I confess! I was a cult member! I was part of the Jesus Army.

I confess.

I was a member of the Jesus Army.

They called it a cult.  I still joined.
I went in with my eyes open, knowing that I would not be there forever.
I was warned of heavy shepherding, warned that they would brainwash me and steal all my money.
I joined anyway.
This was in the mid-1990s.  Since that time the ways of the church have mellowed somewhat.  There are actually people there who believe in LGBT equality.  Perhaps they've moved on a little from what, to an outsider, would seem to be a very sexist structure.  I've heard that there is even a transgender member of the community.
It's been sixteen years since I attended one of their services, sixteen years since I stayed in a community house, prayed and slept with the brothers, sang those songs and rode around in a brightly painted Jesus Army minibus.
Looking back now in my post Christian days I can tell you this:
I had a great time there and if I had to live those years again I'd live them more devoted to the vision of that church, more enthusiastic about the community, and less likely to grumble at all the shortcomings I saw.
Would I be safe if I visited?  As an ex-Christian, non-theist, transgender woman.  I don't know.
Looking back on the Jesus Army I see perhaps the only church I miss.

A few things about the community:

I was part of a community household that no longer exists.  The head of the house says that he takes the blame for some of the reasons why it fell apart.  Perhaps with a little more of the heavy shepherding it would have thrived.  Or at least with a little more shepherding.  In effect most of us who visited that house could do pretty much as we pleased.  And we did.  The other reason why it fell apart was perhaps that of charity and compassion.  Vineyard Farmhouse took in a lot of waifs and strays, of whom I was one.  There were a lot of people to be helped and not enough people to be the helpers.  Eventually that balance gave way.

I was loved in that community.  I had friends.  And I laughed more than I ever laughed before or since.

I struggled in that community.  I wasn't prepared to submit to much at all and was critical far too often and charitable far too little.  While there was much to criticise that's only because the place was full of fallible humans.  They were all doing their best and all too often I was too quick to point my finger at the shortcomings of the church.

I sang lots.  I played the guitar lots.  I enjoyed worshiping my God through music immensely.  In the community the evening meal was preceded each day by "grace time" which wasn't just a five second mumbled prayer.  It was a half hour praise and teaching party.  Each evening the community was united in purpose before sharing the meal.  At least that was the theory.

I was a brother and so slept in the "brothers' bungalow" above the main farmhouse.  That's a building which no longer exists.  A good thing.  It was pretty rough and often smelled of oil.  It was cold too and if you ever wanted to live in a luxurious cult you wouldn't have chosen it.  But there was clean bedding and clean towels and a hot shower.  And there was generally conversation, laughter and the odd argument too.

The Vineyard community housed some "interesting" characters.  People of I kind I never would have met anywhere else in my sheltered existence.  On one occasion - in another community - I found that I was the only person in a sizable group of brothers who had never been to prison.  One person involved in the community, the guy who stole and wrote off a Jesus Army minibus, had a large collection of car badges from different makes of car.  Each badge was taken from a car he had stolen.  One person held a knife to the head of the house.  A young brother ran off with a much older sister who happened to be celibate.  One person had robbed a bank.  There were lots of people who were drug addicts, some of whom still took drugs.  The aroma of weed could often be smelled outside Sunday services.  The Ship of Fools mystery worshiper went to a service a few years ago and popped out to the loo half way through.  He found people snorting lines of coke there.

With all the interesting characters relationships were sometimes strained and everyone wore their issues close to the surface.  There wasn't time to be proud and hide everything and there wasn't a desire to put on an English stiff upper lip.

When I first arrived at Vineyard I refused point blank to go and sit with the brothers for meals - sex segregation at meals was the custom.  I was much more comfortable sitting with the sisters.  I wonder why!  Of course I submitted to that custom pretty quickly and found some great brothers.

I learned eventually never to lend anything to a community member.  Jesus said to lend not expecting to get it returned.  That was a key there.  You wouldn't get it back.  Ever.  It was as if people thought Jesus had said you should borrow not expecting to give it back.  Maybe I was just unlucky but I had a 100% success rate of losing everything I lent to someone.  Including a guitar.   He couldn't give that back.  Some high up drug dealers took it in order to cover some of his drug debt.

I am no longer a Christian.  Yet a folder of songs is currently on the music stand on the piano.  It came from Vineyard Farmhouse and contains all the songs we used to sing.

Flapjack.  I can't speak of Vineyard without thinking of flapjack.  There was a lot of flapjack.  The best of it was made by a woman named Julie.  Lovely woman.  Sorry Felicity but yours wasn't quite as good as Julie's.  But the doughnuts you made once were absolutely gorgeous.

Flapjack.  It was part of the Jesus Army.  Early in its history, with the members pooling their resources and income into the community and the church, members formed several businesses and cooperatives.  They had solicitors, doctors, a hairdresser, a motor repair business and a farm.  They also started a bakery and a tiny wholefoods cooperative.  The latter developed and became a large health food company housed in what was the largest warehouse in Northamptonshire.  They had their own line of flapjacks.  Oh Chunky Jacks.  I miss you!

