Our Stories - The Day the Music Died
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I was in the Message from ages 7 to 18 in Canada. This turned out to be a very long and dark chapter in my life. Before the age of seven, I had an idyllic childhood. It was my mother’s brother who introduced her to the Message. His name was Wayne. He had... Wayne had had a rough life. He was basically a street con man turned holy religious preacher overnight. My mom joining the Message caused my parents to divorce as my dad had no interest in the Message. Also my uncle Wayne counseled my mother that she had to confess all of her sins.
And so she had to confess all the people that she’d been promiscuous with during the course of their marriage. And it turned out to be a very long list that included friends, neighbors, coworkers, and even family members. Wayne then came over one morning while my dad was still in bed. He went into my parents’ room and he started to beat up my dad. The Lord had directed him to do so. They didn’t speak. All I could hear was hitting. I could hear my dad being thrown up against the wall and sliding down. I was really scared, and I went into the kitchen where my mother and Wayne’s fiancée were sitting there, and they were laughing. They thought it was funny.
This was the day that my dad left. And I always think of this day as the day the music died for me. At that point, they threw out all my pants, my shorts, my TV, my games, my toys. And my mom, my brother and I all moved into the north end of the city in low-income housing rentals. The actual rental place was filled with Message believers so much so that it was referred to as Christian place.
Wayne too lived in Christian place. My uncle Wayne had taken my two-year-old brother for a walk, and upon their return, he stated that my brother was filled with evil spirits and he was just fried. He did a similar assessment of me. I had no idea what actions this would invoke. But I would soon find out. I was also told that my two-year-old brother was now the man of the house and I needed to obey him. I also could only refer to my uncle and my mother as sir and ma’am. We started to attend church.
My uncle took a heavy interest in saving us. He explained he needed to beat the evil spirits out of us. My getting beat became a minimum of a once-a-day ritual. When it started, he would turn up the gospel music full volume, tell me to bend over the couch or the stairs. He would then remove his belt, roll up his sleeves and start whipping. At first, it was extremely painful and I think I was crying. He told me he was going to keep on going until I was quiet. So I learned to hold it in, not make a peep.
During church service, I remember listening very carefully to the pastor. I wanted to be a good person and I wanted to be on the path to goodness. I remember early on the minister talking about how the Catholic church was a whore. And I knew right away, this was not legitimate. Anyone who needs to put down another religion was not, in such a manner, was not of God. And a good product sells itself. You shouldn’t have to belittle and put down others... excommunicate other’s beliefs in order to show that your religion is real. I listened to his... I listened to William Branham’s teachings. It was playing around the clock. I had a hard time to believe that such good, wonderful, loving people would follow the predictions, prophecies, and teachings of this uneducated, seemingly humble, and yet self-proclaimed prophet. I would watch everyone in the church as they listened, crying, rocking, back and forth, moaning, “Hallelujah, Jesus”. It was, if there was a revelation, I didn’t have it. They preached that brother Branham predicted the rapture. The first one that I recollect was in 1985. And when it didn’t happen, every year there was always some reason why such as, “Oh, we’re using a Gregorian calendar, and brother Branham had been using the Jewish calendar,” or some other explanation. There was always another explanation. “And oh, with these new calculations, the rapture is now in 1986.” And so on and so forth.
It, you know, it made me sad that the people in the church would live their lives like there was no tomorrow. They did not concern themselves with education or good jobs. Cause what is the point if the world’s ending, right? And they were also in a constant state of panic that they couldn’t reach someone when they called them up. They were concerned. Had they missed the rapture because they didn’t believe hard enough? It was always... made me so sad to see how oppressed and anxious the teachings of this church made some of the genuine and good Message believers.
The beatings increased, and I struggled to make it through. I never knew when it was coming. Morning, noon, middle of the night. I didn’t know. Typically I’d be brought to the basement, turn the music up loud and have to remove all my clothes and bend over. Sometimes he wet the belt. Sometimes he’d use a strap, sometimes a whip. Sometimes his belt. And he would whip anywhere from below my neck to above my knees. At some point I started leaving my body and I could see everything from up above, but I felt no pain.
Just one moment.
One night... Actually at school before I was in the Message, I was very popular. But after I was in the Message, I just became known as the church girl, a weirdo. I was told we’re in this world, but we’re not of this world and not to speak to outsiders. I would watch the kids in my class and I so desperately wanted to be one of them. I wanted them to see that I was normal. I was not a weirdo. I was just like one of them. My mom and my uncle Wayne used to come to school and watch me. And if I spoke to any of the kids, I’d get beat that night.
