Holy Sh*t: Life Lessons Learned

By John Abraham

This book recounts the sometimes humorous, sometimes instructive, life story of a disillusioned Episcopal Priest, containing his critiques of churches and religions, and some life lessons learned from his experiences. It may ruffle the feathers of the very pious.

Holy Sh*t: Life Lessons Learned by The Reverend John L. Abraham certainly does not come from a conventional point of view. Reverend Abraham served congregations for nearly twenty-two years, taught World Religions at a university, and carefully researched many aspects of different religions. In this book he explores the harm done by many churches and leaders in organized religion. The book aims to help its readers from a mental health point of view and to address the concerns of those who have been psychologically/emotionally injured.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Abraham
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201370374

Book preview

Acknowledgments

I am grateful to those who have supported me, inspired me, encouraged me to take risks and helped me to think outside the box. Yes, I am a card-carrying member of The Giraffe Society for those who stick their necks out. A few who come to mind over the years are my parents, Maurice and Joan Abraham; The Reverend Doug Smith; The Right Reverend John Walker, Bishop of Washington, D.C.; The Reverend Jo C. Tartt, Jr. (I fondly remember Joe and Nancy Tartt, cruising with them on their sailboat, and Joe, when officiating as priest, allowing his toddler son to run around the altar); Rabbi Earl Grollman; The Reverend John Fletcher; and The Reverend Bill Wendt.

It was the Bishop of Atlanta, The Right Reverend Bennett Sims, who, when I consulted him about my having some serious conflict difficulties with a congregation assured me There is always hope. People die.

I give thanks for Renée Neumann, who has been most supportive, ever so patient, and greatly helped me to organize this effort. And to Tonye Victor Bagshaw, who has provided tremendous support and technological expertise in enabling this to be published. Having read a few parts of the book, he said this: Firstly, I am a Christian, and I was born into a Christian home. I believe in God and I believe in miracles, but I’m just not happy with how the religious leaders are brainwashing their members. Many thanks to my stalwart supporters, now and over many years.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my beloved children, Katharine (Katie) and Paul. Both have endured life’s struggles and are now doing well. May they have life in all its fullness and prosper. And I dedicate this book to all who have suffered at the hands of religious leaders and institutions.

Table of contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Introduction

Chapter 1: My Background

Chapter 2: Change? Hell no!

Chapter 3: St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, High Point – I am a rookie!

Chapter 4: St. John’s Episcopal Church, Georgetown, Washington, D.C. – Sexuality issues

Chapter 5: Grace Episcopal Church, Mount Meigs, Alabama – Montgomery Misery

Chapter 6: Saint Elizabeth’s Episcopal Church, Memphis, TN – Some relief!

Chapter 7: Grace Episcopal Church, E. Grand Rapids, MI – A challenge

Chapter 8: St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church, Tucson – Largely smooth sailing

Chapter 9: St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church, River Hills, Wisconsin – Un-Christian Christopher and conflict galore

Chapter 10: Saint Philip’s in The Hills - Saint Problem in The Hills - Saint Philip’s in Hell!

Chapter 11: Work after Saint Phillips, 1995-2008

Chapter 12: Regarding religion after my fulltime parish career

Chapter 13: Church and Death – Or maybe church is death!

Chapter 14: Hell Explained

Appendix A: What else would you like us to know about you (hobbies, passions, etc.)?

Appendix B: Self-perception with respect to these certain statements

Appendix C: Episcopal Church work history from the national church

Appendix D: My parents

Appendix E: Two sermons chosen at random

Appendix F: Two interesting resources

Appendix G: Miscellaneous quips and quotations

Introduction

Throughout my over twenty-two years of leading congregations as an Episcopal priest, one factor stands out: I have had enough of those institutions! With the exception of occasionally performing a funeral or wedding for a friend, I have been retired from the Episcopal Church for over thirty years now. To my former parishioners, students, fellow supporters in the right-to-die movement (especially members of Choice and Dignity), participants in my various workshops and classes, I am most grateful for the insights I have gained about organized religion and more.

