This Month at Home continued...

On Divorce and Remarriage

A couple of years ago, an old family friend who attended a nearby church, without my knowledge or permission, shared my story with others in her church family who were Gentle Spirit readers. One of these readers, during a trip back East, recounted the story — not maliciously; meaning only to demonstrate that God can use even broken vessels — with members of a fellowship in which members believe that remarriage under any circumstances at all, pre- or post-salvation, constitutes living in a state of unrepentant adultery, that the only hope for salvation for the remarried lies in forsaking the second partner and returning to the first spouse, or, if that is impossible for some reason, remaining unmarried. It is their belief that only the death of the first partner frees the spouse from the marriage covenant.

In matters like this, word travels fast, and letters then began to come in, first just one or two here and there, then in a trickle, then in a small stream. Readers out of churches holding a no-remarriage view began to bombard me with tracts, labeled me an unrepentant and unregenerate adulteress, and canceled their subscriptions. Though I had been faithfully married for 19 years to the father of my seven younger children, they insisted my only hope of salvation lay in leaving him and reconciling with my first husband.

Then letters arrived from writers whose views differed yet again from those of the fellowship back East. This second group believed that I had never been legitimately married at any time, since they had learned that my first husband had been previously married as well. Since Claude was also formerly married, this group believed our marriage was simply adulterous and our children illegitimate. In their view, salvation could only be assured if I would separate from Claude and remain separate from my first husband as well, although they believed I would be free to remarry a previously unmarried person.

I began, under the small but ever-increasing barrage of tracts, books (Til Death Do Us Part, by Joe Webb; others) and letters of rebuke I was receiving to lose my focus in some essential way. When I learned that a fellowship I highly respected, and some of whose members, I had come to love, though I had never met them, some of whom had written for Gentle Spirit, planned to hold a meeting of 70 or so men to discuss my situation , I was devastated. I was thoroughly and indescribably discouraged and demoralized. Were my many years of struggle and labor to be a faithful and godly wife and mother truly of no account in God's eyes? Was it true, as these letter-writers insisted, that I was unregenerate and deceived, a common adulteress, someone God could not even look upon? Dear Lord! If that was so, then what was I to do now? Claude's attitude was essentially defiant and closed: "Who cares what they say?" And accordingly, I tried my very best not to care. My problem was, I cared. I had long ago committed myself to remaining open to biblical truth, however unpopular. What if these people were correct? How could I be sure? I had learned only too well that in the church, the majority opinion was not always correct, that sometimes — maybe often — biblical truth was ignored, sacrificed on the altar of culture, or perhaps, common sense or expediency. The fact that in my church there were none who shared these views of divorce and remarriage was not persuasive. Neither did fellow church members share a multitude of other views which were very important to me — views about birth control, about nonresistance, about the role of women in the church, for example. But the doors of churches who shared my views in those areas were barred to me, because in their view, because I was remarried, I was an adulteress.

