watched over me, and a counselor provided a safe space for me to process my feelings. Former members also answered my questions and eased my anxieties, offering me encouragement.
At one point, I felt such despair that I wanted to die, thinking that if this faith had truly been a mistake, my life had been in vain. The sacrifices demanded of those around me had been immense, and the faith had been my entire world. Once I decided to leave the group, I lost my sense of connection to the God who had always been by my side; I was overcome by an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
Now, supported by my husband and family, and aided by aftercare counseling, a lawyer, and former members, I am slowly reclaiming my true self. Since deciding to leave, I have been struck by just how wonderful freedom is—for during the time I held that faith, I had seemed to be myself, yet I had not truly been myself at all.
And now, the God I had lost the ability to feel has returned to me. I am deeply grateful to God, who knew everything about me and had been preparing for this day all along.
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私は、１９８９年の２月から２０００年１０月まで１１年８ヶ月間、統一協会員の４０００万双、既成祝福家庭でした。
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