This is the first time I have ever put pen to paper to discuss just a small percentage of what I experienced during my time at Highlands in a decade. They asked, so I answered…
Last night, I received a text message from a “staff member” from the Highlands College creative team. I’m going to share the text message in it’s entirety, so whoever reading can understand exactly what I’m responding to:
“Hey Caitlin!!!! This is [redacted] with the Highlands College Creative Team! We are doing a video to celebrate the fact that HC has just placed it’s 1000th student !!!! We would love for you to be apart of it! Could you send me a selfie video of you saying your name, the year you graduated, where you are at, what you are doing, and a quick statement of how HC prepared you to be placed?! Doesn’t need to be longer than 30 seconds! Let me know if you have any questions!!
Also could you please have the video in by Friday?”
My initial thought receiving this message was that it was bizarre. Anyone who knows me knows that I have left the church, deconstructed my faith, and have spent the better part of two years desperately trying to heal from the trauma that spiritual abuse (in multiple forms and on multiple levels) has caused me. I have been quite vocal about it, too.
Does it surprise me that no one at Church Of The Highlands knows what I’m doing now? No. Does it surprise me that the faculty and staff of the very small (at the time I attended) college doesn’t know what I’m doing and “where I’m at?” Even less so. Why? Because they didn’t even know the answer to those questions when I was attending school.
I spent 10 years of my life at Church of The Highlands. I spent four years at Highlands College. And I was even more of a stranger to them the day I left than when I started.
Let me be clear that Highlands College didn’t “place” me - (“placement” was a promise they would find you a job in ministry.) I left half a year into my internship because I was so sick I could barely function. Doctors couldn’t tell me what was wrong. All the church had to offer was “praying it away.” I had been battling several debilitating health issues since my internship had begun. Looking back, I realize the pressure, rigorous dedication to the church, expected physical labor, and ALL of the expectations they placed on us; on top of the guilt and shame of feeling like I didn’t fit in certainly played a part in my failing physical health. After a visit to my hometown of Boston, I made a decision to move back home to get the care I needed.
One night after I had returned from my brief trip to Boston, before I moved back, Layne Schranz, Mark Pettus, and Hayes Kearby prayed over me for “healing” in the main campus of Grants Mill auditorium. They assured me they would keep in touch and support me in “any way” they could. I remembered I felt so cared for in that moment. I never could have imagined being thrown away like trash they way they did to me.
But I was. After returning to Boston, I didn’t hear a word from any of them. Not a word. Not one word. I was bed ridden for months, struggling with depression and anxiety from being diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses. My realization that Highlands didn’t give a damn came when I flew back to Birmingham briefly, and met with an unnamed pastor. Casually sitting at his desk, he looked at me and said “you barely scraped by. We really didn’t think you were gonna make it”, as I was preparing to go serve at a church in Massachusetts. I had connected with an “ARC” church up in Massachusetts called Excel Church, run by pastors Emy and Emily Vazquez (This church is now known as The Life Church Massachusetts.) But that’s a story for a different time. I have never experienced more pain or loneliness in the months or years that followed.
Somehow, during a global pandemic in 2020, I was forced to face my faith. And I won. I found freedom. To this day, I shed tears and I attend therapy working through the many levels of spiritual abuse and hurt I’ve encountered.
I’m a rape survivor. Once stories started to come out about pastors on staff at Highlands being unfaithful, raping and sexually abusing girls, etc; I was horrified to know I had sat in rooms with these acclaimed “leaders” whom we were FORCED to show honor to. We were told they were the elite, they were “men of God”, or “MOGS” as they liked to say. We never questioned them because we didn’t KNOW better. They kept it all from us. It is so traumatizing to know that although as a woman, I’m not safe anywhere, the most DANGEROUS men are IN the church. That is the reality. And it is horrifying.
So I guess if you’re still reading, I should share what my time at Highlands taught me:
It’s not about who you are to them, it’s about what you can do for them.
One thing I can ALWAYS count on the church to do? Prey. In EVERY single way.
Prey… Pray… While we’re on the subject, I don’t want your prayers. I want accountability. I want acknowledgment. Something I have NEVER received in my duration of time at your church.
There is only one thing to celebrate, Highlands.
That I am free from your abuse and healing from the immense trauma you have caused me. That others (some of my closest friends to date) are free or are fighting like hell to get there.
You have inflicted more pain than I could ever put words to. You are dangerous. You are predators. But hey, as your staff used to tell us ALL the time, “everything in the darkness always comes to light”, right? Here’s hoping.
Guess it’s too late to start living beyond reproach now.
Best,
Caitlin Ritchie
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