Jessica’s Story

Sitting on the edge of our bed in that late pregnancy spraddle, legs wide to accommodate my burgeoning belly, I stare out my bedroom window at the bare branches of a lone tree in the tepid January sunshine. My hair hangs in stringy strands down my back, and the irritation of my unwashed skin reminds me that I can’t remember the last time I showered. Or ate anything. Or even brushed my teeth. The distant sound of my children squabbling upstairs fails to rouse me from my stupor as my mind fumbles with an earth-shaking realization: for the entirety of my life, I have trusted in anything and everything but Jesus Christ. 

That was 2008, and I was 26 years old. Almost twenty years prior, I had dutifully trooped to the front of the United Pentecostal Church pastored by my grandfather and, following the exuberant example set by those surrounding me at the altar, babbled something convincingly enough that I had been proclaimed “filled with the Holy Ghost.” A few weeks later, I was properly baptized in Jesus’ name according to the doctrine of the United Pentecostal Church International. I was, by all appearances, saved. And I spent the next two decades doing a reasonable job convincing both myself and everyone else of that fact. 

Except I wasn’t saved. In spite of my faithful compliance with the precepts of the UPCI and our family’s much lauded multigenerational heritage of pastors and preachers, not to mention our familial gift of exceptional singing, I had never trusted in Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Jesus had never been more to me than the baby in the manger scene at Christmas or the bloody man on the cross at Easter. He was the subject of the songs I skillfully sang and the magic word with which I ended my prayers, but he wasn’t real to me. While I acknowledged his existence as a historical figure and accepted his position somewhere within the Godhead, the impact upon me personally of either of those two facts didn’t extend much beyond lending some sort of legitimacy to the standards of living prescribed for me by those I trusted much more than the God I claimed. 

I came face to face with Jesus on that cold, winter day. For weeks, as my carefully constructed life crumbled around me in the wake of marital strain and financial upheaval, and the grief of loss overwhelmed me, I kept catching near glimpses of him – almost as if I could only turn my head fast enough, and I would see him. I could feel him near in ways I had never before experienced in spite of the innumerable Pentecostal revival services I had attended. That day, I knew I had to make a choice, and the choice had to be Jesus even if it meant giving up everything I held dear. So I chose him. I chose Jesus, and I was determined to follow him wherever he led. 

What I didn’t expect was that he would lead me out of the UPC. It didn’t happen overnight but was the process of many years and many small changes. Time after time, when the road in front of me forked, and I was confronted with yet another question about doctrine or standards or beliefs, God provided me a safe harbor from which to consider my next move. He placed the people and resources in my path to help with each step. My progress wasn’t always easy; it was often unnoticed, but it was inexorable. With unfailing patience, God met me with the unflinching truth of his word, the light of which threw into stark relief the shaky underpinnings of my childhood faith such as it was. In the intervening years, I’ve wrestled with questions both big and small. Early on in that time, I realized that I was in good company when I would only claim “Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2), and I’ve continued that practice, fumbling my way at times, to hold everything up to the light of the Gospel, keeping that which proved to be true and discarding the rest.

Tim’s Story

Early Years: A Confusing Mix of Faith and Fear

My formative years were spent within a relatively secluded church group within the Conservative Holiness Movement. I was surrounded by loving and well-intentioned individuals who adhered to strict doctrines. While gentle and kind hearted, this environment often felt perplexing. Instead of fostering a genuine identity rooted in God’s provision, it cultivated a crippling fear of failure. I took the pursuit of holiness very seriously, striving to adhere to all the prescribed standards—and even many additional ones. Deep down, I yearned for a faith that allowed intellectual honesty and personal growth and encouraged authenticity, not just outward compliance.

I remember feeling constantly on edge, always wondering if I was doing enough to please God. The emphasis on rules and regulations created a sense of spiritual performance, rather than a genuine relationship. I felt like I was constantly walking a tightrope, one misstep away from falling into sin and losing God’s favor.