A Special Kind of Pain

There was one additional area of my life over which, in this same time, I came to experience a deep spiritual brokennness. I hesitate to mention it and would not, had it not proved to be such a significant source of pain for our entire family. For you who may not be aware of it, my family is biracial. The tracts and pamphlets we received on this subject would have provoked agony enough, and the letters we received — some of which also adjudged us to be adulterers by virtue of our interracial marriage — hurt deeply. What was far worse, though, was the treatment we received at the hands of several leaders whom we considered to be peers. I'm thinking of the time the editor of a rather large magazine told me that if I would not advise those inviting me to speak of the racial composition of my family, she would no longer publicize my speaking engagements (although this was something she had originally offered to do voluntarily, of her own accord; I never asked for this nor did I ever ask to advertise with her publication in any way). She stated that to fail to provide a photo or other information warning inquirers that I was biracially married was "deceptive" in view of the convictions of some in the home schooling movement that the Bible forbids marriage outside of one's race. A member of her staff eventually did apologize to me, but stated that although for years her husband had pastored an inner city church on the East Coast, she had simply "never known a godly interracial family". Another editor of a smaller publication which we helped to begin by way of counsel and free advertising had likewise learned our marriage was biracial. He asked me whether I married my husband before or after salvation, stating that he believed it wasn't a good or biblical thing to do in any case, but it might be somewhat understandable, "if it happened prior to salvation". A major columnist took the position that my biracial marriage was a "stumbling block" I carried, that I ought not mention or disclose it since others might follow my lead, and close as we were, she taught in her own circles, as did leadership in her particular denomination, that racial intermarriage was to be avoided. We received our share of materials, too, from Christian groups which take the position that marriage outside one's race is an unforgivable sin with the children of such marriages ineligible for salvation. Some of you reading may agree with these beliefs and sentiments, and if you do, may the Lord bless you. I do not condemn you as racist, although I believe your understanding of scripture is surely and sadly incorrect. Those of you who reject such beliefs and teachings are, I know, at this very moment, suffering along with me and my family as you read these words. You hurt for us, and for that, I love you. There is truly no pain quite like this particular pain, no rejection exactly like this one, especially when it comes, as it came to us, at the hands of sisters and brothers in Christ who believe they were speaking in His name. It is unique in the suffering it produces.

What Now? Hard Questions

These controversies and struggles eventually resulted in a continuing sense of sadness and dread, a pervasive confusion which defied resolution. What should now be my course? Since I knew I had readers who did not believe remarried people could be saved — and who made that a standard for fellowship; in other words, they would have no fellowship with those who were remarried, but claimed to be Christians — was I now obligated to warn all new subscribers and those inviting me to speak of the facts and circumstances of my previous marriage? What about Claude's previous marriage? What about my first husband's previous marriage? What about their first spouses' previous marriages? How far back would I be required to go? Going a step further, how would inquirers be certain what I was telling them was true? Would they want to see documentation of some kind, legal papers? What if they contacted my first husband in prison? How might my family be threatened or placed in danger? And in any case, just how would I go about gracefully informing these subcribers? Would I be required to publish a page in each issue of Gentle Spirit or on subscription forms which was devoted to divulging all details of my pre-Jesus life? How could that ever be edifying or profitable?

And again, since I knew some readers believed interracially married people were adulterers and ineligible for salvation, did it follow that it was my duty to inform them of my husband's race and my own? Were readers owed a family photo so that they could make their decision whether to subscribe on the basis of our family's racial composition?

Beyond questions of divorce, remarriage, and race, what other information might readers eventually expect me to provide? But more importantly, as the editor of a magazine, what was it my duty, biblically and ethically, to disclose?

Would my failure to respond to what I believed to be intrusive inquiries be deceitful or rebellious, as some charged? Didn't the magazine's content speak for itself? Couldn't the words and ideas which were published each month be weighed by each reader against scripture and sifted according to conviction and personal belief ? Should all magazine editors be required to provide this information to prospective subscribers, or only editors like me, who have established a policy of openness, honesty, and vulnerability? Because I had voluntarily been transparent and open in my writings, was I now required to answer any and all questions which others might consider were important? Was I allowed to take into consideration the best interests of my children and family members? Or did the fact that I was an editor who had made her life an open book mean I had forfeited every right to privacy which other Christians enjoy?

What Gentle Spirit Is and Is Not

I was not and am not a pastor, an evangelist, or even a teacher in the truest sense. Gentle Spirit was and is not a nonprofit ministry which accepts tithes and offerings. It is a magazine, essentially a practical magazine, which contains not only my thoughts but the thoughts and ideas of many people. I was and am just a woman, an ordinary woman with a rough past and a large family, a person who one day decided that in view of her life at home with many children, in view of the lessons learned in leaving a career for home, in view of her commitment to homeschooling and homesteading and many years of training in the school of hard knocks, she had something to share with likeminded women. God blessed that simple desire to share and encourage, and in time, without benefit of any advertising, without seeking endorsements of any kind, I became an ordinary woman who sometimes wore the hat of a magazine editor and who sometimes was invited to share the lessons of her life in public meetings. Did that make me a "minister" or equal to an elder in the church, a teacher in the biblical sense, subject to the qualifications of an elder, subject to scrutiny according to biblical standards for church leadership? Was I required to continue to prove I was meeting each of those standards? Or was it, as I believed, up to each subscriber to decide for herself whether the magazine's contents met her needs, whether what I shared publically when I spoke at conventions was helpful or not?

