Bootstraps, "enough" faith, and other nonsense

Thoughts on privilege, prosperity gospel, and the scapegoat of a transactional faith.

Aug 22, 2023

I once got kicked out of a church for not believing in the Prosperity Gospel.

I’m guessing there were other things the pastor’s wife didn’t like about me. And to be fair, I had some weird theology as a teenager (a result of growing up in a Messianic1 home). But I really don’t think she appreciated having a 17-year-old quote Proverbs 30:7-92 at her as evidence that we should not, in fact, treat God like an ATM machine.

I can’t tell you how many times I sat through the pastor of this particular church telling stories that illustrated the power of his “faith,” like how he once dropped a cinder block on his toe and walked off the pain and injury in the name of Jesus. Or watched him flaunt his wealth and imply you, too, could have a huge house, two pickup trucks, a boat, and a pair of ATVs — if only you had enough faith. All while members of his congregation suffered from life-threatening illnesses and I watched my mom’s car get repossessed because we couldn’t afford the payments after my dad lost his job.

Did I ever speak up to point out the hypocrisy or voice my discomfort with these sermons to anyone in the church? Hell, no. Even as a teenager I knew questioning the authority of the church and its leaders never went well for the questioner. And I was neither boat-rocker nor shit-stirrer.

I was, however, (as we’ve established) a good girl. And good girls never lie — even to save their own skin.

Which is why, one day, when my youth pastor asked me what I thought about a guest speaker’s recent Sunday sermon, I answered honestly.

I told her I found this man’s sermon — in which he said that people in the Old Testament didn’t have faith like we Christians did today, and when they died they went to this weird purgatory, and when Jesus died he had to descend into this hell-but-not-hell and preach to everyone who died prior to his crucifixion, and then they got to decide whether to believe in him or not — super weird and off-putting and pretty unbiblical.3

I ended this honesty bomb with the general sentiment that since we all agreed on the main tenets of Christianity, we could all agree to disagree on minute theology and interpretation, right?

Shortly after this conversation, I was invited to a meeting with my youth pastor. When I showed up, I walked into what looked like an intervention. In attendance was not just my youth pastor, but three other youth leaders and the pastor’s wife, who proceeded to grill me for close to two hours on every nuance of my theology, going through the church’s statement of beliefs one by one to find out my opinion on them.

Most centered around very charismatic tenants, from the belief that everyone who was saved should be baptized in the Holy Spirit and speak in tongues (to which I politely, yet firmly, responded that Paul said speaking in tongues should only be used in certain circumstances because it tends to freak out the nonbelievers), and prosperity gospel — aka, with enough faith you’ll never want for anything — (to which I responded politely, yet firmly, with the aforementioned Proverb, whose writer prays that God will not give him too much lest he become prideful, nor too little lest he steal and dishonor God, but just enough to get by).

At one point, the subject of the guest pastor and his oddball message was once again raised, and the pastor’s wife asked me what I expected her husband to do in this situation. Interrupt this person we invited to speak mid-sermon? Or get up on stage the following Sunday and tell everyone that what he preached was wrong?

What I thought: duh. If you’re the shepherd of the flock and someone’s trying to mislead them, aren’t you supposed to intervene?

What I said: I honestly don’t remember. But I do remember the final verdict laid down after the interrogation was over. While I was still allowed to attend the youth group, I was banned from serving in any way.

I could no longer be the photographer, co-lead the drama team, lead small groups at camp, come in early on Wednesdays to pick up the Walmart shopping list and restock the snack bar and soda machines, design t-shirts for events, or work on the youth-led newsletter I was trying to launch. And I was being removed from the worship team, because, in the words of Mrs. Pastor, my “disunity would disrupt the presence of God.”

I was devastated. I loved serving in all these roles. As a sheltered, painfully shy and introverted homeschooled kid, I’d gained all my confidence, found myself, and had come out of my shell in these roles. And now, after years of hearing pastors and leaders stress the importance of serving and not just attending, I was being told I wasn’t allowed to because I — the girl who followed all the rules and then some, who went out of her way to never rock the boat — was disruptive.

The next week at youth group, I sat through the opening meeting with all the leaders and student volunteers and listened, humiliated, as my youth pastor told everyone I had chosen to step down from all my roles and take a break. A lie I had agreed to in the fog of my sentencing, when the pastor’s wife offered it as a way to “make things easier” for me.4 It didn’t work. The rumor mill immediately began swirling.

Ashley’s having a crisis of faith…I heard she’s an atheist now…I heard she’s pregnant.

I lasted about a week before I dropped off the box of student event photos I’d been sorting through and collaging, responding to my youth pastor’s hesitant question of what this meant with a noncommittal, conflict-avoidant “I don’t know.” I did know, and I never went back.5

I still wonder sometimes what on earth led to this whole debacle. I have no idea what happened between me talking to my youth pastor and me being called into interrogation. But I have my suspicions.

Shortly after I left, I heard tell of a split in the church and a chunk of people leaving, some of whom had very deep pockets. I suspect at least one or two of these folks was brave enough to confront the pastor. And while he and his wife scrambled to appease their donors, when the youth pastor came to them trying to figure out how to respond to the teenager who had opinions, I was the easiest target for their frustration.

Because it’s dangerous to have even one person in your midst who doesn’t tout the company line. When your wealth, power, and privilege relies on people believing you have some sort of divine authority, that authority must be retained at all costs, even if it means turning a blind eye to a bullshit sermon or bullying a 17-year-old girl.

Not every church so overtly preaches prosperity gospel. But every evangelical church I’ve stepped foot in practices it in some capacity. In the same way the church tries to use the fruits of the spirit as proof of God’s presence6, money and material possessions become proof of his favor.