The fear of failure was so pervasive that it affected every aspect of my life and business. I was afraid to speak up in church, afraid to share my doubts and struggles, afraid to be vulnerable. I felt like I had to hide my true self behind a facade of perfection.

It was a lonely and isolating experience. I felt like I was the only one struggling with these doubts and fears. Everyone in my church seemed so confident in their faith, so sure of their righteousness. I felt like an outsider, a misfit who didn’t belong.

A Turning Point: Bible Study Fellowship and the Revelation of Grace

In 2014, I was invited by a business acquaintance to a non-denominational men’s Bible study called Bible Study Fellowship. My pastor at the time expressed strong disapproval, fearing that exposure to non-holiness teachings would corrupt my understanding and lead my family astray. Despite his concerns, I continued attending. The verse-by-verse study of Exodus-Deuteronomy that first year, followed by Revelation and the Gospel of John in subsequent years, deepened my comprehension of God’s story and His people. I even began serving as a discussion leader.

In April 2017, while studying the Gospel of John, a profound conviction settled upon me. I realized that my relentless pursuit of holiness stemmed from insecurity about the finished work of Jesus. Fear of failure was hindering my boldness in sharing my faith, confining me to the safe and familiar language of my small church. My wife and I wrestled with the dissonance between the perfect work of Jesus and our rule-bound lifestyle. One late night, in tears, we confessed our faith in the complete work of Jesus and surrendered our self-righteousness—which, in God’s sight, was nothing but filthy rags.

Embracing the True Gospel: Joy, Freedom, and New Beginnings

We knew this confession would come at a cost, but the joy of knowing that my Father saw me “as holy as Jesus” filled us with wonder. Scriptures I’d read all my life suddenly burst with the goodness of God and the perfect work of Jesus. For the first time in decades of church service, I was motivated by the Joy of the Lord instead of striving to prove my dedication.

This newfound understanding led us to express our total dependence on Jesus by setting aside certain tertiary preferences unique to our specific sect. These steps of obedience and faith strained relationships with family and community members who couldn’t comprehend my transformed perspective. We had to leave the comfort of the familiar and forge new friendships based on shared faith, regardless of background.

Gratitude and a Call to Seek Truth

Today, I’m deeply grateful for God’s faithfulness on this journey. My faith is no longer a source of anxiety or isolation but the driving force behind personal growth and meaningful engagement with the world.

I’ve followed Berean Holiness almost from its inception and am honored to support its work financially and as a board member. I wish I’d had access to its resources while navigating my own conflicting beliefs. I long to see the simple truth of the Gospel reach the whole world, especially those blinded by legalism, like I once was.

Many in my generation are deconstructing their faith and walking away from God. Berean Holiness offers an opportunity for conversation and truth-seeking. If you’re joyfully resting in the finished work of Jesus, I thank God for His faithfulness, regardless of your outward expressions of faith. If you’re hungry for a more satisfying relationship with God, please keep seeking. 

“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” – Jeremiah 29:13

Tracy’s Story

I was born and raised in the Conservative Holiness Movement. An atmosphere that put a lot of emphasis on appearance. But
there was all manner of evil hiding underneath the dignified, saintly facade. I learned early on the ugly stuff is supposed to be
hidden, and I became a hard core people pleaser. The result? Someone who internalized a lot of brokenness and anger. It ate away at me like an insidious cancer leaving me anxious. I got married at the age of seventeen and brought that pain and panic with me into the union with my husband. It almost broke me. It almost broke us.

Something had to change.

There’s nothing easy about examining your entire belief system and discovering there have been things that are traditional, but not biblical, that have been attached to the gospel in a lot of its messaging. There’s nothing easy about starting your life over from the ground up. Because everything about your life was tied to your church. There’s nothing easy about having people you love write you off without conversation or, seemingly, a second thought. There’s nothing easy about digging deep, searching for truth. There’s nothing easy about wrestling with bitterness.

It’s the hardest thing we’ve ever done.

But the healthiest.

It is a pleasure to walk in freedom and to cheer others on as they do the same.