Gentle Spirit has never been the property of any particular "movement", including the home schooling movement. Many of you readers are not home schoolers and a significant number are not Christians. I have a responsibility to fulfill my promises to all of you, including those of you who are not concerned in the least about the status of my marriage or my doctrinal convictions and simply want your magazines in your mailbox timely. Gentle Spirit has only occasionally published articles dealing with home schooling. We never at any time sought the endorsement or advertising of any home schooling group or publication. On occasion, I was asked whether I would grant permission to reprint articles I had written. I usually agreed, believing it was a professional courtesy that I do so. If I was asked to exchange advertising or if someone voluntarily published an ad, review, or other information about us, I was grateful, but since I had never requested these favors, I did not consider that my granting of permission equalled any kind of contract between GS and those publishing the ads or other information. Gentle Spirit remained an independent publication existing to encourage women at home. That's all. We were not officially or unofficially affiliated in any way with any group or organization or movement.

The Worst Battle

Had the challenges we faced been limited to those I have already described, I think the crisis of last spring and summer might have been averted. But there was an additional, intimate struggle which I never disclosed within these pages, the most crushing struggle of all. My reluctance to talk about it is the second most important reason putting this magazine and this article together have been so difficult for me. I still have no desire today to disclose this particular battle, and there is a sense in which I deeply resent the combination of factors which have conspired to make disclosure unavoidable. I have always believed and continue to believe it is a wife's obligation biblically to honor and reverence her husband. But the requirement to honor and reverence one's husband cannot be construed to mean a wife must maintain secrecy in the face of lawlessness, or conceal the violent actions of a husband who, for whatever reason, becomes wholly given over to rage. My husband has publically acknowledged a life-long problem with anger, a raging anger which frequently through the years spilled over into abuse — physical, verbal and emotional. Because he expressed sorrow and asked forgiveness for his anger problems many times through the years, probably hundreds of times, I continued to believe in the end he would gain the victory over this particular battle, and I willingly forgave him, just as he forgave me for the besetting sins with which I struggled. That's what commitment to marriage is all about. I never stopped hoping and believing the best, that finally God would have His way. I am by nature addicted to hope and guilty of a perpetual optimism which some might call denial, of focusing all of my attention on the donut and not the hole, of seeing the cup not half empty, but half full. I trusted the Lord over the years to work in my husband's life, to change his heart, to change me, to bring healing in all the damaged places. I was ever on the lookout for evidence of heart change, and when I believed I had seen such evidence, I rejoiced in renewed hope that perhaps, the most recent episode was the last. I shared this secret agony with no one. I protected my husband and believed it was my obligation as a wife to do so.

But in the years following my husband's retirement and our move to the country, his anger problems waxed incredibly worse. He began daily to lose control in ways which were frighteningly destructive, both at home and in public places. I am unwilling to be specific about events which occurred in the privacy of our home, because I have no desire to hurt or shame anyone, and I'd like, if I could, to protect my children and family from any more pain than has already been inflicted. Only some of our children were the targets of my husband's rage, and of those, one child, in particular, suffered more than all the others. I was also a target. For many, many years, I sought — unsuccessfully, all in all, though I never lost hope — to protect the children who for whatever reason, seemed to be the most at risk. I still intend to protect their identities and their privacy and to provide a safe place for them. I will say that one child, in particular, was subject to a cruel torment which finally became relentless, debilitating and ruinous. When there no longer was evidence of remorse or repentance, but the torment instead was justified and rationalized, I faced a decision: would I continue to hope, as I always had, closing my eyes to what was happening, protecting my husband but leaving this child unprotected? Or would I move to protect my children and myself? If obedience, reverence, submission required that I turn a turn my back on the children's suffering and deny the real dangers that existed — I am not speaking here of normal discipline or even angry discipline but relentless cruelty — was I loving my husband in protecting him in these actions and loving my children in leaving them unprotected? What does a woman do when to love her husband she must deny love and protection to her children, or when to love and protect her children means she must separate from her husband? I know the Bible says keepers at home must love and obey their husbands. I know, too, that it says we must love our children. I take both commandments seriously and to heart. But when crisis comes and the two conflict, answers do not come easily. I believe the answers to questions like these are, in each and every case, to be found in the intimacy and communion of a personal walk with the Lord, who reveals His will and His ways to us as we earnestly seek Him.

