An American Christian Chapter X — Spiritual Authority
Something Ben Jones frequently taught from the pulpit was the concept of “Spiritual Authority.” The idea that all authority was God-ordained, an anointing of power for believers, and a necessary evil for non-believers.
Spiritual Authority was given to those that were leaders in the church, as well as life. The President of the United States has spiritual authority because all leadership is ordained by God no matter how craven and corrupt. This mantle, if you will, is automatic.
Since the husband is considered the household’s spiritual head, he has spiritual authority over his wife and children. He can punish anything he deems as rebellious; however, he sees fit, according to his “God-ordained” rights.
Spiritual authority was at the very core of Generation Training Center, and it was enforced with an iron fist.
During the program, we did what was called ‘Book Review.’ This was simply the entire class reading the same book together, while each of us was assigned a chapter or two to give a presentation. These reviews were to be short and engaging; practice for ministry. Each presenter needed to fill a 30-minute time slot teaching the chapter to the class, who had just read the same chapter. If someone didn’t read the chapter, the whole class had to come in on Saturday morning and then review it. Everyone was punished whether you lied or told the truth.
All of the books we read were full of terrible and harmful doctrine. One of the worst was called Spiritual Authority by Watchman Nee. Nee’s writings are iconic in the upper echelons of holier-than-thou Christianity. This book hailed God as the ultimate authority over the universe and that God alone dictated authority on earth. Since all authority was God-ordained, you needed to obey it unconditionally, no matter how you felt about it, unless it was morally against the Bible’s teachings. Even then, he taught, you were still supposed to submit. Defiance to any authority was rebellion.
Those who weren’t in a place of authority were to submit, no matter what, and those already in authority had to submit to the next highest authority. Man’s laws meant nothing to God’s laws, but again, since all authority on earth was God-ordained, you needed to submit to everyone above you humbly. It’s circular reasoning at its finest, and it doesn’t make a lick of sense. It’s also a platform for unchecked spiritual abuse.
This is what the Joneses and other church leaders in the world teach and believe. This gives them absolute power. This gives them the ability to shame and cut people off. This gives them the authority of God on earth. Since going against any authority is rebellion, and rebellion is akin to witchcraft, this gives abusers an opening to symbolically burn any dissenters at the stake.
This book was to be a biblical companion for us. It was also the go-to excuse for unchecked abuse within the program and the church for years. The authority wielded by GTC leadership and any church or ministerial leadership we encountered was to be considered absolute. One thing this book taught was that you do not question any form of leadership. You simply obeyed. Obeying direction on earth was akin to obeying God himself, as was the same with disobeying.
In a twist of cruel irony, Watchman Nee died in China in 1972 after being imprisoned for twenty years by the communist regime for his faith. He was honored by Representative Christopher H. Smith (R-NJ) in the US Congress in 2009.
While the idea and practices of Monday Club — which I discuss in Chapter III — aren’t as severe as some places, the psychological abuse was unrelenting. For students who had issues with something, the leadership said, discussing it in an open environment was almost impossible. We were always separated when there was a disagreement to “speak one on one.” Devon still led the discussion, although Noah was present for a lot of these meetings. Lauren, who was terrified of confrontation and even more so of looking mean, would dump her dirty work on Devon, who happily used it as an opportunity to berate someone.
This form of “discussion” allowed the authority figure, which was almost always just Devon, to isolate the offending student, guy or girl. With no one on their side, the student was vulnerable to whatever mood Devon happened to be in at the time. Devon wasn’t there to understand your side; he was there to shut you down, so you didn’t question him or anyone else publicly, again. There was some safety if Noah was present. He had an uncanny ability to see both sides and show empathy, no matter the situation. He often kept Devon’s anger in check.
During my second year, Devon, who went through vehicles like pants, traded whatever he had at the time for a late-90’s, black Ford Mustang. It had tinted windows and a loud, custom exhaust system. It was also a V-6, so it’s noise was distinctly obnoxious. Centralia is a small city, and it wasn’t difficult to recognize that loud-ass car barreling down whatever street it was on from three or more blocks away. It wasn’t long before that same distinct sound that most of us found annoying became a sound of dread and fear.
Devon would often drive whatever car he owned around at night and sit outside the houses of students he thought were up to no good. He wanted to know who was coming in and out of the house and when they were getting home. We had a strict curfew, and who, but he would be there to enforce it? That black car was heard and spotted often. He would have tapped our phones if he knew how.