Having been raised in the Episcopal Church as a child and having found it to be a good experience, I enrolled at Virginia Theological Seminary (VTS) in 1969. I was not enamored with it, but I stuck it out at VTS as a means to an end, and during the summer after my first year there I did six weeks of study at the Mid-Atlantic Career Center. This institution was not the kind of career center where at the end they pronounce you should be a hairdresser. It entailed a thorough inventory of my life’s experiences with great emphasis on both enjoyments and accomplishments. My conclusion was that I would enjoy and be good at being an Episcopal priest. And I did enjoy my chosen occupation. As for being good at it, you would have to ask others.

Upon graduating from Virginia Theological Seminary in May of 1973, I was ordained as a Deacon in June. The Episcopal Church views the Diaconate as one of the three orders of ministry along with the Presbyterate (i.e. priests) and the Episcopate (i.e. bishops). Every priest is first ordained as a deacon, and every bishop is first ordained as a deacon and then a priest. Deacons may not preside at the sacrament of Holy Communion (the Eucharist), but proclaim the gospel, lead intercessions, which is the action of saying a prayer on behalf of another person, attend the priest at the eucharistic table, and direct the order of the assembly. Deacons act as sacred messengers, agents, and attendants.

I think that whatever my career might have been, it would have been with service: perhaps becoming a doctor in a free clinic, or an attorney with Legal Aid. And when I decided upon Seminary, the Church was much more active in social causes. I remember during seminary in the course of my field work and in the first year thereafter helping to establish a draft counseling center, a shelter for runaway youth, a food bank, a battered women’s shelter, and similar organizations.

My ideas and beliefs have changed throughout my clergy career and before and thereafter. As a child from about age four to nine, I said this prayer before bedtime each night: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my Soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my Soul to take. At about age ten or eleven I became frightened at the prospect of dying during the night and began to wonder what God might want with a dead body, assuming it contained my soul, whatever that was. Presumably, soul is what makes me who I am, the spirit and essence of myself, and will go to heaven after my death and be immortal. Now I no longer believe in such immortality. I think no one knows or can know what happens beyond death. When I taught death education at a university, we studied reports of out-of-body trips and the afterlife, some of which I took skeptically. We read Raymond Moody’s book Life After Life and similar tomes. It seems to me that after I die my physical matter and spirit shall become part of the cosmic plasma, nourishing and enriching the lifeblood of creation. E=mc2. I shall be not lost but rather transformed.

Here is a description of my spiritual journey:

I wrote this in 2003 in response to an Episcopal Church survey.

Some of this remains ineffable. To some extent this is like verbally trying to explain an orgasm to someone else.

How does one faithfully and accurately do that? And the story is incomplete, since the journey is not yet over. One page is inadequate to encompass so much, but I’ll try to give you a feel for it. I have belonged to a number of groups for the purpose of spiritual development, and I have traveled the spiritual path alone. Employing certain disciplines from time to time has been helpful: reading, prayer, storytelling, journaling and Eastern Meditation. People leading simple lives have much to teach us.

In trying to remember spirituality connected with my childhood, there are only glimpses. Some of this is explained in the Introduction. I was raised in the Episcopal Church and participated in all of the religious ceremonies -- I was baptized, attended church on Sundays, went to Sunday School classes, received Holy Communion and made my Confirmation. I even sang in the choir. But the teachings, the religion, were not part of my daily life. My parents were not overtly religious people. I did always have the feeling, however, that people in the church loved me and cared about me. It was a feeling of acceptance and belonging as a child of God. Until his death last year, I remained in touch with my second grade Sunday School teacher. During my adolescence, my spiritual development was pretty stagnant.

Although I have always maintained that the right question is more important than the right answer, my spiritual story is not much about quests, as are many spiritual tales. It is about being in relationship, and finding the spiritual aspect of the everyday as well as in the extraordinary. Like most of my peers, I did try mind-expanding methods in the ‘60s, LSD and other drugs, but never became particularly enlightened by doing so. Hey, if you never try, you’ll never know.

Somewhere along the path, I became aware of what I would call an inborn morality. This awareness was heightened when I went against or didn’t speak up for what I thought was right, in the attempt to fit in with others. Not until my thirties did it finally occur to me that, in spiritual matters, it didn’t really matter much what others thought. It is my conviction that one’s spirituality must be individually incorporated. So, as I write this response, I dare say that my spiritual journey is no more important than yours. Nor do my beliefs count for more than those of anyone else. For you, it is your spirituality that is most important, and yours alone. I alone, not determined by what another may think or teach or want, appropriate my faith.