One night, my uncle Wayne came into my room and while I was sleeping, and he stated that the Lord had revealed to him that I had a spirit of theft on me and he proceeded to start to beat me until I confessed. So, in an effort... I hadn’t taken anything. And I didn’t know how to end the beatings. So in an effort to try to end this, I started confessing. I listed off a boy in my class and I said I took an eraser from him and, much to my chagrin, this did not end the beating. He asked, “Who else?” So I ended up listing off my entire class. And the beating did end, and I had to go to everyone’s house after school and in front of their parents apologize for my theft. It was so humiliating. Oh, I remember one boy asked me why I confessed. Why didn’t I lie? And I just didn’t have the heart to tell him the whole confession was a lie.
One day walking home from schools, my shoes got wet from the rain. This was a spirit of a sloth. And as I didn’t take care of my shoes properly, I had to wear my uncle’s work boots to school every day. They were way too big and the kids, if they thought I was a weirdo before, after that, I truly was a weirdo. Another form of punishment that was used on the weekends was for several hours at a time, they would make me kneel on these metal heat registers with two encyclopedias over my head, and I had to stay like that for hours, and my arms would get tired and I’d bring my books down and I get whipped across the back. And my knees just burned with pain.
I prayed daily for an escape. And my favorite thing to do when I was driving by people’s homes was to glimpse into their living room window, and, for a split second, pretend that that was my life. Books became my very best friend. I became a very proficient reader. I’d read four to five books a day at school.
One day I was reading an Agatha Christie murder mystery novel and school ended, and I wasn’t done, and I hadtofindouthowitended.SoIhiditin my clothes I smuggled it home. I hid the book between my mattresses, and that night, while I was sleeping, they came in, woke me up, and started beating me because I had a spirit of murder on me. I never brought another book home after that.
Prior to joining the message, I had been sexually abused by a neighbor. My... My uncle Wayne told me that because of that, I had this spirit of child molestation and I would sexually abuse children. The thought of this chokes me up to this day. I wasn’t to be left alone with children.
I was always so worried and anxious to show people that I was good and I wouldn’t hurt anybody. And I have a pure heart. But having those words seared into my brain has brought me many moments of tremendous sadness.
Excuse me! Sorry!
Meanwhile, at church, my mother became the church secretary and our entire lives became the church. We cleaned the church. We helped run the book and tape library. We planned church picnics, conventions, and special meetings. There were always two services on Sunday; one on Wednesday night; Monday evening, prayer service; Thursday evening, book and tape packing for sending overseas; Friday night, youth group; communion and wine, foot washing sessions. It was just a lot of church all the time.
I would always listen carefully in church and I would debate the words of the pastor in my head. Women were always less than and girls as well. The word whore and Jezebel were used frequently. The kitchen was the place for women. They were to be meek and lowly, humble and holy. During the service I saw many men bring their children into the prayer room and beat the living daylights out of their kids. And when the men would come out, they would give a proud moment to the other men down there, almost like a figurative high five. I would see the children come out. I would catch their eye and I would send them love. It was like that we had a certain bond, a certain unspoken bond that we all understood what we were going through, and we are hopeless and helpless to get out of the situation. Physical, verbal, and mental abuse was not only accepted. It was encouraged and celebrated.
I also dislike the attitude of many of the believers that they were better and holier, and it was okay to be hateful to those who are non-Message believers or even Message believers who had slightly different beliefs. Also, I noticed that they oftentimes laughed at the plight of others. I strongly believe that people will tell you who they are through their actions. And I do think that if this is Christianity, no, thank you.
Being a preacher, my uncle had counseled many. It always made me sad to see people believe in him and listen to his counsel. He was a good talker. He could easily read people, which made him an excellent manipulator. I saw his advice tear families apart. I saw a few young men would come to the house for prearranged beatings. I also saw him beating his wife. Uncle Wayne was operating on ego, not on wisdom or spirituality.
One year, we went on a bus trip with others from the church to Ann Arbor, Michigan for a Bible camp. And on the way we went through Jeffersonville, Indiana and went to the Branham Tabernacle. There on a table outside of the congregation – outside of the sanctuary was a table with brother Branham’s Bible and reading glasses. My eyesight was very poor and I was told to put on the glasses and God would heal my eyes. So I put them on, I was totally blind, couldn’t see a thing, not a... but I was scared that they would say, “Oh, you have a spirit of unbelief.” So I said, “Yes, I can see.”
