Thomas’ Story
The following account contains descriptions of spiritual abuse and may be triggering for some readers.
“Thomas” attended CFC as a child in the 2000s. “Thomas” alleges that his father forced him to speak in tongues and that CFC created an environment in which children were pressured to speak in tongues by adults who did not allow dissent or questioning.
Growing up at Christian Fellowship Center, speaking in tongues was always presented as one of the highest— if not the highest—spiritual disciplines. People would speak in tongues at prayer meetings into microphones, they would do it during worship on Sundays, and it was taught whenever CFC did a study on spiritual gifts. It is hard for me to admit to myself how much I have been hurt by this practice. Even as I write this, I struggle with the feeling that I am doing something wrong and that Jesus might not love me anymore if I share my pain.
From a young age, speaking in tongues was a difficult concept for me to accept. I could talk to God in prayer if I wanted. Why would he want me to use words I didn’t understand? And were these noises coming out of my mouth even words? People call tongues your own personal “prayer language” but in my experience, it was always a collection of random syllables. I’ve never said anything even approaching a language when speaking in tongues.
I also noticed that the random syllables I chose were surprisingly similar to the random syllables my parents and my pastors used. This seemed strange to me. If tongues was a prayer language unique to me, directly from God, I wondered why it always felt like learned behavior more than anything else. Some people tried to explain that speaking in tongues didn’t sound like understandable human language because they were the “tongues of angels.”
I always laughed on the inside when people claimed that we were speaking angels’ languages when we spoke in tongues. Did these people actually think that powerful supernatural beings were floating around the throne room of God going “rata shalla abba yana likala shataa monaba'' all day long? And even if this was an angelic language, why did I always say the same collection of learned syllables almost in memorized repetitive order?
As a child, I spoke in tongues frequently. I didn’t have a choice. My father would randomly tell us to start speaking in tongues in our home or on a car ride. He issued this command many times throughout our childhood. He would pester us if we didn’t comply immediately: “Come on, pray now! I can’t hear all of you!”
I would sometimes just robotically repeat one or two syllables “sha” and “baba” for however long he wanted us to until he would be satisfied and leave us alone. One of my siblings would quietly sit in their seat and repeat a single syllable again and again. Dad would criticize them for not being louder and going farther with it. The more exotic syllables you used and the louder you were the more that it seemed like Dad was pleased.
When I was very young, I never dared to even consider saying no to Dad on this issue. It was just too important to him and it wasn’t safe to say no. Sometimes Dad trapped me and the other children in a tiny room and made us watch long video presentations about the “gift” of tongues. He then didn’t allow us to leave the room without speaking in tongues for an hour or so ourselves. He also commanded us to prophesy and wouldn’t let us leave until we told him a word from God. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid to hear a message from the invisible God!
I was a child. I wanted to play outside. I wanted someone to listen to how I felt. I couldn’t even begin to tell my Dad what God was saying. But I faked it and did my best. Thank goodness he eventually was satisfied with us and left the room. We were safe to be ourselves again.
There were days in church when people would either force or persuade me to speak in tongues, but I never could consistently incorporate tongues into my private life. Speaking in tongues just didn’t serve any of my spiritual or emotional needs. If I wanted to pray to God, I could just say, “God have mercy on me and help me love my friends.” In that simple child’s prayer, I felt like I was accomplishing much more than I did verbalizing semi-random syllables into space at the top of my lungs. Was I evil for thinking that?
One day, when I was older, I decided to try to test the waters. I decided to experiment with saying no to my dad when he commanded me to speak in tongues. Not even “no not ever Dad,” but more like “not right now,” or “I can’t, Dad. It would hurt me right now, Dad. I’m not sure I’m even honoring God when I do this, Dad.”
The moment I disagreed with him, I no longer felt safe looking into his eyes. He couldn’t even say words at first. He was so mad with me. His dark rage filled the house and the whole family launched into our different coping mechanisms for escaping from his anger.
“Looks like these dishes need to get done.”
