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Every time I read this letter I'm deeply touched. I believe that any

church leader who reads this would feel the ring of truth it has.

They would know that this sister is touching very sensitive nerves

in the realities of life for pastors and their wives. Of course, there

are nuances, variations and a few exceptions -- but the fact

remains, she has accurately portrayed the contours of how life

goes among religious leaders. Most strikingly, she has been

vulnerable and honest. -- J.Z.

LETTER FROM A PASTOR’S WIFE

Austin Miles: “Go to church for a blessing and get slaughtered. This theme

is all too prevalent in the letters you are about to read. The first one is an

open, very personal letter from the wife of a former Assemblies of God

minister who now lives in Colorado.”

Sunday, August 13, 1989

5:00 P.M.

Dear Mr. Miles:

I started reading your book Don’t Call Me Brother at 7:45 this morning and

finished it about half an hour ago. Although I had work to do today at my

bookkeeping business, and laundry besides, there is no way I could put your

book down. You told the story of my life experience with the Assemblies of

God.

I don’t want to bore you with more horror stories, but I want to share this

with you and to say thank you. Until now, Iv had the recurring thought in the

back of my head that maybe they were right – maybe there’s something

wrong with me.

I was raised A.G. My mom was converted shortly after she married my dad,

whose father was an A.G. pastor for years – he saved souls on Sunday and

verbally and physically abused his wife and seven children the rest of the

week, all who are dysfunctional to this day.

My mom’s salvation put a big gulf between her and my dad. They’re still

married, but both are extremely unhappy. My dad thinks he’s been cheated

because mom is no fun – mom has been cheated out of having a happy

Christian home. They’ve raised six children in this atmosphere, who are also

dysfunctional.

I grew up a rebel, mostly inside, but I did my share of beer parties and sex

with boys I didn’t even know. I lost my virginity before I was nine to an

uncle 6 years older than me. I enjoyed the attention (my dad basically

ignored me) until it became a pretty big burden. So I told my parents – my

mom blamed me.

I spent the next years of my life trying to redeem myself with my mom,

without succeeding, until I got saved. As far as she’s concerned, you aren’t

acceptable if you aren’t saved. My dad was good to us, but mom let us know

that no matter how good he was, he was unacceptable because he wasn’t

saved.

I went to church quite a bit during junior high and high school, and was fed

full of the “don’ts” – don’t date, don’t wear make-up, don’t dance, don’t go

to movies, don’t wear jeans or shorts, don’t play cards, don’t cut your hair,

don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t kiss – and you’ll end up in hell for sure if

you have sex before you’re married.

According to them I was already doomed – so I tried all the harder. Every

time there was an altar call, I went down – and repented – and repented –

and repented.

Somewhere about sixteen I decided there was no point and quit going to

church. I lived with my mother’s disapproval until May 1, 1970 – eight days

before my 21

birthday.

On that evening the new pastor of the A.G. church in town and his wife

came to see me. I had been dating a black baseball player, and was falling in

love with him. Our small town was extremely prejudiced and I wondered

what God had to say about it. I never found out – the pastor got onto

salvation and wouldn’t leave until I got down on my knees and named every

sin I could think of and repented of it. It was after midnight, I didn’t feel

wonderful, or great, or relieved, or holy – only tired.

I tried very hard in the next three years to play the game. I did what they told

me, dressed like they told me, talked like they told me. I went to church

every time the doors opened, I tithed and gave, I clapped and sang and cried

and prayed, but I didn’t know God – or Jesus Christ. So – I clapped and

prayed all the harder, still repenting every chance I got.

I met my future husband around Thanksgiving 1972, where else but church?

I fell hard, but never felt worthy of him. He had not done all the horrible

things I had done; he was gentle and everyone liked him. And – most of all –

he had a call on his life, God had called him into the ministry! This did not

particularly bother me until I realized that in order for this to happen, I

would have to go through a total transformation – I was totally unacceptable

as a pastor’s wife.

So the “transformation” began. I attended weekly counseling sessions with

the pastor, went to pastors’ retreats and meeting with Matthew (my fiancé)

and attended more religious services than I could count. I could only

associate with Christians, so I dropped my other friends, one by one. The

church became my whole life – but I was dead inside. I had no assurance

that God even knew who I was; if He did, I was sure He didn’t like me – I

was unacceptable.

The biggest problem I had with the A.G. leadership was my unwillingness to

accept whatever they put out just because they said so. I asked questions,

and I expected answers, real ones, not just A.G. doctrine or rules. My goal

was to know God, not climb the A.G. ladder to success.

Matthew and I got married anyway, even if I wasn’t exactly a model pastor’s

wife, and moved to Minneapolis so Matthew could go to Bible school.

Until that time, Matthew was inclined to go along with the A.G. pastor’s

wife definition – you know what I’m talking about, you’ve seen plenty of

them. He couldn’t understand why I was so set on rocking the boat. He had a

pretty low self-esteem and he had visions of grandeur fueled by the A.G.

leadership’s assurance of a “high” call of God on his life.

