When even spirituality becomes a tool of power
In recent days, Netflix has brought international attention back to an American story that has deeply affected public opinion.
Death of the Pastor’s Wife: the case of Mica Miller recounts the story of Mica Miller, a thirty-year-old American woman and wife of John-Paul “JP” Miller, pastor of the Solid Rock Church in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
On April 27, 2024, Mica was found dead in Lumber River State Park, North Carolina. Authorities determined that she had taken her own life.
After her death, however, a much more complex story emerged. Mica had tried to separate from her husband and had reported episodes of harassment to the police, stating that she feared for her own safety. Family and friends subsequently described what they believed was a relationship marked by dynamics of control and emotional and spiritual abuse.
JP Miller has denied the abuse allegations and has not been charged with causing his wife's death. He is involved in a separate federal proceeding for cyberstalking and making false statements, in which he has pleaded not guilty.
The series reconstructs the story through testimonies, messages, footage, and Mica’s diaries.
But, beyond this specific case, after watching it, one question remains.
What happens when spirituality, instead of drawing us closer to God and to others, becomes a tool of power? Because spirituality, too, when filtered through the fragilities of human beings, can be distorted.
It can mix with the ego, the need to be admired, the desire for control, and the need to always be right.
And when this happens in a person with strong narcissistic tendencies, religion can become a particularly powerful tool of manipulation.
But who is the spiritual narcissist?
“Narcissist” is a word we use quite easily today. Narcissistic personality disorder, however, is a clinical diagnosis that should be left to professionals.
Our interest here is not in diagnosing anyone.
Our interest is in recognizing a dynamic.
A person with strong narcissistic traits may have a deep need for the admiration of others, seek to control the image others have of them, tolerate criticism very poorly, and struggle to take responsibility for the pain they cause.
When all this meets spirituality, something particularly insidious can happen: religious language can be used to render one’s own authority sacred.
Manipulation, then, does not necessarily present itself by saying:
“You must do what I want.”
It may say:
“This is what God wants from you.”
It doesn’t say:
“I can’t stand being questioned.”
It may say:
“You must learn to respect authority.”
It doesn’t say:
“Protect my reputation.”
It may say:
“Do not cause a scandal. Do not damage God’s work.”
And this is where manipulation becomes spiritual.
Because it no longer acts only on emotions.
It acts on the conscience.
It enters the most intimate place of the person and can lead them to believe that opposing the one who controls them means opposing God.
But all of this is profoundly distant from Christ.
And it is precisely here that we must return to the Gospel.
Because one can use the language of Jesus and be, in their behavior, very far from Him.
Narcissism wants to be indispensable.
Christ sets us free. Narcissism protects its own image.
Christ is not afraid to humble Himself. Narcissism struggles to say: “I was wrong.”
Christianity, on the other hand, begins with a word that costs the ego a great deal: repentance.
And then there is perhaps one of the most powerful images in the Gospel. Jesus, knowing who He is, takes a towel, ties it around His waist, kneels down, and washes His disciples' feet. This is authority according to Christ. Not someone who uses God to put others beneath them. But someone who, precisely because they have received authority, chooses to humble themselves to serve.
How to recognize spiritual manipulation?
Jesus leaves us an extremely concrete criterion: “By their fruits you will recognize them.”
Not by their words.
Not by their charisma.
Not by their ability to quote the Bible.
Not by the emotion they are able to stir up.
By their fruits.
And so, let us observe.
Can a spiritually healthy person be contradicted?
Do they know how to ask for forgiveness?
Do they accept being held accountable for their actions?
Do they respect a “no”?
Do they know how to listen even when what they hear challenges their position?
Are they capable of rejoicing when others grow and become autonomous, or do they need them to continue depending on them?
And perhaps there is an even simpler question:
do the people around them become freer or more fearful?
This question matters. Because Christ does not need to break your will to lead you.
Not everything that speaks of God comes from God.
Perhaps this is one of the most important warnings.
Authentic faith does not demand blind obedience to a human being.
It does not use guilt to obtain love.
It does not transform every question into rebellion.
It does not use forgiveness to prevent someone from setting boundaries.
It does not pretend to replace the conscience of another.
And above all, it does not need fear to maintain a relationship.
Perhaps, having reached this point, you are no longer thinking only about Mica Miller.
Perhaps you are thinking about someone you know. About a relationship. About a community. About a leader.
Perhaps even about something you have personally experienced.
You do not need to determine today whether or not that person is “a narcissist.”
Look at the fruits.
If you are afraid to say no, if you are continuously blamed, if your faith is used against you, if someone claims to know what God wants for you better than you do, if every attempt to set a boundary is transformed into proof that you are the problem, do not ignore it.
Talk about it with someone trustworthy.
Seek a conversation outside of the control dynamic and, when necessary, seek competent help as well.
And above all, remember this:
setting a boundary does not mean you have stopped loving.
Forgiving does not mean allowing evil to continue.
Asking for help does not mean having little faith.
And stepping away from someone who uses God to control you does not mean stepping away from God.
On the contrary, the path to healing sometimes begins precisely when we are finally able to separate the voice of the one who manipulated us from the voice of God.
How do you get out of it? Return to Christ.
Not to the caricature that someone may have shown you of Him.
To Christ.
To the One who kneels.
Who serves.
Who speaks the truth.
Who restores dignity.
Who does not need to control to be followed.
Who does not silence people’s voices, but calls them by name.
Jesus said:
“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
Perhaps this is the very word with which we should emerge from even a painful story like the one told by Netflix.
Not fear.
Not suspicion.
Discernment.
Because talking about spiritual narcissism should not lead us to see narcissists everywhere.
It should teach us something much more important: to recognize the difference between authority and control, between guidance and manipulation, between sacrifice and self-abnegation, between the guilt that imprisons and a conscience that freely responds to God.
Spirituality can be manipulated by human beings. Christ cannot.
And if someone has used His name to control you, hurt you, or make you feel like a prisoner, do not let that person take Him away from you as well.