“I’ll be in my room.”
“I’m going for a walk.”
“See you later!”
After that, I was afraid to come down from my room for food for fear of being confronted by my dad. Sometimes he would explode with rage. He would accuse me of terrible things and then apologize the next moment. None of it made sense and I was never safe from being emotionally abused. Even when I went to my room he would sometimes follow me there.
I see the biblical case for nonlinguistic tongues as incredibly weak. I see the story of Pentecost as a story about people understanding one another. The point of the story is the WORDS that were spoken and UNDERSTOOD on Pentecost. The point of the story is that Jesus brings people together. God was not confining himself to one single language or people any longer. What was done to me as a child has nothing to do with the story of Pentecost.
I know I am not the only current or former CFC member who has had a bad experience with this “gift.” As a child, I was at youth events where we children were told to come forward and receive the “gift.” I have watched children cry their eyes out when they could not manifest tongues on command. I saw them covered in their own tears and snot because they did not have it.
In these youth meetings, the lights were dimmed to create a more suggestive environment. The piano started playing a little hypnotic riff again and again. The children were told that without the gift of tongues they were missing out on a crucial component of their walk with God. They were told to come forward.
Adult men laid hands on us and loudly “prayed” over us by randomly verbalizing syllables like this: “SHA ma nah Kia ah an SHOTO Mas Sana! In the name of Jesus!” The kids who had already manifested the “gift” at an earlier point in their lives were also loudly doing it. The kids speaking in tongues would encircle the kids who were attempting to do it for the first time and put their hands on the kids in the center. The pastors put hands on the kid’s heads and chests. They shook their hands on the kid’s heads and shoved on the kid’s chests to better impart spiritual energy. It was an intense environment. These sessions usually lasted at least 20 minutes but could go on for much longer than that.
These situations felt like a bigger and more systematic version of what my dad had inflicted on me. It was all a way of forcing people to exhibit this behavior of tongues. Like my dad, the pastors created immense pressure for children to comply.
Surrounded by all their friends and confronted with a pastor who had his hand on their head and was speaking loudly in tongues, most kids did begin to verbalize. I can’t speak to what was going on inside their heads but I always wondered if anyone felt like me. I wondered if anyone else doubted if this was real. I wasn’t brave enough to ask. It wasn’t safe to ask.
There were usually only two or three youth kids who went through these repeated sessions for years without ever speaking in tongues. They seemed to suffer enormous guilt. I sometimes admire those kids who didn’t “fake it till they made it” because I think they showed a greater desire to experience a genuine miracle than I did. They steadfastly refused to put their thumb on the scale and force themselves to start saying random sounds. They genuinely wanted God to start pouring out his power. They waited empty-handed and lamented in the church with tears while I watched.
I often wonder if Jesus would have supported making children cry tears of fear and pain in pursuit of such a “gift” as making random noises on command. I wonder if He had walked into the youth meetings— would He have stood next to the pastor and participated in the process? Or would He have pulled the children out of the environment and said to them, “That was scary. Are you ok? Want to do something fun? Would you like to go see a movie with Me?”
If you are a CFC member and you don’t like the emphasis on speaking in tongues, you are not alone. You are not sinful for asking questions about it. You are not evil. You are not unspiritual. There are billions of Christians who have lived great lives and died in peace without ever believing in this practice.
If you are a parent, ask your kids what they think about tongues. Ask them if they have ever cried at a youth event while trying to speak in tongues. Ask them if people have ever made them question their intimacy with God because they don’t speak in tongues.
If you are a parent, please reconsider how you treat your children on this issue. I don’t entirely blame my Dad for what happened; church culture was a big part of why he did what he did. My Dad was not a safe person to speak with on this issue and I had to carry all my fears alone. Even if you think tongues are completely legitimate, the best way to win your children to that belief is to show them love, even if they disagree with you. Don’t make them feel unsafe or force them to do things unwillingly.
Remember, Pentecost is a story about people understanding one another.