To be frank, life in Minneapolis was hell! Here I was, a newlywed, away

from home for the first time, with a husband who could only think of the

church, the church. I had a very clear distinction between God and the

church – Matthew and almost every preacher (and preacher’s wife) I’ve met

saw them as the same thing. That gave them license to neglect their families

in order to build churches “for God.” And do you know, most of their wives

accepted, no, they encouraged this behavior, and became martyrs

themselves, “for God.”

When Matthew started doing this as a youth pastor in a small Iowa church, I

came unglued. At the time we had our two children, a one-year old girl, and

a newborn son, and I needed help. But Matthew was off saving souls and

counseling. To make it worse, everyone assured me he was doing the right

thing and I had better get used to it. One pastor, hearing me complain, went

so far as to tell Matthew he’d better get me under control or I’d ruin his

ministry.

Those were the loneliest and most unhappy years of my life. I went through

the motions as best I could, but inside I felt hurt, mad, and most of all

betrayed by a God and a man, who both were supposed to love me. It finally

got to the point where I sat down in my chair and vowed not to get up until I

knew God was real. I sat there two days and got no answers, so I got up – I

had kids to take care of. But something died inside – if there was a God, He

didn’t care about me. I was just handy; Matthew needed a wife and I was

available – the sacrifice for his ministry – his church.

Then a couple came into our lives, sent to us directly by God, who loved us

– both of us, not just Matthew. They recognized my value as a person in my

own right. For the first time I saw the love of God shine through a person in

the form of total acceptance and total approval – just as I was. They were not

A.G.

We left the Assemblies of God and submitted ourselves to the ministry of

this couple for the next four years. A lot of healing too place in me and

Matthew learned a lot, about priorities and about the difference between God

and the church. I credit that couple with saving our marriage.

At the end of three years we went back to the Assemblies of God, and sat in

a very large church for two years, before the pastor admitted to adultery and

left the church in October 1983. It was hard for the church, but somehow we

were personally spared. We loved him and still do, but we weren’t looking

to any man for that heavy degree of leadership we had before.

Two years later we submitted to the interrogation that A.G. puts its ministers

through. I felt that it was degrading, but did it for Matthew. After all, he had

his “call,” and I was still intimidated by it.

Because our former pastor was Assistant District Superintendent, and I

wasn’t on very good terms with him (I was not “submissive”), we applied

for and got a small church in the Colorado mountains.

In this beautiful setting I was forced to personally start cutting through the

garbage and come face to face with God.

I had come to Colorado as – once again – a martyr and as a submissive wife.

Back in Des Moines I had been going to college – to get a degree in

accounting and become a CPA, a lifelong dream. We moved August 1985,

just after I had been awarded an $8,000/year scholarship to Drake

University. Knowing how badly Matthew wanted to pastor, and assured that

God would reward my sacrifice, I turned it down.

I was rewarded all right. I moved from a fair-sized city, with all its shopping

conveniences, to a town of 1800 (during hunting season), over a mountain

and 120 miles from anywhere. Everyone wore cowboy boots and carried a

gun in their pickup. There were no sidewalks and all we could find to live in

was a trailer with a roof that vibrated in the wind. Everyone was either a

rancher, a logger or worked for the railroad. College was out, and neither of

us could find work. The forty families who were supposed to be supporting

us turned out to be three or four, and the pastor in the next town, who had

brought us there did just that – brought us there and left us on our own.

I came unglued – I was furious – with Matthew, with the town, with the

pastor in the next town, with the Assemblies of God, and with God Himself.

I screamed and bawled and broke things and threatened lives – here I was

being sacrificed again for a stupid church.

I have to relate one incident to you – it was the only satisfaction I had for

over a year. The pastor from the next town (the one who brought us out

there) and his wife stopped by one day. I was not in a particularly good

mood, but I felt obligated to invite them in and at least be cordial. The four

of us made small talk for a while, and then they asked me how I was doing. I

told them – directly and to the point. In there somewhere I mentioned that I

was mad at God. The pastor’s wife, good little Christian that she was,

assured me that this was not possible – no one who loved God could be mad

at Him; it just wasn’t done. I assured her that that was indeed the situation,

and she just wouldn’t let it drop. I had several months of anger, rejection and

betrayal stored up, so I let her have it – verbally. At that point her husband

felt obligated to step in, since Matthew hadn’t made any attempt to get his

wife under control. He got up and started toward me, saying something

about praying for me (when all else fails, pastors resort to prayer). I told him

to stay away from me, not to touch me, and he’s better not dare pray for me.

By this time his wife was on her way to the car – she probably thought I was

demon-possessed.

I felt wonderful. Right or wrong, I had been honest and had stood up for

myself – and to a preacher. They never came to our house again.

Matthew did eventually get a job in November and I got one 1 ½ years later,

and we pastured our church.

