Читать книгу Cult Sister - Lesley Smailes - Страница 11

Although I was keen to learn as much as I could about the Church, it was all kind of shrouded in mystery. Nobody could explain in any detail who had started this radical, breakaway sect. I don’t think anyone knew for sure. It seemed as though there was no hard-and-fast knowledge about the Church’s origins – they were just a bunch of travelling Christians; they talked about themselves as brothers and sisters, pilgrims and strangers.

The way I understood it, they were a group of people who had forsaken everything, separated themselves from the world and were living by faith. I didn’t really know how they’d come about. From what I could gather they kind of originated during the Sixties and early Seventies.

It may sound odd to have spent so much time in the Church, yet to know so little but now, looking back on it, I think that’s the way Brother Evangelist wanted it. He was a man of mystery, very secretive. I suspect that’s how he had to be. It was only years later that I learned that the dignified Brother Evangelist was the founder and his real name was Jim Roberts.

There were many young people in the group. They were encouraged to drop out of college, turn their backs on their families, cutting them out of their lives entirely. Before I joined there had been quite a few cases where parents kidnapped their kids out of the group and tried to have them ‘deprogrammed’. As a result, there was a high level of secrecy – in many cases families were viewed as the enemy and we went out of our way to avoid them. There was also always this vague fear that the authorities might get wind of where we were staying and raid our camp. I think this was one of the reasons the group was so nomadic. We never stayed in one place for too long.

I never could tell how many people belonged to the Church because we were never all in one place at the same time. The numbers fluctuated because people came and went, but I’d say there was a core group of less than 100.

When I joined the group nobody gave me detailed explanations of their beliefs and practices. I was just given studies on things like discipleship and a woman’s place. It was all based on the Bible. Questions were discouraged. Things were as they were, and if you wanted to be a member of the group you accepted these rules.

In commentaries I’ve read on the Internet I’ve always found it offensive when people say that the group ‘brainwashes’ its new members. In the scriptures it talks about being washed by the water of the word. I think, when one becomes a Christian, that there is a kind of washing that happens – we wash things because they are dirty.

‘Brainwashing’ is a bit of a derogatory word; it implies that you don’t have a mind of your own. However, I have to concede that, in a sense, we were brainwashed. But, in another sense, for some of us there were things in our minds and hearts and pasts that we needed to have washed away. That was certainly the case with me.

Generally, people in the group didn’t talk about where they came from – it was a taboo topic; you weren’t meant to disclose any information about your background. We were all hiding from our ‘flesh relations’, so nobody really spoke much about their past.

There wasn’t much talking at all, really. That quietness I’d noticed on that first evening and found so peaceful was the norm. The scriptures talk about abstaining from foolish jesting and minding your own business – so we were discouraged from sitting around and talking. If there was conversation it was more often in the form of testimonies in which we shared what God had done for us. Idle chatter was frowned upon.

Shortly after my decision to ‘join the Church’ I was sent on the road with Brother Thomas. We went on a tedious journey together, hitchhiking all the way across America. It was a very strange trip, indeed, as we hardly spoke at all.

While we were on the road, I called my mom from a public phone box. I told her I was travelling with a bunch of believers. Christians. I explained that I was cancelling my trip to the UK so I could stay and learn from them until my visa ran out. Then, God willing, I would return home to South Africa. Although Mom sounded disappointed, she said nothing to either dissuade or encourage me. I was thankful that the money I’d deposited in the phone ran out quickly, bringing our stilted conversation to an end.

But remembering her last words of warning to me on the PE station platform, I posted her the following letter-epistle a few days later to put her mind at rest. Reading it now, I find it fascinating to see what a profound effect my interactions with the group had on my style of writing.

June 1983

Dear Mom

My phone call yesterday must have been a bit strange to you, especially as I have been writing to Ruby to save, save, save – sorry, Ruby, to let you down. This decision has had a lot of thought, tears, prayers and searching of the scriptures and I now feel certain that it is what Adonai (the Lord) wants. I have learnt what a woman’s place is and find great peace, joy, comfort and satisfaction just being what He wants me to be.

It is really good and pleasant for the Brethren to live together. I have many new sisters in Yeshua (the Hebrew name for Jesus) who are living like true Christian women should, humbly, quietly, modestly and submissively and with much love. I never knew communal living to work out so perfectly.