With the agreement of my older children, I asked that my husband leave our home to seek help. A family meeting was held then to discuss the seriousness of the situation with the extended family, and all offered their love and support. Both older sons had repeatedly confronted their dad, and one had written a poignantly powerful letter, pleading that his father repent and recognize and seek help for his anger problems. The struggles of the previous months had included a long isolation in which we had almost no meaningful fellowship with other Christians. We attended church meetings only on Sunday mornings, and we rarely had fellowship with church members outside of those meetings. There was no one in our lives who was close enough, regularly enough, to discern our struggles and offer help. Where once our family had been given to hospitality, probably to a fault, I was no longer allowed to extend invitations to other families to visit. My husband would explode in anger even when I received phone calls from friends and family, and even those I had to avoid. Coming as these episodes did at a time when I was already overwhelmed with weariness, discouragement, work and confusion, I sometimes did not see how I could endure another day, let alone publish another magazine. It had all become a nightmare that seemed without end, a long dark tunnel, cold and lonely, where no light was visible as far ahead as I could see. And in the midst of an environment which was, at the end, relentlessly suffocating, my faithful readers awaited monthly encouragement. Attempting to provide that encouragement in those dark days of oppressive torment finally became nearly impossible. After one final, horribly painful episode, my husband left for New Orleans, promising to obtain help.

Crisis

During this time, I had subscribed to an online computer service in order to send and receive e-mail and to create a Gentle Spirit folder in order to share ideas with GS subscribers. Reading through other folders in the Christian boards, I "met", via written exchanges in the Religion and Ethics section of AOL, a man who had for many years been a single father and now a grandfather. He had been a Christian for over 20 years. As a new believer just out of high school, at age 18, he had joined an abusive Bible-based cult. He left that group two years later, at 20 years of age, and eventually over the next 20 years, he began to work with others who had left similarly abusive, aberrant groups, something he continues to do to the present time in his capacity as the national chairperson for a recovery and support network for former cult members. When we began corresponding via computer, he lived many thousands of miles away, was deeply involved in his own life and work, was engaged to be married in a few months, and I did not foresee that our writing back and forth would pose any particular problems. His many years' experience working with other former cult members had given him keen insights into the dynamics of abuse and abusive authority, and he was a good "listener" and a kind and compassionate man. In time, with the continued exchange of letters, this online relationship developed into something far more than a friendship, a reality I was able to easily deny for a time, given that we had never met, and I doubted we ever would.

Eventually I met this man, and, against my most deeply-held values and convictions, I betrayed my husband and my Lord. Never in all my years of married life had I ever been seriously tempted to infidelity. I had hedged myself in with many protective "fences" in my dealings with men, and there had been no opportunity even for temptation to develop. The intensity which finally developed in this relationship took me completely by surprise. I struggled for a long time trying to end the relationship, struggling, repenting, only to fail repeatedly.

In late April or early May, I met with the pastor of the church our family had been attending and his wife at their home, and confessed this involvement. I told them I intended to withdraw from fellowship at the church for a time hoping to quietly resolve the situation, hoping also that should church discipline eventually be deemed necessary, it might take place privately between me and the church leaders who already knew of the situation. My transgression had been a most private one, and I hoped it could remain private for my family's sake. The pastor and his wife accepted my decision, asked that I stay in touch, and told me I needed a friend. I last attended meetings at that fellowship in May of 1994.