One thing we picked up right away. No one in the district headquarters in

Denver cared about us and our twenty-five people – unless we played the

game. First of all, in spite of severe financial circumstances, we were

expected to attend all pastor’s conferences, fellowships, and district

meetings. Matthew did, once in a while when his work schedule permitted,

but I wouldn’t go at all. Those people are about as real as stone statues in a

museum. Then we were expected to have evangelists and missionaries in to

speak. Our church couldn’t even pay rent on a building – there was no way it

could pay a special speaker; no one came for free. And – most of all – they

wanted us to put up a building. The only regular tithers we had were

ourselves, and we couldn’t afford to make payments on a building.

When the district saw that we wouldn’t play, they left us alone – totally. We

received no support, no fellowship, no encouragement. But – we were

offered a bigger church after two years. I guess we had proved ourselves

somehow by sticking it out that long in a little cow town, so they gave us the

opportunity to start our own climb to the top.

We said “no, thank you” and stayed another year. In that time our people

started going to another “full gospel” church in town, and we felt released to

move on. In that time we had also bought a bookkeeping business about

forty miles away, so we moved there. The pastor who hired us took a bigger

church, with a Christian school, the next step on his ladder.

And we got off. When it came time to renew Matthew’s license, they wrote

us and told us that we “owed” the district some money in unpaid tithes and

they wouldn’t renew his license until we paid. We decided that if we had to

pay to do God’s will, there was something definitely wrong – so we once

again said “no, thank you.”

We haven’t been to church since January 1988, and haven’t missed it. We

were pursued for a while, but I’m sure we’ve been written off by now, and

I’m glad.

What’s encouraging to me is that I have a better relationship with God, the

person, than ever. How it began was I heard someone talking about standing

naked before God. My first reaction to that was, “Puke! No way!” But the

thought wouldn’t leave. As I mulled it over, it occurred to me that God saw

me that way anyway, and more. He knew my thoughts and He knew what

was in my heart. So I decided to try it. As I was alone one day I sat in my

favorite chair and came to God – naked. I told Him I wasn’t sure about the

Bible. I knew He wrote it, but I also knew stupid ego-centered men had

interpreted it, and I felt they had screwed up its meaning horribly and had

used it to manipulate people and build empires for themselves.

I told Him I didn’t mind talking to Him, but that I had no idea how to pray.

Most of what I had learned about praying was used to try to manipulate Him

– as if anyone could.

So I wasn’t going to read or pray anymore, but I would do my best to come

before Him naked and be honest. In return I expected Him to be honest with

me.

Then I did something else. I told Him I knew there were places in my life

that needed to be healed – places I didn’t want to look at, and some that I

was unable to look at. But I wanted Him to look at them. I wanted Him to

see all of me – inside and out – to see if He could still love and accept and

even approve of me if He saw it all.

He did! Not right then, and I didn’t get any tingles or see lights, nor was I

slain in the Spirit. I didn’t see or hear anything. In fact, I sort of forgot I’d

even said it. But every once in a while, I’d think of something I’d done that

made me feel unacceptable, and it didn’t hurt. I felt no shame. I didn’t feel

the need to repent again. I wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t feel degraded

or second-class.

That’s where I am. My mom and some of my brothers and sisters still go to

the A.G. church in their town, but I won’t go. That man is evil, building

himself an empire in God’s name. He’s destined to fall, and hard. I tell my

family that every chance I get. So far, they haven’t listened. Like 90% of the

“Christians,” they equate God with the church and feel they must go to be

saved. Anyway why wouldn’t they? They’re told that from the time they get

there until they leave. They also look at the pastor as only slightly lower than

God and a lot more accessible. This boosts the pastor’s ego, so he’s careful

to maintain and encourage that concept.

I love God so much, and it breaks my heart to see what’s happening. There’s

going to be a lot of surprised people left after Jesus comes back, whenever

that happens. And I’m sorry for them. But – we all make choices. If it’s

church we want, we can have it. If it’s recognition we want, we can find it.

But if it’s God we want, He’ll see to it that we find Him. He looks at our

heart and sees what our real desires are. In spite of the garbage, He was, and

is, there for me. He will be for you, too.

Thank you again for having the courage to write your book. I’m sure it will

be explained away to a lot of devout A.G. people, but there are those of us

out there who dare to think for themselves, who are very grateful for some

confirmation that perhaps they’ve been right all along.

As soon as I finished your book, my husband Matthew read it; it took him

longer than one day, but not much. I’m happy to say that it has changed his

life.

The result of your book and our discussion was that he took eleven days off

and went back and confronted some people about how they affected his

marriage and his life. He finally cut the strings binding him to his parents,

especially his mother, and headed on to Iowa and the pastor who was the

most influential in our lives, and started the whole mess rolling.

I give you permission to use my letter and my experience in any way that

will help others who are going or have gone through the same thing. I

remember how alone and lonely I felt, and how that feeling made me doubt

myself and almost accept what they were feeding me as God and truth. If I

can be a part of keeping others from doing that and make their hurt and

confusion somewhat less, then let’s do it.

-- M.P., former pastor’s wife, current lover of God

[The opening remarks by the author and the letter from M.P. are taken from

Setting the Captives Free: Victims of the Church Tell Their Stories by

Austin Miles (Prometheus Books, 1990), pp. 17-26. Used with permission.]