Many of my spiritual experiences were closely tied with nature, either observing the immensity of it or the minute details of it or immersing myself in some special place to simply be alone. A notable connection with life greater than myself took place inside me with an awareness of the wonder and awe of God’s creation. Becoming a father has deepened my spirituality, as have the sacrament of marriage, my thanatological studies, and the sheer breadth and depth of life’s experiences. At times I have doubted, questioned, even raged against God. Even in the aftermath of despair have I grown to know that God is and shall be with me, if there is a God.

Despite this book’s clergy-bashing, there were some good clergy role models such as those cited in Acknowledgments and Paul Kellog, Joe Ted Miller, Paul Buckwalter, Phil Wickeri, The Right Reverend Wesley Frensdorff, and a few others. Mary and I were both fond of Bishop Wesley Frensdorff and his wife, Dolores, whom we met while I served as the rector of St. Matthew’s, Tucson, AZ. Wes was a friend as well as assistant bishop in Arizona. He also served as the first bishop of Navajoland after the establishment of that diocese in 1971 and befriended many Navajo people, evidencing his concern for their plight. In 1988 he offered to purchase a Navajo rug for our home, but his untimely death precluded his doing so. He died at the age of 62 in a private plane crash near the north rim of the Grand Canyon on May 17, 1988. Mary and I were saddened to learn about his demise, and we kept in touch with his wife who suffered from lupus disease.

Throughout my youth, and even when beginning seminary, my opinion of church was favorable and comforting. Only in later years did I become so disenamored. Having been raised in a rather homogenous environment, I was not exposed to other religions or beliefs. The other youngsters I knew appeared to be happy and fulfilled with whatever their values and belief systems were.

My friend Doug Smith wrote this for this book as an example of how he was mistreated by the church:

"In 1985 I started having an extramarital affair while at All Saints Church in Phoenix, where I was the number two priest on a five-priest staff. No one was aware of the affair other than the woman and me. However, I began to manifest unusual behavior because of my internal conflict. I would start sweating in the middle of a worship service. I would be in a conversation with someone during coffee hour and suddenly freeze up with a blank stare.

One day I collapsed on the street, rolling around in convulsions, speaking nonsensible words.

I was taken by the head priest of the church to a mental hospital in Phoenix. It was a One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest kind of place: bars on the windows, etc. I was put on Thorazine and several other medications, and had no access to a telephone. Only my wife knew my whereabouts. Neither my parents nor any of my parishioners were aware of where I was. If someone were to call the hospital looking for me, they would be told that I was not there.

While in the hospital and under Thorazine, I was approached by my bishop and told that I would have to sign a document entitled ‘The Renunciation of the Priesthood’ and was told that I could not contact any of my former parishioners.

After being a priest for fourteen years in the Episcopal Church, I naturally associated my life with that church. I wrote to the priests (who had been informed by the bishop of my circumstances) of the eleven Episcopal Churches in the Phoenix metropolitan area asking if I might attend their worship services. I received a response from only one of those eleven, who told me that I could come to his early service each Sunday as long as I sat in the back row of the church and did not attend coffee hour.

I know I did a grave wrong, but felt the Church could have shown some compassion for me and could have helped me in some way in my struggles – especially after being a good priest for fourteen years. But they did not."

As a priest, let me say:

HOLY SH*T!

READ THIS SUCKER NOW!

Chapter 1:

My Background

Name 3 people who have had a significant influence in shaping the person you are, and how? (I wrote most of this in 2003 in response to an Episcopal Church survey.)

Alfred, Lord Tennyson said: I am a part of all that I have met. So true, and there have been so many important people in my life’s journey.

Some such persons would be Gloria Swan and her husband, James, and their five children, with whom I lived during the winter of 1968. Throughout my four years at Colgate University, each student could, with a professor’s approval, devise a Jan Plan wherein the student would undertake a project for the month of January. I had decided to visit southern Appalachia and to keep a journal of my experiences. My roommate at the time had elected to learn to fly airplanes in Florida.