The Church Which Disciplined Me

It is important to note that I was not knit into fellowship at this church and had never been in the time we had resumed attending, following a long absence in which we participated in a house church. I had no close friends in the church and my family did not fellowship with other families there, but only attended services on Sunday mornings. Most of the members I did not even know by name, although the church was small. We first attended this church in 1981, when I was still a career mom and had four young children, and when the church was brand new. We attended faithfully for four years or so and at that time developed a close friendship with the then-assistant pastor and his wife, but in early 1985, with other homeschooling families, we left the church over separation and holiness issues and began fellowshipping in homes. Our house church days were a mixture of the best and worst that can be found of Christian fellowship; we had our share of harrowing, difficult times, and we had some times which could only be described as glorious. It was during those years that we developed many of the convictions I have shared in Gentle Spirit. The women in our meetings were silent, and the men and boys shared the word. The girls and I dressed simply, we practiced home birth, and our lifestyle was simple. These beliefs and others separated us in many ways from the pastor of the church in question and his wife, who had once been our close friends, as did the fact that we had left the church. In those years away, we had little communication with this pastor and his wife, perhaps once a year. We were old friends in the sense that we did not completely let one another go, but the truth was, our paths had diverged, we had come to see many things quite differently, and we were no longer close.

We moved to the country and our house church group dissolved some five years after we began meeting in homes. Some in our home meeting moved away, some left the group, and we ourselves were moving quite a distance. We elected in 1991, for the time being, to go back to our original church. We knew our beliefs might pose some problems, but we believed the church to be essentially doctrinally sound, and we knew there were few churches which would truly welcome the likes of us Lindseys. We attended fellowship only on Sunday mornings, and especially when there was a magazine deadline, I frequently stayed home even then. It was a lonely time, made more lonely by the presence in the church of a family which had earlier left our house church with ought against us. We had tried, without success, to repair the breech. This couple had shared their grievances with friends in the church before we resumed attending, people who did not know us, and these people could not help but be influenced by what they had heard. There were times when almost all the adults in the church but us were invited to social events at this family's home.

Our younger children did not attend Sunday School, and I sat alone with them in the foyer each Sunday morning, the only mother who did. The girls and I were the only ones in the congregation who practiced headcovering or distinctive simplicity of dress. Most of the church members seemed leery of us and walked wide circles around us. Once a sermon was preached which repeatedly used the head covering concept as an example of something that was cultural and not for our times, though I was the only person in the congregation to wear one. The pastor's wife and I had many differences of opinion and there were some painful confrontations between us over some women's functions and some issues, such as birth control.

One incident I recall illustrates my relationship to the church we were attending. I went to the altar for prayer during one of the last Sundays I was in attendance. I waited for someone to come and pray with me, but no one came. I was very alone in that fellowship. I am not angry or resentful about this. It is part of the story, though, a picture of how invisible I seemed to be. I felt like an outcast. At the time I attended, I believed my relative anonymity and friendlessness, in view of the success of Gentle Spirit, was probably good for me, even God's will, His way of ensuring I remained humble and did not become puffed up. And I sometimes wondered whether my loneliness was my own fault. I felt I probably needed to try harder, to reach out more, and yet my life was incredibly difficult and complicated. I had so little time. I'll emphasize that I blame no one for this loneliness and am not angry with church members. But the fact that in many ways I was an outcast of sorts is an important part of the story, because this was the church which disciplined, excommunicated, and exposed me. I was neither loved by most who attended nor missed when I was gone. The discipline did not take place in the context of a loving body as the letter of discipline which eventually was disseminated throughout the nation seemed to infer that it did.

The Nightmare

In early June, aware of all that had transpired and professing repentance from his anger problem, Claude flew home, aware of all that had transpired. The week following his return can only be described as a nightmare. More than once over that week, not at our home, but in public places, police were called to the scene when Claude's anger exploded into violence, a violence which was neither a matter of self-defense nor defense of his home or family, but which was aggressive, deliberate and often carefully strategized. The incidents of that week are a matter of public record, and so I feel safe in reporting their occurrence. I am not reporting private transgressions but transgressions which occurred most publicly, sometimes in the presence of our small children and of strangers working nearby. I do not believe it would serve a useful purpose to describe the events in detail, other than to say my husband's actions were violently out of control.

