Little Ruth Anna and the Cult Group Church

I can’t read Virginia Woolf for more than a few pages when I’m struck with a dozen images from my own youth.  I have her book littered with sticky notes, “Playing baseball – “We’d put you in the parking lot if it were far enough from the field,” “God as clockmaker,” “Greta’s life, lived at 100-miles-an-hour,” “Memories of my mother – Sorry, cards, grandma’s funeral and the sleepover,” “Making dams in the alleyways with my brother.”  These thoughts hit me like a struck tuning fork, and I anxiously try to record them while the tone is still ringing.

I was recently challenged to record some of my “Duh” moments in life.  I’m taking this to mean, right now, that these are the moments in which I acted one way, but regret not having acted quite differently.  There are a number of them – those moments come to mind whenever I focus on the word “regret.”

This is the first, and one of the most painful of these moments.

I went to college at Emporia State University – a lovely, little school in Southeast Kansas, between Wichita and Kansas City.  Through my science fair work, my grades and test scores, I’d managed to snag a good scholarship there, so I enrolled as a pre-Engineering major in 1978.  At the same time, I was embracing my new-found Christian faith.  I stumbled upon Campus Crusade for Christ and – as is my wont – I jumped in with both feet.

Over the years, I pursued deeper knowledge and understanding of my faith.  I studied the Bible religiously (aha!)  I memorized verses.  I led music at the weekly meetings, playing tunes on my guitar.  And in the summers I traveled to different parts of the country on “Summer Projects.”  These were evangelistic excursions to popular tourist spots, where we would gather as college students to share our faith with others.  It was on one such trip to Ames, Iowa that I met the House Church Movement.

In Ames, there lived a group of believers who exhibited everything I thought Christianity should be.  They were kind, happy, thoughtful, committed to one another, and very interesting to talk to.  And they liked me.  I found myself spending more time there than with the kids at the fraternity house where we were staying – so much so, that the group leader decreed that we should stay away from them.  I ignored him completely.

When I got back to Emporia, I found myself confused and unsettled.  I dropped out of Campus Crusade entirely, yearning for something more substantial, more real.  I changed my major from Engineering to Chemistry.  I drifted through several churches, changed my major again to education, then left Emporia to do my student teaching in Manhattan, Kansas.  It was there that I met David Dickmann and found myself reunited with the House Church Movement.

David was my cooperating teacher at Manhattan High School.  He was married to Nicholina (Nikki), and they had recently had a daughter, Ruth.  They were members of the Manhattan branch of the same group that I’d met in Ames a few years earlier.  And, like that group, I found myself very attracted to them.  They lived simply, often sharing homes or apartments with others.  They met together on Sundays for worship, singing songs and studying the bible.  Afterward, they would invite me over for dinner.  We would talk and I would play games with little Ruth Anna.  It felt so very much like a family that I simply fell in love with all of it. 

After I completed my student teaching, Dave asked me to join a group that was being sent to Lincoln, Nebraska to form a new church there.  Within a few months, about 20 of us packed up and moved to Lincoln.  I found an apartment with 2 of the guys, Chet and Larry, in a large yellow house on “E” Street. 

Dave and Dave Stephenson, the two pastors, found houses adjacent to one another in an older section of town.  Their road was still dirt, the houses in various states of disrepair.  Nikki cried when she first walked in, I recall.  But soon we began to pick up our routine and, for a while, it appeared that we would be successful in creating another happy, loving community in Nebraska. 

(What I didn’t know, was that one of the movement’s leaders, Mr. Jim McCotter, was just beginning his consolidation of power over the House Churches.  Suddenly, the group had a name: Great Commission International.  Suddenly, there were directives handed down from the leadership.  And there were teachings that the families were supposed to follow – one in particular regarding the discipline of children that leads to this “Duh Moment.”)

By this time, Ruth Anna was about 2 years old.  She was a lovely child – blond, blue-eyed with ruddy cheeks and a slight English accent (Nikki grew up in Northern Ireland).  She was very articulate and bright, loved to hear stories and play games.  And like all children her age, she was beginning to display those little hints of defiance and willfulness. 

One afternoon I had been invited over for dinner.  Ruth was playing with a toy on the floor while Nikki set the table.  Nikki called to her to come and sit in her chair for dinner.  Ruth continued to play, shaking her blond head back and forth – “No.”  Nikki asked again and Ruth again defied her.  I saw a look pass between Dave and Nikki, then Dave picked up the struggling child and took her into the bathroom.  Seconds later, I heard “Smack!, smack! . . . “ and then the screaming started.  For several minutes, punishment was meted out with a wooden spoon on the bare buttocks of the child. 

After a moment’s silence, the door opened and a quiet child emerged, followed by Dave and the spoon.  She hugged her mother, then allowed herself to be placed in the high chair.  She remained quiet for the rest of the meal.

I found later that Dave and Nikki were following a strict discipline guideline handed down by church leadership, based on the popular book, “Dare to Discipline” by James Dobson.  The book teaches that any sign of willful disobedience must be met with harsh, physical discipline – spanking.  They followed it to the letter.  Once while changing her diaper, I saw Ruth’s red, calloused cheeks and cringed at the sight. 

But, I did nothing.  In fact, I stayed with this church for another year until the takeover by Jim McCotter was complete.  It took stories from others in other churches to finally get me to see that this “loving family” I’d once known was really just a cult.  The directives we’d been given were clever ruses for raising money for McCotter – money he absconded with to escape to New Zealand to buy an aircraft company.  Last I heard, he was being sought for tax evasion by the I.R.S.

But most of all, I kick myself for not saying anything to protect that sweet little girl.  I often wonder about her – wonder if her spirit was irrevocably damaged, or whether her child-like resilience was enough to keep that intact.  I can only hope so.