In 2010, I joined the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, excited that I had found a refuge from the crazy world of Evangelicalism. In 2017, I was seeking for refuge from the OPC and the spiritual abuse I experienced there.
There had been red flags along the way that I didn’t think twice about until after all of the spiritual abuse happened. But what really brought everything out to the light was in 2017 when my family became members of Providence OPC in Temecula, California.
At the time, the church was without a pastor. The former pastor, Jesse Pirschel, had taken a call elsewhere, and for over a year, the church had been on the search for a new pastor. Several difficult events had transpired before we joined the church that prevented the church from
calling a new pastor, and we could feel that members were getting antsy.
We were told again and again by the elders and the regional home missionary, Dave Crum, who was placed in charge of overseeing the church in the midst of this period, that we needed to “trust the process”
outlined in the denomination’s Book of Church Order. The process was intentionally designed to be lengthy. Following the Book of Church Order, the church had a committee made up of members of the church responsible for the pastoral search, who would regularly review candidates
before presenting them to the congregation as a whole.
In August 2017, the regional home missionary and elders announced a congregational meeting after worship. In this meeting, they announced that their former pastor, Pirschel, was being considered again as pastor of
Providence OPC. Not only that, but they wanted the congregation to vote within the next few weeks to “call” him back. In other words, this former pastor would shortcut the lengthy process.
In the middle of this congregational meeting, I stood up and addressed the congregation. I
reminded the congregation that families (like mine) had joined the church since this pastor had left, and none of us had had a chance to hear the man preach or even speak with him. If the church were to have a vote, we would not have been able to vote our conscience if they
fast-tracked the process. I pleaded with my fellow congregants to slow down and follow the regular process outlined in the Book of Church Order. Let us invite the man and his family so that we can hear him preach and speak to him face to face. After some discussion and a vote,
the church agreed to do this.
There were two instances that the pastor spoke to the church to answer questions — once over video conference and once in person. In both of these instances, I stood up and publicly asked the pastor why he had left Providence OPC and why he was so
quickly wanting to leave the pastoral call he had taken up only a little while back. As someone who had gone to seminary to be a pastor, I had heard again and again from my professors that a call to a church was important. You could tell a lot about a minister in how seriously
they take their call to serve a particular church. Yet, even after asking from multiple angles, I never received a straight answer. I knew that the constant deflections and subject changing meant that there was something going on that he didn’t want to share publicly.
Because of this, I decided to ask an elder of our church if it was okay for me to call this former pastor to ask him privately about this matter. I was given full approval to do so. Pirschel didn’t pick up, so I left him a brief message about how I, as a member of Providence OPC
who wanted to vote according to his conscience, would like to have a chance to speak with him privately about the questions I asked him previously. I never received a call in return from him.
Instead, that evening, I received a call from a number I did not recognize. It was
Crum, the regional home missionary who was overseeing Providence OPC. During this phone call, in raised voice and sharp tone, the regional home missionary proceeded to accuse me of being “presumptuous” and “doing what you shouldn’t have done,” even after I explained that the
elder had given me full permission. This man then went on to say that other people in the church were speaking ill of me because of the questions I had been asking the former pastor — i.e. he was using gossip in an attempt to silence me. The volume and rage coming through my
phone into my ear was shocking to me. After the call, I felt sick. This was not right. This is not how things are done in the OPC. I had to tell someone. I had to get help.
As someone who had recently graduated from seminary, I went to the professors in the OPC I was closest
with for help: John Fesko and David VanDrunen. In fact, Fesko was a member of the presbytery that Crum was a part of. Neither of them lifted a finger to help us.
Two families from Providence OPC began sharing stories of how they had experienced similar and worse things in their
private interactions with Crum, and the patterns were very clear: bullying, spiritual abuse, attempts to silence, use of gossip and slander, etc. I began to hear stories from others who had encountered this dark side as well. The regional home missionary carried himself publicly
with charisma and affability. His private demeanor was radically different. This is why no one believed their experiences.
To make matters worse, when I began asking some others for help and advice about what seemed to be a clear sign of a pattern of years of spiritual abuse
and bullying, they began to make excuses and justify his behavior. “Well, you have to remember that he’s helped plant lots of Reformed church.” “But, he’s done so much good for the kingdom.” On and on the excuses went. It was clear — to these people, this man’s accomplishments
covered over a multitude of his heinous sins that crushed sheep. It seemed that this was just business as usual in the OPC.
When the church voted to call Jesse Pirschel, our family was one of few that voted against it. We experienced ostracization and betrayal that was painful
beyond measure. When our second child was born that year, only one or two families reached out to us to congratulate us. We left Providence OPC wounded and battered. Not only had we lost a church family, but we had experienced a rude awakening about our denomination. Spiritual
abuse spanning years & years was tolerated amongst the leadership. People in power knew about this man’s abusive actions as well as the abusive actions of other leaders in the denomination, and they did nothing about it. My seminary professors who had influence would do nothing.
At the time, we fled in silence, like Joseph and Mary with Jesus, hoping that we wouldn’t be tracked down and hurt more. We sought refuge elsewhere — a new church, a new denomination. But even after we found a new church home, the trauma of the abuse didn’t stop there.