Some churches Benny Hinn their way down the aisles waving white cloths and slaying people in the spirit and promising wealth and health if only you’ll follow the vague instructions to “have enough faith.”

But most keep the rules for earning favor much simpler and more specific: serve on Sundays and give us 10% of all your money.

The worst thing about living in America (next to the rampant gun violence, misogyny, racism, and homophobia), is the country’s lack of concern for its citizens’ most basic needs: shelter, food, clean water, and healthcare.

Government assistance of any kind is demonized. If you’re broke and can’t afford the cost of existing, you must be lazy, a drunk, or a drug addict.7 Don’t expect the government to give you a handout…try going to the church. That’s what they’re there for right? After all, they don’t pay taxes precisely so they can give more money away to the poor and unfortunate.

But trickle down economics doesn’t work in the church any more than it supposedly works in corporate America.

Studies have shown that people with more wealth also become increasingly individualistic, resulting in decreased empathy and generosity.8 (So much so, that charities have experimented with using less community-focused we/us language and more individualistic I/you language in their campaigns to try and get a wealthier audience to give.)

While the church may think it’s far above the ways of the world, it’s led by humans. And when pastors run their churches like corporations we shouldn’t be surprised when they act like CEOs.

My spouse and I worked for several years as pastoral staff at one branch of a multi-site church. This church had what I would consider a “celebrity pastor” and was, let’s say, mega-church adjacent.

This church brought in millions of dollars in giving, much of it through a yearly “fall giving campaign.”9 After a few years, the pastor and executive staff realized that if the messaging during this campaign focused on promising that a certain chunk of any money received would first go to local charitable organizations before any went to internal church projects, people might give more.

It worked. Money poured in, and shortly after the campaign ended each year there would be a big flashy announcement of how much money was raised, followed by videos of checks being delivered to all the community organizations.

So of course, if a member of the church fell on hard times and came to their location pastor asking for help paying that month’s rent or putting food on the table for their kids, the church was quick to help, right?

Well, maybe. First there was a procedure to follow.

The first thing we would be told was to point this person — who had scraped up the courage to come to us and share their need — to go to one of the community charities instead. Because, in the words of the executive leadership, “That’s why we give them money, so they can help.”

If for any reason that didn’t work or didn’t apply to their situation, the next thing we were told to do was go to one of the church’s small groups and have the members pool their money and resources to help this person. It’s an outreach opportunity!

The final option, and the only way of getting help from the church itself, was to have this person fill out a “benevolence form.” This required they detail what they needed and why…along with how long they’d been attending the church, whether they were currently serving on a team, and whether they regularly tithed. Only if this request was approved by the higher ups would we be cleared to offer financial assistance.

The reason given for this process was that it prevented people from taking advantage of the church’s generosity. But I think the real reason was that someone who’s struggling to feed their kids doesn’t want to tell the whole congregation how the church cut them a hundred dollar check in a video that conveniently plays right before the offering baskets go around. And if you ask them to, (especially after making them submit a form first), you look like an asshole.

But writing five-figure checks to community charities? That’s great PR.

In 2020, in the midst of a global pandemic, when people were struggling to survive both physically and financially, the church plowed forward with their annual giving campaign, once again promising to give away a huge chunk of money (about $400k) before spending anything on the real goal — millions toward buying land and building more church locations. In January 2021, a couple weeks before my spouse and I quit our jobs and left the church, they still hadn’t announced the total, which was unusual. We found out why in one of the last staff meetings we attended.

The lead pastor told all the staff to pray that people would open their hearts and listen to God’s prompting to give, because while the church had received enough money to cover the promised charitable donations, there was, as the pastor stated with barely disguised frustration and disgust, “not enough for any of our stuff.”

Sometimes karma is an absolute fucking saint.

Combine capitalism with the prosperity gospel and it gets easier to understand why white evangelical Christians struggle to see or accept their privilege. Prosperity gospel says God blessed me with this, not my privilege helped get me here. It says I’m doing fine because I’m following the rules, if you aren’t fine, you must have broken them.

While capitalism says get off your ass, get a job, and pull up your bootstraps, evangelicalism says get saved, tithe your paycheck, and have more faith. And the two go walking hand in hand.

When I was looking up the verse teenage me quoted as my reason for rejecting the ideology of the prosperity gospel, I initially googled the wrong chapter in Proverbs, and came across this passage.

It is not for kings, Lemuel—
it is not for kings to drink wine,
not for rulers to crave beer,

lest they drink and forget what has been decreed,
and deprive all the oppressed of their rights.

Let beer be for those who are perishing,
wine for those who are in anguish!

Let them drink and forget their poverty
and remember their misery no more.

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.

Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.

— Proverbs 31:5-9

I think it’s high time for those clutching capitalism in one hand and evangelicalism in the other to sober up and recognize that nothing about their prosperity is a result of “the Lord’s favor.”

But what do I know? I’m just a heathen who doesn’t have enough faith. A backslider who was probably never saved in the first place.

And I’m not here to rock the boat.

The stuff bringing me healing and joy in the midst of this cultural dumpster fire.

📚 Lone Women. I know I said in my last post that I was sure I’d found my favorite book of 2023…then this one came along and said “hold my beer.” I read it in one day.

📖 Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle. Hands down the best “self-help” book I’ve ever read. If you watched Barbie and left the theater ready to smash the patriarchy, this book is what you need to get started (and maintain your energy for the fight). I highly recommend the audiobook version!

🔮 Zero apologies that this is all book recs. I’ve been devouring Margaret Owen’s fantasy novels this year and Little Thieves and Painted Devils are the best yet. My favorite thing, besides the hilarious dialogue and incredible world-building, is the sex-positive romance that’s a sweet masterclass in consent and communication.

📣 Stickers as self-expression. And sticking’ ‘em on my new water bottle.

A Good Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse

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