Never before have I met such God-fearing people, respectful men so gentle and who keep the camp orderly, and are good in the true sense of the word. They are just like the disciples of old.

It makes me bubble up with happiness and a much deeper love for Him when I see Him miraculously providing for all our needs. No one here works for money and earthly treasures. It makes me really thankful to Him. He has given me so many good things – two new pairs of shoes that fit perfectly, new skirts, shirts, a down sleeping bag, down jacket, a sewing kit. Oh Elohim (God) is so wonderful.

Never before have the scriptures made so much sense. I want you to have peace in your heart, Mom. My new friends are not cult members or deceivers, they ‘divide’ the Word correctly and have not been led to believe a lie.

I have to have fellowship now, and I hope you understand that. I just can’t make it on my own. I tried when travelling the States and found I just fell deeper into my old ways, went back to smoking cigarettes and dope, to foolish jesting and lusting of the flesh, just wallowing in the mud.

(Next day)

Yahveh works miracles for us every day. Very few people belong to this church because the way is so straight and narrow but, if it’s Yahveh’s will, I want to walk His way. I spend my days cooking, washing, sewing, reading, praying and witnessing.

This church teaches things no other church I have met before taught. About taming the tongue, of living humbly, no preaching prosperity, of submitting and waiting on Elohim, praying always, worshipping Him in the beauty of Holiness, bringing up children properly. Never before have I met such obedient children.

I love, love, love you. There was a lovely thunderstorm today. May peace be in you. Greet everyone for me and, if they question, please give them this letter to read. May you be able to receive this with grace.

With love, which comes from Him.

Lesley

While we were on the road, Brother Thomas told me I needed to be baptised. I had been baptised twice before. First in the baptisimal font in the Adventist Church in Westbourne Road, PE, when I was twelve, and five years later in the sea with my Stewart Love. But Thomas insisted it be done again, so I gave in and let him baptise me. We waded into the Eau Claire River in Wisconsin in our clothes and stood there for a few moments while he said a prayer. Then he clasped my hands with his right hand and, supporting my head with his left, lowered me into the flowing water, saying, ‘I baptise you in the name of Yeshua ha Mashiach.’

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON:

We ended up in Seattle after many days of travelling in the hot July sun. This time we went to a real camp. It was along the Interstate 5 on the outskirts of China Town. I was surprised to see that most of the sisters I had met in New York were there. There were many tents, discreetly hidden.

One had to jump over a puddle of water, climb a fence and then find the hidden path to the site. I understood now why so much of our clothing was green and brown. Good camouflage gear!

Brother Evangelist suddenly appeared on the path going up the hill. He seemed to emerge through the trees as if he came from nowhere. He had sparkly, intelligent eyes, dark hair and the biggest beard I’d ever seen. Aged somewhere between 45 and 50, he was the oldest man in the church. We often referred to him as ‘the Elder’.

Everyone seemed to treat him with respect. In fact, I think many of the sisters were secretly in love with him. Often it was whispered amongst us, ‘The Elder likes this’ or ‘The Elder doesn’t like that’ or ‘Be sober! Here he comes!’ We were all in awe of him.

Jim Roberts is thought to have been born in Paducah, a small town in Kentucky. The son of a Southern Baptist minister, he was one of six siblings. After finishing high school he served in the Marines. I suspect this strict military background may explain why he was so big on discipline. He was the one who was in charge of everything that went on in the ‘camps’, dictating who should move where.

Most of us told him dreams we deemed significant. The dreams were interpreted by him and he often used them to make decisions on our behalf. We were a nomadic, underground, subversive force. We were against the world. The scriptures speak of pilgrims and strangers. Well, we were that. Strange, travelling people, often being moved by dreams.

The task of directing the Church was enormous. Brother Evangelist took it very seriously. Throughout the ten years that I was to travel with the Church I came to know him as gracious and hospitable, kind and considerate. In the winter, he wore the thinnest of shirts. In an attempt to please him, sisters were always sewing him wonderful garments, but he would pass them on to the younger brothers and those in need. He has been accused of having a Swiss bank account, which he reportedly used to stash money away for himself, but I am sure this is not true. He was always the one going without, making certain everyone else’s needs were met first. He walked his talk and he walked tall.

Early on a snowy morning that funny noise outside would be the Elder shovelling a path to the gate in the icy cold. Through his example, he quietly taught me a lot about service. I developed a great respect for him and he took the place of dad in my life. My much-missed, adored father.