I don’t expect anyone to respect me for posting this. I have sent emails to John.Pantry@premier.org.uk before, and to the station’s director, Peter Kerridge, years ago. In the end I gave up, they never answered. This one hasn’t been answered either. If I were a faithful person I would wait for someone to contact me, trusting this has been passed on and is being dealt with. Everyone knows, however, that I am not a faithful person. I expect all my leaders and teachers to disapprove of what I am doing, and I also fear I might get myself killed or something, or that I will be put back in hospital, posting this. My neighbour and his group are still confusing me, reacting to everything I’m doing all the time. I feel like a dead body that the vultures are feeding on.
I have written before, years ago, about the times I urinated on the Church steps. They keep brandishing it, as I say in my email, and stabbing at me with it. It’s not only one or two, it’s all of them, but an example I can point you to is Rosie Wright this morning on Inspirational Breakfast, just before she started talking to people about the election result. That’s what I think, anyway. She said ‘we’ in a certain way, followed up by ‘been’. I suppose her defence will be, if she feels she needs to give one, that it can’t be proved. I found the way people were talking afterwards interesting, though. It sounded not quite normal to me. The copy of the email follows this long account of events leading up to the church steps event.
At the time this happened it was during the Toronto Blessing phenomenon in Church. Often, when I was at my most vulnerable and open, the Church warden at St Barnabas in Finchley, John Knight, at the time, would rattle keys near me, which frightened me because I always thought it meant I had to get up because he wanted to lock up. I don’t remember anyone ever having come to me to pray for me, though I think that is what they did with other people. I was always thrown out into the street, blasted wide open and disorientated. Sometimes I hung around outside the building, into the night, afraid to leave the vicinity, feeling as if part of me was stuck inside and I couldn’t go home without it. When I did go home I was in a complete state all the way.
John Coles, the vicar at the time, did a series on Nehemiah once, a chapter a week. I would turn up, unprepared, not having read the chapter (we weren’t expected to), and feel as if I was being dragged around all over the place. So one day I decided to take control of and responsibility for my experience and read the chapter ahead of time so I might be more prepared. He looked at me sitting in the congregation and said ‘the enemy reads ahead’. I felt completely damned and didn’t know how to handle it. To me, he had said it, that was that. The same night I went forward and was lying on the steps to the platform and my legs started to shake vigorously and uncontrollably for several minutes. No one came near me. I went back the next week feeling wiped out. Someone said shaking was a sign of judgment. During the time that followed the service where the Holy Spirit was invited I was lying tired and exhausted on the floor and when i opened my eyes to get up I found that John Coles was lying at my feet. I didn’t know what to do with it. I got up and sat on a chair and talking with one of the other guys about my age at the time I just told him I felt sick. Sometimes I wouldn’t get involved with the Holy Spirit paddling pool at the end, I would sit it out, because I thought I owed John and Anne something and had no right to try and get involved with the blessing time at the end. I think they might have thought I was somehow resisting and disapproving, but I wasn’t, I was trying to show them honour and respect by not indulging myself in a ministry time while I thought things weren’t good between us.