Back to the Swans -- As for the how part of the question, they were influential without even knowing it and by doing nothing beyond leading their ordinary lives. During my time with them, we all lived in their three-room ramshackle home in Southern Appalachia, with in-house water and electricity and the outhouse in back. The walls were fortified with newspaper, the TV was on all day and most of the night, and there was one bed for the whole family -– all seven of them. We had three square meals a day, all of which were biscuits and gravy, every day, with water served in old jars. James worked in the coal mines and returned blackened every night, and Gloria tended the four children who were too young for school. I could write a book about the experience, but the point is this: They were dirt poor (literally) yet kind and gracious. The Swans were uneducated yet not stupid. They were stuck within grindingly hard, difficult circumstance, yet had the hope for a better life. They were, in their way, inspirational. And the experience made me aware of how some of us (not most Episcopalians) are trapped in an endemic, systemic, and cruel cycle of economic and social poverty and misery, to which I had never before been exposed. It was while living with the Swans that I decided that whatever I do with my life, it would be helping others.

Another exposure I had to abject poverty was in the late 1980s when The Reverend Paul Buckwalter and I drove to Mexico in order to donate blankets and clothing to an extremely small and remote village less than twenty minutes beyond the Arizona border. My Ford Escape SUV was packed full of goods. Upon our arrival, nearly the whole village rushed to greet us: perhaps thirty to forty people. While clutching the items we had brought, those people were so excited that one would have thought that Christmas had come again. Paul and I lingered for a while and chatted, as best we could (our Spanish was limited) with the grateful inhabitants.

The village had no running water, no electricity, and was entirely standing on dusty dirt, including the floors of their tiny dilapidated homes. There were a couple of outhouses and a water well nearby. A few children were merrily playing in the dirt. We saw no toys. Their idea of great fun was simply running around while drawing lines in the dirt with sticks. The experience was a real eye-opener for me. Prior to this and in spite of having taken our children to play at the beach in Rocky Point, I had no knowledge of such conditions existing just minutes away from the overprivileged citizens of the United States.

Returning to my background -- My parents were influential in a much more deliberate way. Perhaps my mother most, who was at home during my early formative years. She and my father exhibited a household of love, trust, faith, responsibility, and yet challenge. They instilled in me values that now I take for granted: honesty, compassion, love of learning, forthrightness, a genuine work ethic, generosity, and integrity: I suppose the list is endless. Their resources and insight provided an excellent formal education, as well. And I recall little things, like teaching me typing on an Olivetti typewriter before the days of keyboards, and speed reading, which did not stick. My parents’ support has always been unfailing, yet they taught me that we could agree to disagree. I was very fortunate and blessed with such a family.

A third would be one of my heroes, Muhammad Ali. Though I only met him once briefly, his influence was in the form of a role model. A model wherein a Black man made his place in a white-dominated society, where the courage of convictions was lived out, where persistence and determination triumphed over adversity, where practice and training and self-discipline bore fruit, where integrity and inner strength prevailed against public condemnation, and where a minority could beat the odds. It was not so much his flamboyance or charisma as it was his sticking to his convictions, his grit combined with humor, his unabashed proclamation of self-worth that made an impression on me. I came to believe that if he could exhibit such strength of character, so could I. And so could you. And so could all whom we love. I could say much of the same of Nelson Mandela or of Bishop Tutu.

I recall these as uttered by Muhammad Ali: Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth.; I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’; Don’t count the days; make the days count.; It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.; Braggin’ is when a person says something and can’t do it. I do what I say.; Hating people because of their color is wrong. And it doesn’t matter which color does the hating. It’s just plain wrong.; I am the greatest, I said that even before I knew I was.; If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can sure make something out of you.; Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.; He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.; and for some strange reason, one of my favorites: I’m so mean, I make medicine sick.

A final thought here about another one of my heroes: Arnold Schwarzenegger, bodybuilder, former Mr. Olympia, Conan, Terminator, and Governor of California. I hold Arnold in high regard because, when I first saw him explaining his desire to be an actor on one of his earliest appearances on The Johnny Carson Show, Carson mocked him mercilessly, taunting him about his accent, and pretty well suggesting that Arnold would be a total failure. Mr. Schwarzenegger handled Carson’s attacks beautifully, just brushing off Carson’s harsh comments and exuding steady confidence in himself!

Returning to my background -- My father was from England, and our family would visit his family