Critics pointed to the monetary worth of the Jesus Army and its turnover and accused it of being a very rich organisation.  They said that someone somewhere must be getting very wealthy out of it.  None of it was true.  That financial turnover was the result of the businesses and included the incomes and livelihood of each of those members who lived in the community.  Nobody was getting rich and the church used extra money to pay for the work of the church - all those events in the big marquee and the printing of thousands of copies of the magazine to be posted to subscribers for free and giving so much to waifs and strays like me who hardly contributed a thing financially to them.

All those nights stayed in community.  How much did they charge me?  Zero.  That's how much.  I'm sure that if I'd been able to give them something and had given it they would have been glad of the cash and would have put it to use.  But it wouldn't have changed the way anyone treated me.  Not one bit.

As for getting rich.  The head of Vineyard farmhouse lived in a shared bedroom in the brothers' bungalow.  The leader of the whole church lived in a bedroom in one of the other community houses - New Creation Farm.  He ate what everyone else ate and lived as they did.  He worked very hard and kept up his passion for Jesus and the church vision throughout his life.

I struggled under his teaching.  I found his sermons painful to listen to.  They just didn't seem very good.  I'd moan about them all the time.  And then he would say something and it would just hit me in the guts and I'd have to deal with it.  We used to laugh about Noel's preaching style and imitate him excellently.  The head of Vineyard pointed out the fallacy in our claim to not be listening to Noel while imitating him so perfectly.  Because we were listening.  Carefully.

Vineyard had comfy and very scruffy sofas.  It had a basement with washing machines and second grade apples from the farm.  It had no potato peeler but many potatoes to be peeled.  It had an outhouse containing a 24/7 prayer room with walls on which we could write prayers.

Vineyard had smiles and tears and struggling people and a bunch of misfits.  It had walks in the woods and in the countryside nearby.

I moaned about it while I was there.  There was much to moan about.  I could write another blog post about the moans.  But what would be the point?

But it was one of the happiest times of my life.  Sixteen years later, though I don't believe the gospel and don't believe in many of the practicalities of how they think that gospel should be lived, (Whatever they say, women weren't treated as well as men) I love that church more than I ever did.

One day I might return.  Give my testimony in that giant marquee again.  Tell them I don't believe in their God but I love them still.

Days of Gratitude - Three Days, Three Places, From A Butterfly To A Bucket

It was a strange week.

I slept in four beds in four places.  This is not a usual thing for me.  These three days include three places.  Crawley, Greater Manchester, and Newcastle.  It all felt very strange.

Notes:

I will probably not be allowed to live down my statement to the effect that we didn't need a coat.  In my defence, a coat wouldn't have done much good against the storm.  A hermetically sealed diving suit would probably have leaked against that much rain.

The last picture here shows one of my favourites out of any photo my dad took and exhibited in his years of exhibiting photos in the local camera club and sometimes further afield.  It shows a little girl called Vanessa.  We were camping somewhere near the France-Switzerland border.  Each day the girl was sent out to fill a bucket with water from the slow running tap.  One day my dad said hello to her, not worrying about the language gap.  And he took some photos.  They probably won him a prize.

The day after these was the start of a brand new experience for me.  One that has proved to be something of a confidence boost.

September 13^th


Grateful to have left Crawley. All the necessaries are done for now. My parents' house is on the market. I hope it sells easily.

Grateful that Amanda and I didn't drown. We were out in the worst of the storm. A little wet! A wall of water between us and her door as if the house had been replaced by the torrent of Hardraw Force.

Pictures:

A butterfly at Crawley station.

And Amanda and myself on a bus in what was still a gorgeous hot and sunny day in Salford. 















September 14^th


Grateful to have been able to see Amanda. Just for a night. But one night is better than none.

Grateful to be home now. I have a whole day to recover from being away and my head is informing me of how tired it actually is.

Grateful the house in Crawley is now officially for sale and has viewings.

Photos:

The house used to be the Jesus Army community house in Salford. I detoured in the morning to see it. It's a place I used to visit 20 years ago.

A picture I see when passing through Leeds on the coach. This time I remembered to take a picture when passing and was fortunate to press the button on the phone at the right time.

September 15^th


Grateful for a day of rest. It is desperately needed.

I have unpacked most of the boxes from Crawley and put up some of my dad's prints.

I think I need a week to get over Crawley. I have had a day. Tomorrow will be very unrestful and totally unknown. Eek!

Unrelated Thoughts on My (Lack of) God and My Autism

I've just written a couple of comments on facebook and find I don't want to lose them.  One was about God and faith.  The other about autism, particularly my recent discovery that it's OK to stim, even that it's a very good thing.  They are personal.  They're just about my life - and really that's not wildly interesting so feel very free to stop reading now.  And they're just ephemeral facebook comments, not classic literature to inspire the centuries!  But I want to save them.  Because one revealed something to me.  And the other can stand if ever needed as a reminder of joy, a reminder of why the path I'm on is a valuable one.

Firstly, God.  How very orthodox, to place God first.