I had previously asked John and his wife to forgive me for any hurt I had caused them, and as they had before, they said I hadn’t hurt them, but that there was no relationship. So this time, instead of letting myself get all upset about it, I accepted it, deciding they couldn’t have a relationship with everyone, and I could just sit in the congregation and listen and try and be supportive in the best way I knew. They weren’t happy with this either. They seemed to be unhappy that I had accepted what they had said without contesting it. If he looked at me in the congregation I would smile. That was it. he started trying to turn things around, get a different sort of response from me. To get away from the pressure I started going to some other churches mid-week (I believed this was the right thing to do based on something I had read in the book the counsellors I had seen had asked me to read, saying you should shift your attention elsewhere), and they put pressure on me, too. I had recently been introduced to the concept of boundaries by some counsellors I was told to see by a pastor connected to a Bible college I used to go to after I told him I kept feeling I needed to kneel to him but didn’t dare, and he picked a fight with me over it, saying on no account must I kneel to him. He seemed to be teasing and taunting me at the end of services as he finished his sermons, saying ‘I’m going to the back now’ and things like that, and I was sitting there really upset, though I didn’t make a scene or anything. He discussed it with other people involved in running the college and they decided I shouldn’t even be allowed into the building if that was what I wanted to do. So I ended up with these counsellors, a man and wife, and she dropped out after a week or two, and the man saw me with another woman sitting in, and he used to pray really rigid prayers about what he wanted God to do for me and for Him to show me that this and that were not the answer. I didn’t feel supported by the woman, I felt she was there as a witness and for his protection. Anyway, He wanted me to read a book called Love Is A Choice, about establishing boundaries. One of the things it said was that sometimes you needed to act from your mind rather than your emotions. On that basis I used to go to churches wanting to listen to and think about what was being said without getting emotionally involved, and this attitude seemed to upset people, and they made me a recipient of what I felt to be negative attention and pressure. I was called a witch a few times at Kensington Temple. One man I tried to say a friendly hello to one day in the congregation took an attitude against me and was only happy when it was obvious I was really upset. He smiled broadly then, with great satisfaction. Killed me. All this, and more, happened before I eventually ended up in a mental hospital for the first time.
Anyway, drawing these bits together: one day I was at St Barnabas for some reason talking to John Knight at the door and I asked if I could use the toilet (I used to have keys to the building before that, and was rudely asked for them back as I was trying to finish off a job). I suppose I wasn’t servile and submissive enough, because he told me they would rather I went to the toilet in the tube station a little way up the road (this was after my first admission to a mental hospital). On one of the nights, a week or two later, that I was scared to move away from the building I suddenly needed a loo, but there wasn’t one. I thought about it, and apart from the fact that I had to go (it didn’t occur to me to go in the bushes or anything) I thought, ‘if they are going to call me a witch I might as well do something a witch might do and see what happens’. I also thought it would be getting back at them for not having let me use the toilet previously when I had asked. So I just used the steps up to one of the side doors. Then sat there for the rest of the night, staring at it and thinking that I had thought it would dry, but it wasn’t doing. I felt really weird. Early in the morning I thought to myself that I ought to go home, that I had to go home, that something bad was going to happen if I didn’t. But I didn’t go. I hung around the tube station, feeling horrified at everything, and in the early afternoon I started to make my way to the vicarage up the road. I bumped into Anne Coles. I think I asked her if there was any chance I could go with John on his weekend mission trip to another church. I really wanted to go, so I thought the only thing I could do was ask, or I might miss an opportunity. Anyway, it wasn’t possible. She said something about the fact that i had been hanging around all morning in the area (I suppose other people must have seen me and told her, but I hadn’t seen them. She was carrying a big sack of carrots and said she wondered if she would be able to get it inside. I instinctively went to help her and she swept the sack up and whisked it away from me. I think she eyed me all the way to her front door then went inside. I was really upset. I felt completely desperate about everything.
So anyway, that is the story of the first time I urinated on the church steps. The main reason was I needed to go. The symbolism of it frightened me, that it had been in my mind and I had acted on it. But in my opinion my leaders made it worse by being paranoid about it themselves. They seemed to be totally freaked and wanted to take control but never said anything except that now he wanted me to sit right at the back in the corner of the church where the steps were. I used to sit at the front, he said the keen ones sat at the front. That was the only reference he ever made to it. I believe symbolism only has the power we allow it. I think the way they handled it, and have handled it over the years, made things worse. It was 20 years ago, and they are still using it. I can’t remember the reason I did it the second time, but I think they were controlling and I was symbolically trying to get control back. Things are still so bad, I have felt so criminally and dishonestly treated by them over the years, that even after I wrote this email on Tuesday I thought to myself, ‘I would do it again’.