The winter in the Pacific Northwest is a special kind of dark. It rains often and is usually cloudy, but it rarely snows. What would typically be illuminated by the moon and stars are shrouded by monstrous, looming trees, heavy clouds, and thick rain. Everything is damp and cold, dreary as if you were trapped in a nightmare where you’re unable to scream.
To keep from going insane, the locals have learned to find social areas that are well lit to spend their time. At that time, Centralia had a population of about 16,000 people, so the options for a comfortable social atmosphere were minimal. There was one Starbucks in the city, and it soon became the local haunt for anyone out past 6 pm. Friends would play music, and some of the students even worked there. It was also one of the few places where a small portion of us found solace from Devon.
Devon despised coffee and all other caffeinated beverages because he thought the reliance on it made people weak. This is the guy who would also fall asleep standing up while watching a movie because he only slept four hours a night.
On one particular dark Washington evening, I stopped by Starbucks to get a beverage before going back to the church and working late into the crepuscular night. The best part about this Starbucks was running into a friend or colleague and enjoying a conversation with them. Hell, it’s why most of us went there in the first place. Legal addictive stimulants and a few drops of serotonin were what we lived off of, so when I went to order my mediocre dirty chai, I was happy to see three of my female classmates sitting at a table.
Because the rules were as stringent as they were, and because Devon had actual spies everywhere, I made sure not to sit at their table. I stood nearby casually, backpack slung over one shoulder, hot drink in one hand, and conversed. So long as I looked like I wasn’t staying, I felt safe. I wouldn’t have considered it at all if there was only one girl. That would have been a severe offense and would have immediately looked like we had set it up on purpose.
We talked about some things that had happened that day, made some jokes, and carried on. I stood there for about 15 minutes before I heard the hollow rumbling of Devon’s Mustang. I knew this was my cue to exit and quickly said goodbye as I saw him pull into a parking space.
My only chance was to get out the door and to my car on the other side of where he was parked before he saw me. Under cover of darkness, I walked swiftly out the door. Before I rounded the outside corner, I was met with a stone-faced Devon. He had just left the gym and stood there with his hat on backward, ripped sleeveless shirt, and basketball shorts. He looked up at me, eyes wide with rage, and pointed at my face. “You stay right here,” he said in a low, stern voice that still haunts me.
My chest filled with ice. I knew I was in trouble; I knew I had done something wrong. My mind raced as he brushed past me with whoever he was working out with at the time. He went inside to confront the girls, and I stood outside like a child, too afraid of the consequences if I left. After a few minutes, he came back out and unloaded on me less than ten feet from the door.
He told me that he “had gotten a phone call that some students were in Starbucks saying things they shouldn’t” and that “he had to leave the gym to come all the way over here, hoping he would be wrong.” His gym was about 300 yards away.
Someone in the coffee shop had seen us and ratted us out. To what end, I’ll never fully know, but I do know that the Joneses carried that level of control over their congregants. People felt a compulsion to tell Ben and Devon anytime they thought someone was out of line. It was their duty to the spiritual leaders of the church.
This level of utter dominance over people in the name of God was the kind of spiritual authority that was practiced. Just by his nepotistic position within our small ministry program, he had the power to dehumanize anyone who upset his small-minded concept of living. We lived in constant fear. My anxiety, which I assumed was just conviction and guilt, was consistently high. I didn’t sleep that night and the next day was absolute hell. I felt like I had just been taken behind the woodshed and everyone knew it. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I was so scared; I couldn’t even look at the friends I was laughing with the night before.
My inability to stand up for myself at that moment, my utter fear of the unknown consequences, all stemmed from the bullshit we were taught in that book. I had to submit to Devon. What other choice did I have? If I defended myself or pushed back, what would happen? Would I be stripped of my responsibilities? Would I be publicly scolded? Would I be kicked out of the program?
This was the only life I knew, and I was in it deep at this point. I would serve two more years in the program, one of them as an unpaid staff member.
We all learned to submit, no matter what. Those of us that talked back were dealt with swiftly to ensure we didn’t do it again. No questioning was allowed. We were to treat the staff as God’s anointed leadership empowered with the authority of God himself.
There is nothing more foundational to a cult than that.