And for the next couple of years, it was literally a blur. I couldn’t see anything. I was nearly blind. When talking to people, I tried to listen to their tone and imagine what reaction they had on their face and try to match it and hope I was responding appropriately. At school I had to borrow people’s notes so I could see the board.
My absolute favorite thing to do since birth is swimming. I love swimming. But since joining the message, I was no longer permitted to swim. My brother could swim and other guys could swim, but not women. While we were at Ann Arbor, Michigan Bible camp, I was really sad because they had both a pool and a lake, and I was desperate to go into either of them.
I felt like a fish out of water. I was so desperate to swim. I asked to be baptized. And as I was one of the first to go up, while they were baptizing everyone else, I was able to swim out in the lake and have a really great swim. It was so worth it. At that same camp, we went through a prayer line and when you got to the front of the prayer line, they would actually smack you in the head and you would see stars and stagger around, and they’d say you’re slain in the spirit. And that was the Holy Ghost. And so you get up front and just whack, and you’re just, whoa. And I really, I don’t know. I really looked around and I was questioning, “Do people really think that this is the Holy Ghost?” “He hit us in the head.” I don’t know.
Everyone thought that trip was a revelation for me. You know, I got baptized, and the miracle of my eyes being healed, but the reality was I was nearly blind, but I was happy I got to go swimming and travel.
One day my uncle Wayne was over for dinner. I was sweeping the floor and I tried hard because I couldn’t see the floor. I was trying to cover every inch. I had missed a spot and he smacked me across my face. And I staggered back and the basement door was open. I went down a flight of steps, the wooden steps ended at the bottom, I hit the concrete. When I hit the bottom, both of my knees were dislocated. Pain out of this world. I was screaming. Wayne came right down. He got right in my face and he, ”Why Carie, why? What have you done to displease the Lord? Why Carie, why? What have you done to displease the Lord?” He kept saying it over and over. He wouldn’t get out of my face. I’m busy screaming. The paramedics came, they asked him to leave.
And my left knee never healed. I ended up having a total of nine knee surgeries, and the most recent was a total knee replacement.
Another time after a weekend at my dad’s I had broken my foot. And my mom told my dad to drop me off at the church doors where she and Uncle Wayne were waiting for me. They escorted me down on crutches into the utility room in the church and proceeded to start to beat me. And Wayne said, “I don’t know what you’ve done to displease the Lord, but that’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you.”
Throughout my adult life I have struggled to move on from the belief that when bad things happen, it is my fault. It is because of my actions. My mother was a very active participant in the abuse. She was also very promiscuous in the church with the pastor, with several congregation members. She worked at the church full-time and many were the nights she did not come. The Message didn’t allow for her to remarry, but it seemed, appeared to be fine she was a concubine. One time a deacon who had five wives... No, sorry, a deacon who had a wife and five kids kept calling and stalking my mother. They had had an affair and he thought they were soul mates. So an affair gone bad. And I felt terrible for the wife and children.
We had a church high school graduation, and they picked a male and female to be valedictorians. So I was the female valedictorian. They weren’t expecting much from this meek and lowly, humble and holy sister, but I wrote and delivered a speech that knocked everyone’s socks off. And I did feel sorry for the poor brother who had to follow me, my act, with some light preaching for his valedictorian speech.
My time in the Message ended when I turned 18. I had been only praying for the day, for the past decade. It finally arrived and I was ready to move to another city. Freedom. I did go to the pastor. I wanted to let him know I was leaving and I wanted to be upfront. And I wanted to let him know I was not leaving because I wanted to party or sin.
I was leaving because I didn’t believe, and I didn’t want to stay and be a hypocrite. He became very cold and he told me that I had a spirit of unbelief and I needed to leave immediately before I spread it to any other members. I felt a, a deep sadness in his response. I’d hope there was a human side to him after all the time that we had spent together.
But in my case, this was not, not to be. Leaving the Message was definitely the best decision I could have made. Abuse and oppression are not of God and no way to live.
Excuse me.
I did think once I had freedom, everything would be okay. I ended up learning that it’s very much a journey. A journey of healing, a journey of self- discovery, finding out what you believe and even just looking at this amazing world all around us. I’m still working on recovery. A current recovery to feel safe and to feel worthy of love and happiness.
It’s been 27 years since I left the church. But I am truly grateful to have found love and peace in my heart. May God bless you all. I wish you light and love in your journey. Thank you for listening.