Dissent in the Body

I was 14 when I first heard someone swear. A few teenagers were playing in my parents’ garage and then—”Damn!” I don’t remember the reason the boy cursed, but I remember how it felt in my body.

I grew faint; my stomach churned and my ears buzzed. We all came from Christian families, and I assumed the boy was saved, but he had just shown me that he was going to hell. Someone probably could have talked me through the situation logically and reassured my brain that the friend’s salvation wasn’t in jeopardy quite yet, but my nervous system wasn’t on board. As far as my body was concerned, I had just witnessed death.

I recalled this incident last week when an irate woman commented that people publicly questioning the ACNA’s acting archbishop about his alleged financial misconduct “could give a flying f**k about the health of the ACNA. They just want fresh meat to destroy!” And then she apologized for her sanitized curse: “Sorry if it offends anyone.”

While it’s amusing that this woman was so concerned about typing “fuck” in her tweets defending corrupt and abusive bishops, I also know what it’s like to live in a community that teaches our bodies to fear challenges to authority. I remember when a college student sat in our kitchen and criticized some minor aspect of my childhood cult. “You don’t have to stay!” I snapped angrily. “If you don’t like the church, you should just leave!”

My body understood what my mind did not: dissent meant physical punishment in my house and ostracization in my church. I wasn’t just scared on the college student’s behalf—I was afraid that I would get in trouble simply for listening to him. High-control churches don’t simply threaten people for stepping out of line; they incentivize bystanders to police behavior as well.

In the past few months, American Anglicans have suggested various solutions for the ACNA’s current abuse scandals. One of the more common refrains is that the ACNA needs more lay involvement. I don’t disagree, but I find it more interesting to look at the people who are arguing vociferously against giving church members a greater voice in the church body.

High-control churches (and this includes many churches in the ACNA) can’t tolerate it when they lose the ability to make people comply. Within the current ACNA governance structure, power lies in the hands of priests and bishops who are bound by vows of canonical obedience. If you don’t like what a priest is saying, you can just complain to their bishop until their bishop tells them to shut up.

But what about ordinary church members? There’s no mechanism to force their compliance; that’s why their dissenting voices present an existential threat to corrupt and authoritarian leaders. And those leaders feel the threat down to their very toes.

I try to have compassion for people who have been taught that dissent—even something as simple as a swear word!—equals bodily danger. I was one of them. But I have zero tolerance for church leaders who abuse their power because of their own trauma. Your churches deserve better. Drop the tight-fisted control and go to therapy.