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Notes From "The Church of the Unknown"

John R. Wallis, D.Min.

One of the clients with whom I work has a special name for the office in which we meet. She calls it "the church of the unknown". Church of the unknown because its "members" are seen in confidence, unknown to the world and to one another. Church of the unknown because this is a place where she experiences a profound sense of spiritual nurture. One evening, in two consecutive psychotherapy sessions, I was reminded that I work in the church of the unknown.

Beth was desperate for a way out. She had found a diary in her deceased mother's attic. In this diary, she learned what her mother had really thought of her. She learned her mother had held Beth responsible for the misery of her life. Her mother wrote that she was embarrassed by Beth, that Beth was ugly and stupid. She regretted Beth had been born. This was the mother Beth had clung to through the worst years of her life. When Beth was eleven, her father had held her down while an older brother raped her - the beginning of a long and painful series of betrayals. Through it all, Beth clung to the belief that there was one person in the world who loved her, who would protect her if she could, if only she knew the terrible ordeal Beth experienced day after day. Her mother was away, working in another state, but Beth was certain that her mother was thinking of her, and that when she returned, she would set things right. Beth's love for her mother was real. But after reading the diary, she knew that her mother's love for her was an illusion, born of her own simple need for it. Sitting in my office a few days after finding the diary, Beth could not speak through her tears. She had been crying for days. She wanted desperately to die.

One of Beth's most important relationships is with a seven year old boy named Andy. Beth's only child had died many years ago. Andy's mother had abandoned him at the age of three. Over several years, Beth and Andy had become spiritual mother and son to one another. About a week after Beth told me about the diary, she called me with startling news. Andy's stepmother had called Beth looking for Andy. He hadn't come home from school, and was nowhere to be found. Beth told me she thought she might know where to find him. I encouraged her to look and asked her to call me when she knew more.

When I next saw Beth she explained what had happened. Beth had told Andy she wasn't going to see him anymore. She hadn't told Andy why, but she told me. It hurt too much to experience Andy as precious and beautiful, knowing she herself had never been beautiful or precious to anyone. It hurt too much to love Andy, knowing she herself had never been loved. So Beth decided she would end her life, and she decided to withdraw from Andy first, so it wouldn't hurt him so much when she died.

After Beth told Andy she wasn't going to see him anymore, he ran away - to a park he and Beth often went to talk. Beth found him there, and when she did, he said something to her that pierced her soul, and found her in return. Andy said it hurt that Beth didn't want to see him anymore. "I thought I was special to you," he said.

Sitting in my office, Beth realized she had done to Andy what her mother had done to her. She had turned her back on a little child who loved her, who needed her, who thought for sure he had found someone to whom he could and did belong, always.

Beth told me she now knew the path that lay ahead. She would hold fast to her love for Andy, even though it meant facing more deeply her own pain. She would remain faithful to Andy, even though it meant experiencing more deeply her own betrayal. She said to me, "I know one thing. I will never hurt Andy like that again". In coming to this, Beth was finally accepting her own immeasurable value as a person, in spite of all that would destroy her, including herself. And in deciding to face her own pain on behalf of another, Beth was empowered to take that very pain upon herself. In grasping the power of love, she was herself grasped by it.

When Beth left my office I greeted Bruce and Amy. Amy and Bruce are 17 years married, with two children in elementary school. Amy and the children recently moved back home after a long separation. She had left Bruce because she no longer "had any feelings" for him. She had for many years experienced Bruce as being emotionally unavailable to her and to the children.

In the session, Bruce became aware of a pattern. His father had frequently told his mother how much he loved her. He often called her "sweet one". Bruce chuckled as he recalled that his mother, Theresa, was in fact a constant complainer; she almost always wore a scowl. He realized as we talked that in calling his mother "sweet one," and in telling her that he loved her, his father was looking for a specific response. He wanted Theresa to smile at him. He wanted her to acknowledge his love as being of value to her. Bruce began to see that in his relationship with Amy he had played his mother's role, and Amy his father's. Amy was constantly expressing her love, doing things for Bruce, trying to make his life easier. What she really wanted was for Bruce to let her know how much he valued her, how special she was to him. Bruce did love Amy, but he had decided long ago, somewhere outside of consciousness, never to allow himself to be as vulnerable as his father was.

Amy grew up in a household characterized by unpredictable rage and predictable criticism. The safest thing was to try to stay out of the way. To be seen was to be in danger. So Amy brought to her relationship with Bruce a lifelong yearning to be known. And, like all of us, she also brought her fear. She dared not let Bruce see her need to be seen. But there came a time when she took a great risk, a risk born out of desperation because she knew time was running out. She took the risk of coming out of hiding. She took the risk of telling Bruce straight out that she needed him to love her, to show her his love, to actually speak it in words. Unaware of the nature of the risk she had taken, Bruce had responded with his characteristic reserve. It was not long after this that Amy had decided to leave him.

As this moment was relived in the session, Amy experienced anew the depth of her anger. She had finally broken through her own reserve to expose a tender cry for help; in response, Bruce had once again protected his own vulnerability. With my help, Amy began to express the anger and hurt welling up inside of her. This time, instead of deflecting it, Bruce began genuinely to hear it. It was hard work for both of them, but it was the most passionate exchange I had known them to have. Both were out in the open, unclothed, touching, and being touched. For Amy it was terrifying to both experience and express her feelings. For Bruce it was terrifying to be vulnerable in his hearing of Amy. For both there was hope of finding one another again.

As a minister in the church of the unknown, I am struck by the choices we have, by the choices we don't have, and by the consequences of our choosing. If Beth chooses to run from the pain of her history, it will likely destroy her. If Amy chooses to flee from the power of her presence, her love will be lost in flight. If Bruce chooses to deny the fact of his vulnerability, his capacity to love and be loved will surely be diminished. Each of these choices has become freshly awakened because of new possibilities that emerged out of the dynamic of close relating in the church of the unknown.

I have set before you this day life and death, blessing and curse: Therefore choose life.
Deuteronomy 30:19