Following on from the gorgeous song from the last blog post an old friend commented, through his experience and love.  When I lived closer to him years ago he would have been the only person anywhere who could possibly have convinced me to rejoin the Jesus Army and give myself to those people and that vision.  Finally cutting links with that church meant I lost contact with him and that saddened me.  But by the wonders of social media - and in this case through a wild coincidence - he's back in my life in some way.

As part of the discussion he quoted the Bible:

"For I know in whom I have believed,

and am persuaded that

 He is able to keep that which 

I have committed unto him

against that day"

A perfectly good verse to quote.  I can understand it and understand having a lived truth in which that verse can be grasped, believed, experienced.  I can understand it because I applied those words to myself for many years - before my faith fell to pieces.  I had a response to this from my life - although admittedly it may mean more in the context of the conversation.  A response of honesty, but certainly not a response to argue against my friend's experiences of the Divine.  A response that reveals to me some of the faith in my faithlessness.

I am unpersuaded. There are many times I want to walk away totally, to not believe in anything 'beyond'. Part of that is my pure but possibly imperfect logic. I have argued out the dogma too many times. And much is a result of all the unhealthiness of my faith for too many years, why I embraced it, and how I allowed it to curse me even while grasping onto it so much as my hope and meaning.

But yes, I don't know how to not believe. I may not exactly be orthodox in faith. Much of the time I can't conceive of the reality of a being who is god. But I cannot believe that there is no other, cannot believe that all there is is the universe and gravity pulling us forever into earth. Whatever happens, I fail to stop looking beyond - both to the beyond without and the beyond within. I can't let go. No matter how much I've tried, and no matter how much holding on has deeply hurt. And Spirit can't let go of me.

So here I am, joined the church that should have been my last and which I was meant to have left behind. Getting lost in worship when I can't hold onto that belief. I cannot walk away. It's impossible. Much of the time I am faithless or have a faith that most Christians wouldn't recognise as Christian. But I remain. Because, through everything, I am held by that which is infinite, that which is fully life, that which is the Real, is Being, is Truth, is Eternal. That which is the ground of love and the ground of fire.

Hmm. That last bit might sound suspiciously like faith to some people. You might even apply a label to those words, and say that they are God.

Secondly, autism.  Thoughts unrelated to the above.

Just saying.  Rocking, pacing, moving, stimming feel so damn wonderful.  So much better than forever forcing myself to be outwardly still, to sit without moving.  Some of it is restful.  Some of it releases.  Some of it is grounding.  And some of it feels like joyed strength flowing into me.  All of which comes as something of a surprise.

I have always rocked but almost never let it happen because I felt too guilty and shamed by it.  "It's wrong.  It's bad.  Sit still.  Be quiet.  Be respectable." Thank God these things can change.  Learning to lose that guilt, and guilt over some of the ways my brain is wired, is starting to bear fruit.  At last.

I know there's still quite a way to go in learning to be able to allow my body to move as it wants to.  Learning to be myself:  It's so difficult.  At times it's felt impossible.  I've been so near the edge through all this.  So scared at times.  Close to needing a psych ward.  But it's essential.  And after the hell comes the self acceptance and the renewed smiles.

That's all.  Two thoughts.  Unrelated.

The Universe Laughs At Me Through A Song

The universe is laughing at me.

I didn't want to mass play a song today, post it on social media in two places and know I have to learn to play it.  That there is NO choice.  I didn't want to spend hours on the same 4 minute simple song.  Yet I find that something in this hits all the right places, just like all the minor 6th chords and tri-tones that got thrown into my playing this morning.  I got so lost in that piano this morning.  I really must get round to getting it tuned for the first time since getting married - which was nearly twenty years ago!

I most definitely didn't want to mass play a song about God that I don't even mentally agree with.

And it's totally certain that I didn't want that song to be a song from the Jesus Army.

But the universe doesn't give a shit what I want.  It does things to me anyway.  Most of us find the universe seems to have a carefree attitude towards our desires.  And most of the time the actions of the universe turn out to be good in the end.  Life is more fun that way, when there are unexpected bonuses from time to time.

So.  Here's the song.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Zfv1LZlU9U

Over the years the Jesus Army has come up with some truly atrocious songs.  I could give examples from the years in which I was involved with them.

And then there are ones like this one.  When the Jesus Army does something well, which to be fair is quite often, it really does it well.  It's a simple song.  A simple accompaniment.  In many ways if I applied logic and analysis it would seem like nothing special.

But the song, for whatever reasons, brings me both tears and peace.  And vibrato through bones and muscles and so much more.  There is something in this that bursts into and beyond every energy centre (if energy centres exist) something that I can feel on every level.  This is something that so much pulls at the physical chest, the inner core, that I can let it become the entire universe for a few moments.

When music is the universe, when all else ceases to exist, that is the best.  There is nothing better in my life.  Ever.  When I sing and play and all else vanishes and all that remains is vibration and spirit then that is bliss.  Bliss.  Does everyone sink into music so much that the universe disappears?

Of course, you might hate it!  That's OK.