Within this same week, and before he elected to move out of our home once again, my husband emptied all four bank accounts to the last penny, then left me alone with responsibility for all of the children, without a vehicle, without money, and terrified for the future.

For reasons I have yet to fully understand,neither the pastor and his wife nor my older sons understood the fear I was experiencing at this time or believed it was justified. The many incidents of stalking and law-breaking, the violence, public and private, the removal of funds from all of the bank accounts, and other destructive acts, such as the calling of our friends, family, vendors, suppliers, business associates, to report my transgression -- one friend in whose home calls made recalls my husband phoning person after person, for hours at a time, recounting my transgression as if reading from a script -- were minimized and viewed as understandable and even acceptable expressions of his anger or hurt, something "any man would do", even a Christian man. It did not seem to matter that the actions were illegal or violent and sometimes degrading and obscene. The pastor, his wife, and my two older sons continued to believe, despite his actions, that Claude had truly repented of his anger problems, insisting that my only biblical option was immediate reconciliation. I do understand about desperately wanting to believe someone has changed. As I said, I am addicted to hope. That was my lifelong pattern, as well, throughout my marriage. It is also true that because I protected my husband for 19 years,maintaining secrecy, hoping for the best, telling no one of our private struggles, and because my husband had, until quite recently, usually been charming, mild-mannered, and likable outside the home, it was hard for those outside of the family, including the pastor, to accept that my fears were realistic or justified. Nor did anyone want to face the truth of the situation. I didn't either! I didn't face it for 19 years, until I could no longer safely deny it.

But I knew by the evidence before my eyes that the help Claude had received while in New Orleans — one meeting with one pastor, two with another — had not been enough. Professing repentance while daily continuing to engage in actions which are violently out of control cannot be considered to be a repentance which is sincere. Remember that hundreds of times through the years, my husband had repented, and I had forgiven him, only to watch as the situation continued to worsen. I knew the time had come to engage in the kind of love that draws a line to protect the innocent, then says, "You cannot, in the name of Jesus, hurt your family any more. Please get help." And I knew that this was an action which could only be taken once, that I had to see it through, without yielding to the pressure to believe, against all evidence, that the repentance was sincere, just to keep the peace. It was a serious situation and several members of the family were not safe.

I faced tremendous and unrelenting pressures of various kinds at that time to reconcile or be exposed. All of my drawers, pockets, handbags and purses, computer files and in-baskets were rifled for evidence documenting my transgressions. More than once I walked in to find the their contents poured out on the floor or bed. Letters, receipts — anything and everything which might have been considered possibly evidentiary — were taken, kept, and shown to others. Assumptions -- often fantastic and completely unfounded assumptions -- were made based on this "evidence", assumptions which were then passed on to others and worst of all, believed. I was repeatedly followed, stalked, watched and my phone calls and whereabouts monitored, sometimes by the pastor as well as my husband. The pastor and his wife chose to side with my husband, agreeing that regardless of all that had happened, I had no biblical basis to delay reconciling. Maybe they believed that forcing such reconciliation, whatever it took, would be a spiritual and righteous act. Together with my older sons — who, in their defense, were scared as they watched their world crumble — the pastor and my husband devised and carried out many plans which I cannot regard as anything other than coercion, extortion and threats, i.e., "We've got evidence against you; be reconciled or we'll use it to hurt you." And eventually, that's what happened.

Many close to me seemed unable to hear what I was saying, dismissing my terror as a convenient rationalization, as though I would risk losing all I had worked for for 19 years for reasons which were anything other than desperately serious. The agony and horror and abject aloneness of that time remains unspeakably painful even now, and it was during that time that , fearing for my safety, the other man involved sold his home and moved to Washington.

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