Over the course of the years that transpired after we left the OPC, we had interactions with OPC pastors who had previously had a big part in our lives who showed their true colors as well. One pastor decided to spend his time writing snarky comments on my and my wife’s social
media pages. Another pastor that I confided in with our story of abuse began to spread our story without our express permission and put the blame on me for not reconciling with the regional home missionary. Again, the issue of a system and pattern of spiritual abuse and years of
bullying and ignoring clear evidence therein were never addressed. They were all so parochial that they saw this all as some sort of beef I had, rather than just the tip of a large iceberg of spiritual abuse and silent complicity in the OPC.
Over the course of seven years, I
went from someone who loved the OPC and wanted to minister in the OPC to someone who absolutely cannot in my conscience encourage anyone to join that denomination. There are people who are in the OPC who will claim that they’ve never experienced spiritual abuse or heard of these
sorts of stories. That’s good for you. But the ability for you to experience the OPC unscathed was paid for by the spiritual abuse of sheep behind closed doors, the ostracization of victims, and the silent complicity of those who know better and can do something about it.
When I hear stories about @aimeebyrdhwt’s experiences with members and leaders in the OPC in the Genevan Commons and other Facebook groups, I’m not surprised in the least. When I hear about these same people getting away with their bullying, slander, and abuse in their churches
and presbyteries, I am not at all surprised. My family and countless other individuals and families have lived it. Many haven’t spoken up because they believe that no one will believe them and they don’t want to relive the trauma.
When I was a die-hard member of the OPC, I
remember hearing about John Frame’s essay “Machen’s Warrior Children.” Folks in the OPC frequently talked about how Frame was a bitter ex-OPC person in order to try to dissuade people from hearing his concerns and observations. I don’t agree with Frame in all of his conclusions,
but this is one that rings true for me and my experience:
"The various anniversary celebrations and official histories in the different Reformed denominational bodies have been largely self-congratulatory. In Reformed circles, we often say that there is no perfect church, that
churches as well as individuals are guilty of sin and liable to error. But Reformed writers and teachers seem to find it almost impossible to specify particular sins, even weaknesses, in their own traditions or denominations, particularly in their own partisan groups. A spirit of
genuine self-criticism (prelude to a spirit of repentance) is an urgent need."
I wish I hadn’t bought into the lie that Frame was just a bitter ex-OPCer and had read his piece earlier. I’m sure folks will chalk me up as some sort of bitter ex-OPCer and refuse to hear my story
and the story of others like me. But that’s not my ultimate concern. My concern is to let others who have experienced this or who are currently experiencing this in the OPC know that they are not alone, they are not crazy, and there are many of us out there who have your back.
If I can even convince one person that that is true, then I believe my story, though painful and horrendous as it was and still is, is being used for some sort of good in God’s story.
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When you do not have a gun, you are forced to find ways to creatively respond to threats (both perceived and real). When guns are seen as the easiest option, then there is no room for de-escalation, negotiation, reasoning, and other forms of resolution. The ethics become
"Shoot or be shot," "Own a gun or be a sitting duck," and "By whatever means necessary to protect [family, spouse, possessions, etc.]."
Choosing to not own and bear a gun may result in injury or worse. Yet, at the same time, the psychological trauma caused by taking
someone else's life (whether it is justified or not) takes a heavy and often life-long toll on one's emotional well-being.
As a Christian, this becomes especially complex of an issue because while the Bible as a whole does offer justification for killing in self-defense, Jesus
I purchased a copy of a book on the history of Christianity in Korea to help educate myself about my heritage. I have believers in my family going back several generations, so I'm only several steps removed from the 1907 Pyongyang Revival.
In the meantime, I'm doing some
reading on important figures in Korean Christianity, and I came across 윤치호 (Yun Chi-Ho), who was an influential Korean Methodist. He spent some time at Vanderbilt University and Emery University in the U.S. studying English and theology. During this time, he
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Many go through years of painstaking, drawn out, and retraumatizing formalities and procedural steps only to end up with no justice.
Not only that, but even worse, on this long road, they have lost support from friends and church family. They have had their names dragged through the mud as a "troublemaker" and "divisive." They have had to use their own time and money to get the healing they need.
The perpetrators, however, have often been able to continue in their positions uninterrupted. They have received more support and assistance. Many of them likely are still engaging in spiritual abuse and racism while "the process" is underway. Then, by the time "the
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There are instances where White supremacy and White adjacency have impacted the way other communities of color view Asian Americans. There are also instances where racial resentment between Asian Americans and other communities of color have influenced the current violence.
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Reformed and Evangelical Christians are very good at saying the equivalent of "go in peace, keep warm, and be well fed." (James 2:16).
It looks like *only* saying the following with no tangible actions to address physical suffering:
"I'll pray for you," "God will provide,"
"God works all things for good," "Maybe God closed a door..."
It looks like suggesting that God will meet someone's poverty through something miraculous (e.g. finding a check in the mail) but not through the hands and feet of the ordinary (i.e. Christians sharing).
It looks like saying you "understand" someone's experience of trauma, abuse, and/or racism in your shared circles while doing nothing to address it.
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After the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, I waited
to see what our editorial team at @Core_Christ and @WhiteHorseInn would do to respond. The organization had written on topics related to racism and social justice before, so it was well within the orbit of the organization to respond to this event.
After days of silence, I realized that no one else on the leadership was going to initiate a response. So, I decided to write a piece titled "Is Racism a Gospel Issue or a Social Issue?" The article was very barebones. It was simply looking at passages in the Bible that show