Just before these incidents I had been at Nottingham Christian Centre, as it used to be, after my first hospital admission. I kept getting to church and feeling I should go and speak to David Shearman (one of his elders had told me to stay around, so I did for several weeks), and sitting down not daring to go near him and feeling really upset and guilty. He would start calling me, so it seemed to me, and I would just sit there thinking it was me who was supposed to go to him without him asking. This went on for weeks. The first week he had passed where I was sitting and I had put my hand in his, like a child with a father. He held it while he walked, then he just dropped it. While he was preaching he looked at me and said ‘you tried to split a church’. I didn’t say anything, it was in the middle of a sermon, it didn’t seem appropriate and he didn’t seem to want an answer, but I just looked at him and sat thinking, ‘no, I didn’t’. He said something about ‘she doesn’t listen to anyone’. At the end of the sermon he told people to close the doors, that it was a powerful thing to do, that there would be ‘no accursed thing’ in his church. I had said to someone that I had been cursed at St Barnabas. I thought he was calling me an accursed thing. I went in one morning a few weeks later and I can’t remember why, but I burst into desperate tears in the middle of a congregational song, and the worship leader said ‘it’s raining!’ I had had this in hospital, and it really upset me here. I think it was a week before that David Shearman had read the bit from Song of Solomon where it says ‘the winter is past the summer is come arise my love come to me’, or something like that. I was sure he was saying it to me, but I had no idea what to do with it. I wanted to go to him, but didn’t, and I felt bad that I didn’t. Anyway, on the ‘it’s raining’ day David came charging past my seat like an upset bull, and I was sat forward with my head in my hands, terrified. He had made a lot of references to Colin Dye at Kensington Temple that I thought were directed at me. One night he read a passage where a prophet says to a king, or something like that, that although there is no food today, tomorrow there will be an abundance, but he would get none of it. I thought that was aimed at me as well and I was frightened and angry, then he said, ‘put your hand up if you want the food’, and I refused, it felt humiliating. I got to church one morning and was turned away, being told they had instructions not to let me in. That was my teen years church home. I was devastated. On the day I cried I think they had called the authorities and had me admitted to hospital and this was the next week. I went back to the hospital ward and the significance I felt was attached to what had just happened overwhelmed me and I kept screaming. One of the nurses ordered me to stop screaming. She didn’t ask me what was wrong, what had happened, and offered no comfort or support. I felt homeless. This was before I returned to London and was so out of control that I even thought about identifying with the accusations that I was supposed to be a witch. I have been taught by at least one teacher that the essence of witchcraft is control. I felt this was what they had been doing to me for years and I hit back.
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Were it not for the fact that neither John Pantry nor Peter Kerridge ever reply to my emails I might have warned them that I was going to make this email public if they didn’t reply. I did think about it but decided it would be a waste of time.
Dear John
It seems to me that the fact that you won’t just make contact with me openly, by email or something, means you still want to cover and justify your illegal harassment and, what seems to me, dishonest and cowardly pursuit of and agenda towards me.
I urinated on the Church steps. You have been brandishing that one for ages, even though I tried to apologise for it. That was 20 years ago, after my first admission to a psychiatric ward where I experienced lots of abuse and neglect and cruelty and was occasioned by the cruelty and rejection and attempts at control and manipulation I was experiencing in Church. I was incredibly distressed and afraid, and completely disorientated. You all like to flash this urinating thing around, but does it occur to you that the reason I did it in the first place was because my state of mind had been affected by all this? It was awful, it was bloody, bloody awful. I might have been immature in the way I was handling concepts that were new to me, about boundaries and things, and my own right to personal boundaries that even leaders had no right to transgress, but that did not call for me to be treated as I was and abandoned and categorised as mentally ill. I was never even specifically confronted with this issue, everything was done by psychological suggestion. Maybe somehow they thought I was supposed to fold in response to that and ‘confess all’, but I thought the accusation was supposed to come from them. Impasse.
This is my initial response to your – overtures? Please reply, or pass it on to someone you think should.